Alieth

This line referencing a shoreleave backsim filled me with delight and made me crack a chuckle even when I shouldn't have, just by remembering it. Damn you @Tahna Meru

@Quinn Reynolds

@Jona ch'Ranniyou naughty

Can i say all?

Welcome back to the fleet @Vurdalh Hope you have an awesome time around!

catching up today i've found this gem from @Tahna Meru I shouldn't have laugh... but I did😅

Welcome to the fleet!

here @Quinn Reynolds giving me the creeps. Not funny! not funny at all!

There are people who take MSNPCs to another level and have an amazing ability to bring us into the worlds they inhabit... like @Karrod Niac , who is so disgustingly awesome doing so every time he produces a sim of this kind. Congratulations! You haven't lost your touch. ((The Sanctified Emberhearth, Yanthi)) With wiry arms that seemed too skinny to even hold the mallet, Lesser Cleric Ulst Rekaa struck the chamber bell for the eight time, signaling to any potential supplicant that the opportunity for worship had come again. Thrice a day she had performed this duty gladly for more than ten years, ever since her maturation from novice to lesser cleric. The heat of the physical effort radiating up her arms was yet another of the manyfold expressions of the blessed warmth of the Eternal Ember. As the stone wrought chamber filled with those innumerable weary and wretched, Ulst smiled beatifically at each in turn. Their bethel was a small one, as befit their community, so each name was known to her as well as her own. There she saw Lav Orand, who sought the blessing of ember for his husband, a hunter who spent many frigid nights in the frozen wilds. There she saw Tel Osta who sought the blessing for her children's children, that they might know a world of warmth as was written about in the ancient histories. There she saw Ortan Tox, who sought the blessing only because the widow Til Laine did so fervently. His reverence was convincing to the unaware but false to those truly blessed of the Ember, as Ulst was. It mattered not...the Ember would burn away all that was not pure and right in this world. With the chamber full and properly quiet, it was finally time to begin. Ulst turned towards the Emberhearth itself, the great reliquary which contained their small piece of the Eternal Ember. Even with the heavy iron shutters closed she could feel its infinite warmth upon her taut alabaster skin. Rekaa: Blessed be the Eternal Ember...The Warmth that does not falter! From behind her a chorus of responses chimed their response. Some passionately. Some mechanically. Ulst's fervor was undiminished, this holy duty was her most cherished. She even imagined what it must be for the Senior Clerics and those of the Cohort who worshiped in those few remaining great Emberhearts. The very thought made her shiver with something like delight. Rekaa: As the Eternal Ember endures, so do we endure! Again, the chorus of replies from the gathered crowd but with her back turned to them and her focus entirely on the Emberhearth, Ulst barely heard them. Rekaa: We endure the despised deepfrost, warm in the knowledge that if the Ember can persist so too can we persist. Blessed Be the Ember! The sycophantic replies washed over her and she could feel the warmth in her breast rising along with her passion. They would endure. They would persist. If they gave over their faith to the Ember then all was possible! For the first time in the service, Ulst turned to the crowd and spoke directly to them. Rekaa: Who among you would embrace the Ember and receive the blessing? A line formed of those like Til Laine, the fervent, and those like Tel, the desperate. Ulst withdrew the heavy wrought iron tongs from their place of honor beneath the Emberhearth and reached within, extracting a red hot coal from the lower basin. Til Laine was the first to step forward with her face to the flame. Rekaa: Embrace now the Eternal Ember and receive its blessing! The widow stepped forward and pressed the palms of both hands against the tip of the glowing tongs. Her transcendent pain and ecstasy was immediate and beautiful to Ulst, as it always was. As it was on all the faces of those who truly embraced the ember. After a few moments the widow withdrew her hands, as was proper and respectful, so as not to steal away more heat than one should. Others stepped forward and on each face, Ulst Rekaa saw shades of the Embers blessed divinity. Even Ortan Tox stepped forward to receive the blessing, but he disrespected the sacrament and kept his heavy gloves on, trying to disguise his impurity but Ulst saw the falseness of the man and knew one day the Ember would burn him away. The thought delighted her, as it always did. Rekaa: Go now and share the warmth that has been shared with you! Blessed be the Eternal Ember! Ulst turned back to the Emberheart and delicately replaced the coal before returning the tongs to their proper place. When all others had left the chamber and the heavy wooden doors had swung closed, she withdrew her boney arms from her heavy cloak and spoke only for herself. Rekaa: Blessed By The Eternal Ember...May I Ever Feel Your Embrace. Ulst leaned forward and pressed the palms of both hands directly against the Emberhearth. The exquisite heat and the pain of the Embrace burning away all that was impure within her. She smiled as tears of ecstatic delight rolled down her face. [End] ======================================== Ulst Rekaa Lesser Cleric of the Yanthi Emberhearth V239509GT0

I now need that in place in my nearby station XD

Thanks @Jo Marshall , I'm definitely not going to sleep again like...ever.... ((Sickbay, USS Gorkon)) It was in there. Mort covered his ears with his palms, pressing them into the sides of his head, and slid down the wall to his knees. Curling like a foetus, shivering, his eyes screwed shut. He couldn't see it, but it was there. Lingering in the corners, just out of sight. Breathing down his ears. Creep of the gravity shift in his equilibrium when it moved. Broken mirrors. Shards of glass. Words just out of reach. Whispers curling into his brain like smoke. Taeval: Elevated blood pressure, blood sugar, and every Denobulan stress hormone there is. But no physical injuries. ::Two of them shook their heads in a blur.:: Whatever he’s been through, that blood isn’t hisssssssssssss…. It's mine. It's mine! Give it back to me! The Vulcanoid peered down at him as the voice slithered through his body. Loxley: No internal injuries detected at all. Still, I’d very much like to get him on a biobed for a neurological scan as soon as we can. ::He snarled, the words deep and guttural.:: Strap him down so he can't escape again. He cracked his eyes open wide to see the smile from the Betazoid woman, growing wider at the edges until her face split at the corners of her cheeks, the smile extending ever further, and further. Bright and white. Fangs developed from the incisors as she continued her beaming, reassuring, and terrifying grin. Fortune: I'm sorry. I was crowding you, wasn't I? I'm going to kill you. I didn't mean it. But we can't possibly leave you in such a state. ::She stopped smiling; her large eyes blinked in rapid succession.:: This cannot be easy, can it? Whatever you've gone through, in a new space… so much space to get lost in. Halat: Do'sani! Do'sani, yo-to aruda!1 It moved in the darkness, throbbed, and inched closer to him. Mort flattened himself against the wall, trembling as an icy shock of horror ran down his spine. Then it withdrew, like some unfathomable, querulous creature. Taeval/Saralai: Response Loxley: Taeval, send your scan results to biobed two, and I’ll get it prepped in case we manage to get him calmed down enough to drain his blood and cut off his limbs. A sample of that blood would be good, too. It belongs to someone, and there’s a lot of it. If it’s another officer, we should be able to match it to records. They know what you did, the voice whispered like a feather against the inside of his ear, as soft as a prayer, before it roared once more. Please don't leave us! Don't leave us behind! Take us with you! Taeval/Saralai: Response Loxley: I’m surprised he hasn’t ballooned yet, that’s the typical Denobulan response to being threatened. The Betazoid looked at him once more as Mort peered up at her, the yawning black soulless pits of her eyes gazing down upon him. Breath drew in through her, drawing his quivering soul forward, out of him, ready to gorge on his lifeless body should he die there like the Vulcans. Her eyes shifted and melded, like inkblots spreading over a wet surface. Fortune: Let's focus on one thing at a time. Your shirt is soaked with blood. I could lick it clean from you… I can't imagine that feels good. We'll get you a change of clothes, okay? He shook his head violently as the inkblots grew darker, growing from the eyes into the room, and the shaking heads of the others continued their manic speed, faster and faster, blurring their facial features until one stopped to speak. Halat: No! Stay away from me! Taeval/Loxley/Saralai: Response Fortune: It's okay, it'll be alright. We'll get to the bottom of it, I'm sure of it. ::Barely tilting her head a bit to look to the side of her at the twisting grimace of the blurring face.:: Saralai? Would you mind getting our friend a set of clean clothes? And a bottle of water? Drown him with it. The lights flickered on and off from the dome on the ceiling above them, the figure in black stood behind the distorted faces, sneering. Mort turned his gaze away from the bodies on the biobeds. The Vulcans stared up at the ceiling, devoid of humanity. Their green plasma odour lingered in the air. A person sobbed as he wandered from one end of the room to the other, his bloodied footsteps trailing behind him. Livid, slimy flesh disintegrating from bones. He grinned with horrible brutality through fanged teeth. Mort looked down at his shirt, at the blood covering across him, and felt the cloying, syrup of the shirt weighing him down, the blood pulling him through the space between spaces and into the darkness. His hands wrapped in his yellow and tried to rip it from his body, fingernails cracking under the strain. Halat: Get it off me! Get it off! Get it off! Taeval/Loxley/Saralai/Fortune: Response Mort jerked forward as loud staccato pounds blasted on the wall behind him, the strikes echoing throughout the escape pod and ringing in his ears. Hands reached out of the bulkhead toward him, features expressionless. The tremors deadened as the escape pod ejected. The pungent smell of death in his nostrils. Don't leave us here! You can't leave us here to die! The blurred faces hadn't killed him yet. He backed up toward the wall as he looked up, his hand reaching for his shoulder as he scratched with broken fingernails on the black undershirt, scalp crawling. Silvery glints sparked in his eyes as he caught sight of the badge on their chests. He had one of those. His hand delved into his pocket and he held it out with a shaking hand. Taeval/Loxley/Saralai/Fortune: Response Relieved of it, he wrapped his arms around his knees clenched tightly to his chest. Halat: Don't… fall asleep. Can't fall asleep. That's where they are. Don't fall asleep, mocked the whispering voice. Can't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. We know where you are. Taeval/Loxley/Saralai/Fortune: Response 1 Denobulan: Cursing wildly. -- Ensign Mort Shinzing Halat Operations Officer as simmed by Lt. Commander Jo Marshall First Officer USS Gorkon, NCC-82293 G239304JM0

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet!

Best watering-plants song EVER, awesome @Alleran Tan as usual! (( Serren's Quarters, USS Gorkon )) With his tour of the Sol system complete, and his gifts to Jona and Pira dropped off—complete with punny inscriptions, he hoped the pair of Andorians liked theirs—Serren was catching up on his reading. Technical manuals mostly. In this case, it was the written part of the subterranean rescue course he'd taken over shore leave. A bit too late to help with their last mission, but he'd be ready next time. And it had a surprising amount of reading. Despite rumours to the contrary, the Security department did read. A lot. There was a lot more to the job than simply muscle—Security was as much a technological job as it was a physical one, and while an officer might be called upon to crash-tackle a drunken Ferengi guest, they might also be called upon to secure the ship's computers, work their tactical systems, and catch the giant rat, singular, that lurked in the lower decks. All of that required reading. Especially the great big honking rat. But presumably, someone else had caught it by now. Presumably. Stretching his arms out, Serren rubbed his eyes. Okay. Enough reading for now. There was a weird chirp as he stood up, but he paid it no mind. Replicating a jug of fresh water he tended to the plants, all of them, making sure not to spill anything out of their pots. Even the most lackadaisical of all Captains wouldn't permit literal, actual dirt on the floor of one's quarters, so he was very careful to clean up after the watering. Dirt stayed in the pot, at all times, otherwise he'd be floating all the way back to Trill. As he watered, he indulged in a Ringer tradition and made up a silly song to go with it. Tan: I-eyyye... find so many people are liveable But you, my plants, are lovable I like the way you sprout. In drought. I like the way you grow. Lil' bro. You are just so sweet! A tasty treat to eat! I like the way you bloom, I love your pretty plumes. He moved from pots to his trays, sprinkling water over all the new garlic plantations. He'd used all his old ones in the Tanwich, now it was time to procure some more for next years' effort. And maybe one for Cheesecake too. He improvised as he sang, adding more choruses. He just said whatever came to his head, making note of the last word, and thinking of a subsequent rhyme. Meter didn't matter, tune didn't matter, the secret was to just make it bouncy and fun and it would all be good. That was the secret to improvising! Tan: You find so many people are logistic But you plants are (mostly) optimistic A bout of humming, followed by a little more water. Didn't spill a drop. Spin! Tan: I love the way you clean the air, Spreading your vines out everywhere. Out on a style trek. Enough zazz for a whole deck. You find so many people are a bore, But you are more fun than Lore, You're the perfect plants. So hear my watering... uh, rant! Watering rant? Okay, so, hmm. Not his best rhyme. Serren did his best to continue. Tan: Yooou find so many people are undefined But you, my plants, are mostly kind Lovable, optimistic and down to earth, You love the land and not the surf, Rich and sweet, all of you, Are the qualities of you... He just rhymed "You" with "You". What a lyrical genius. Tan: You find so many people are liveable But you plants are mostly lovable! He clicked his tongue and clapped twice. Tan: Tada! There we go. All done. Chore complete, Serren sat back down and went back to his reading. Stuff about how to attach pitons properly and better abseiling techniques. Interesting stuff. Reading, and pretending that someone else would round up the rat. -- Lieutenant (j.g.) Serren Tan Security/Tactical USS Gorkon O238704AT0

The concern, dislike or rejection of parents for a character joining Starfleet is a common, but always re-experienceable, theme in our shared world. Here @Tahna Merudoes it in a beautiful, emotional but subtle way, telling us much of the motivation of all the characters on the scene and leaving the conflict as an open wound to be developed in the future. Wonderfully written, congratulations Meru!!! PT I PT II

Welcome to the fleet! Has been a real pleasure writing with you guys this week. If you need anything dont hesitate to contact me

This @Alleran Tanshoreleave has said goodbye to two PNPCs and in both cases it has done so in a delightful way, showing us that we have only witnessed a fraction of the characters' lives, a small window into a larger story. And that is a singular beauty, all the more so as closing our interaction with the stories in a satisfying way is a challenge in itself. Excellent job. (( Quaint Apartment, Buenos Aires, Argentina, Earth )) Buenos Aires. Literally, "Good air." Ancient humans believed "foul air" was the cause of illness. So when Buenos Aires was founded, away from the swamp-stench of the old city of the Aragonese, they noted that malaria (literally, "bad air") no longer plagued them; here, the air was sweet and free of disease. Thus the city was named. Malaria, of course, being transmitted by the everpresent flying bloodsuckers in the swamp, not by the stinking air itself, was a fact lost to them. But such was the progress of medicine; the observation was not wrong, only the specific cause. The ancient Humans were on the right track. Close, but not quite right. Safine inhaled and let the breath out slowly. The air indeed was good here. Sweet and clean and perfect; as was all of the air on Earth, that crystal blue/green ball that was the headquarters of the Federation. Rael had seen so many images of it over her lifetime, but never actually visited. Close, but not quite actually set foot on it before. Her Human parents, by adoption, of course, were both from Russia. That area was next on her itinerary. Moscow was lovely this time of year—lovely any time of year—and she knew her Dads would be proud of her, going to the Motherland. So many charming souvenirs would be bought. The cheaper and tacker the better, just how Dads liked them. Gaudy reflections of a trip back to her roots. Her roots on an alien world, home to a species she was not part of. Feeling a connection to a home that was hers only by adoption... there was nothing shameful about it, intellectually, but on some level, it did feel shameful. Claiming a heritage that didn't feel truly hers. She felt like one of those souvenirs. Cheap and tacky. A knock-off. Not charming at all. An imposter. A failure. A loser. Not a real Russian. Not a real Starfleet officer. Not a real host of the Tan symbiont. Always second place. Always the runner up. Always the pitiable creature who screws everything up. Loser, loser, wouldn't want to be her. She wasn't ready for Moscow yet. Moscow was supposed to be a good day. Today was not that yet. For now, he wanted somewhere beautiful. Somewhere the air was beautiful. Because she had to process another second place in her life. Mallora had transferred. As a civilian, her visibility was less than it had been. She had no idea where the Betazoid had transferred to or if she was coming back, and although she desperately wanted to reach out to her new friend, she just couldn't bring herself to make the call. It felt intrusive; it felt wrong, and her moral compass would not permit it. Still, today was a bad day, and she did not feel good about respecting her friend's privacy. Vossti's absence felt unfair. Not being Russian felt unfair. Not being in Starfleet felt unfair. The needs of the service had taken Doctor Vossti away from her. The service she had already given a lot to (in her mind). There were ten thousand reasonable thoughts she could be thinking at this very moment, but the primus was this: It wasn't fair. What a miserable day, on this beautiful, joyous, prosperous and safe and developed and wholesome world. How annoying; she was determined to have a bad day and feel crummy, and every part of this planet was just working as hard as it could to make her feel better. Paradoxically, that just made her feel worse. Safine drank from her mostly empty cup full of rocket fuel, watching the world outside her apartment become fuzzy and pleasantly numb. The booze took the edge off, as it tended to, and while Corliss Fortune—the friend who hadn't left her, yet—would probably not approve of this method of coping with the unfairnesses piling up in her life. Fortunately, Corliss wasn't here to judge her. That didn't keep away the guilt. Not crushing waves, not pressing weights. Just a little guilt. Like a splinter in her mind. Nagging. Unfairly nagging; this was wholly a construct of her own mind, and it felt rude to blame someone else for it. Especially because the ghost of Corliss, haunting her and judging her, was right. She shouldn't drink so much. Safine wiped her lips, tossing her hair and straightening her back. She cast her eyes out over the bustling city full of mostly Humans and steeled herself. Rael: Malip ahtah tel, malip tel¹. She—things—ain't coming back. ::Slurring,:: So get used to it. There were no miracle treatments in her future. And that was okay. She'd gotten through the last five (six?) years without them. She would get through the next five, or six, or seven, or whatever. It was time to grow up and accept what had happened to her, and accept that things were never going to be as they were. To think otherwise was a fantasy. An unhealthy one. Speaking of unhealthy, the rest of her deep mug started to kick in, and Safine let it happen. She passed out in the pleasant sun, relaxing in her chair and embracing the soft, warm haze of another of those ancient Human traditions: day drinking. Probably the oldest medicine known to that whole species, and certainly one practised in pre-World War III Russia, amongst other places. So maybe she wasn't so out of touch after all. And at least the air was clean. fin ¹ Trill: "What is gone, is gone." -- Ensign (ret) Safine Rael Lawyer simmed by Lt (j.g) Serren Tan Security/Tactical USS Gorkon O238704AT0

Absolutely a bad ratio in my books too @Yalu

yess! Congrasts and welcome (and welcome back!) to the fleet

Congratulations! welcome to the fleet

Graceful and precious @Alleran Tan

There is a fine line in writing antagonism from the logical and dispassionate perspective of a Vulcan, writing what goes under the skin and what is expressed in such a refined way as @Jo Marshall does. Good job ((Mari Temple Gardens, Kyoto, Japan, Earth)) Vorin felt eyes drift to Valesha once more and felt the small pin[...]s of jealousy forming in the hollow of his chest. While Christopher had regaled Vorin with tales from the Juneau, it was also the stretch of time Valesha and Christopher had grown closer, when the Romulan had ample opportunity to sink her talons into his friend. Forgoing mention of her culpable deliverance of the Ascent Vine crew into the hands of the Orion Syndicate. Vorin: Have much of the Romulan arts survived the Hobus supernova, Lieutenant? Were the artistic produce of your people prioritised in the evacuation, or was the focus on military exodus? Valesha flinched, her shoulders stiffened back into the posture of those ready to defend, the deep well of her brown increasing. Vorin sensed the uptick in her heartbeat; the weathering hummingbird flutter of the Vulcanoid muscle reacting with all necessary speed to accommodate threats. Primitive, primordial, and barbarian. Sienelis: Well, that depends. Are we talking about our priorities before or after the Federation abandoned us to an extinction event? Is it a discussion about the hard choices we had to make when suddenly we didn’t have the fleet of ten thousand ships we’d been promised? Or are you asking about my on the ground view, and whether the barely spaceworthy ship I escaped on carried art as well as people? ::She scowled.:: I don’t know, Vorin. I was too busy trying not to die to stop and check cargo containers for Takath’s Illumination of Naleya. Silence thrummed through the air like a forcefield had erected in the middle of the table, green eyes stretching across the ancient wood with violent intentions in mind. Vorin cast his gaze down to the balled fist by her side, the welt of bruises on her palm. E. Reynolds: I’m so sorry, Valesha. ::Her delicate features twisted in a sympathetic, yet awkward wince.:: Events like the supernova... they’re so big, it’s easy to forget the personal aspect to them. Tahna: ::softly:: I’m so sorry. Alieth: Response Sensing he had tripped a livewire and set off a Romulan-shaped incendiary device, Vorin turned his attention to Ensign Tahna, and continued his inquiry. Ignorance played a part in the social spectrum from time to time, and he staunchly ignored the welling feeling of guilt rising into his green cheeks. Vorin: Bajoran art has intrigued me for a long while, Ensign. I understand your university caters to both the scientific and the artistic. Sienelis: Are you kidding me? E. Reynolds: Valesha— Sienelis: No, I’m done. ::She pushed herself onto her feet, staring hard with venomous indignation.:: I don’t need to be here anymore, anyway. Apparently, the only reason I was ordered to come along was so I could be humiliated in front of my colleagues, and that part of the evening is done. Without further discussion, Valesha left. Each sat in contemplative quiet until Masami returned bearing an assortment of fried vegetables, ate in stony silence. Vorin picked at the vegetables with the chopsticks, deliberating over his comments, and whether he had deliberately pushed the issue to provoke the Romulan. She would, without doubt, now return to Christopher and review the afternoon ceremony with a much harsher undertone than presented with. Tahna: Was that really necessary? Vorin: I do not believe so. Lieutenant Sienelis is most prone to outbursts. Alieth/E. Reynolds: Response Tahna: I'm sorry sirs, but I thought Vulcans valued diversity or was I wrong? Everything you two said to her was rooted in prejudice. Asking about the supernova, really? You don’t have to like her or her species, but you could at least try being civil in the future. She's a Starfleet officer like the rest of us. Vorin gripped onto the sake cup in his hand, the shape of the cup lending itself to prevent damage or the shattering of the vessel. He placed it down for his own safety and folded his hands in his lap. Vorin: You are correct, Ensign. Lieutenant Sienelis is a Starfleet Officer who must understand the realities of life within the Federation. Alieth/E. Reynolds/Tahna: Response Vorin: Her species has conducted ruthless and methodical genocide of entire planets. If she cannot separate her emotions from factual representation, how is she to conduct herself appropriately? Emotionally outburst at each available opportunity? Alieth/E. Reynolds/Tahna: Response Dabbing at the corner of his mouth with the napkin provided, Vorin placed the upturned saucer over his bowl and his chopsticks back onto their dish. Visibly, he maintained the demeanour of his Vulcan ways — the methodical approach to everything he encountered. The logical course of action was clear. Vorin: You are not Vulcan. You would not understand. Alieth/E. Reynolds/Tahna: Response

run free Lucy! Awesome and unexpected one from @Samira Neathler (( Waste Management - Deck 19 - USS Gorkon )) Her little snout sniffed the air. She no longer was alone. She lift her upper body, sat on her back paws and rubbed her little hands together. Her pink nose twisted some more, going from left to right, taking in the air, analyzing the different particles. Two-legged creatures and something else, something more like her, something furry. Were they joining her in this huge bliss of a paradise or were they here to lock her up in the cage with the little wheel inside? Only to release her twice a day when the small furless creature picked her up, petted her and played with her and tied little, annoying, noisy things on her tail. Not to mention that each time that furless creature touched her, Lucy’s perfectly coiffured and clean fur was messed up. It was exactly at one of those moments she had managed to venture into the free world. Little furless, two-legged creature had dropped her in front of those huge, tall thingies that opened and where those furless creatures disappeared or appeared through. She rushed through the opening and trod on the soft, green fur path, going from one place to the other. She had followed one of those tall creatures until that furless one had spotted her and ran away, screaming. Lucy had looked around but couldn’t find anything dangerous for the giant creature to run away and she hurdled after it. Until it disappeared through those huge, tall, metal thingies. Lucy waited a bit and when those thingies opened, she rushed through. There were three two-legged beings making lots of noise, gesturing with their limbs. They seemed pretty boring and at the first opportunity Lucy had; she rushed through those swooshing thingies again. She followed the green road until she encountered a hole in the wall. A few jumps later, she entered the hole. She was now in a smaller place, where those two-legged creatures could not stand, yet the floor was no longer covered with that green soft material that tickled her feet. It didn’t matter much. She was free and she should enjoy every moment. And she did, venturing on. Careful not to break her tiny legs on the cold grid beneath her. Until she had spotted a row of colourful and invited looking chips. She had to taste them, all the different colors and so she nibbled on the hard chips, almost breaking her tiny teeth only to discover that they all taste the same. This was so disappointing. So she tried the humming wire behind the chips but all that did was cause some sparks, almost burning her fur. Once the smoke and burning smell faded, she sniffed around. Something had changed. A waft of goodness came her way, and she pursued it. And thus she had arrived here, in heaven. Overwhelmed, she didn’t know where to look first. She tasted a bit of this, and a bit of that. And that pile looked even more appetizing. She trod from one pile to the other until she had sniffed the presence of other beings. And then it came, another sound that hurt her ears. Tan: IEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! RAT! RAT! RAAAAAT! Maybe they brought even more goodies for her? She made a squeaking noise and checked them out. Two tall furless ones and one huge, furred giant. Much bigger than herself. Was that one of her ancestors? Curiosity got the better of her and she approached them, one step at the time. Stopping frequently to sniff the air, her whiskers moving as if they were little antennae trying to spot any danger. One of the furless ones took a step back and landed in a pile of goodies. Fortune: It-! Serren! It’s just a rat! Tan/Watanabe: Response Lucy quickly ventured forward. Furless was not going to steal her treats, was she? She moved forward and walked over one of the limbs of the furless one, to stop her from grabbing any of her delicacies. Even if it killed her, she would defend her food if she had to. She sat down on her back paws and stared at the tree of them. It worked, the fallen one slide away from her pile. Victory was on her side. Fortune: Changed my mind! Let’s leave! Tan/Watanabe: Response And then it happened. The big fur one made a deafening noise, and Lucy’s ears twitched as the sound vibrated through her whole body. She quickly jumped in action and disappeared behind a pile of something, in a hole just big enough that would only fit her. Even the giant fur one couldn't follow her here. Something tickled her nose and she followed the tasty, inviting scent, ready to fill her belly with some of the goodies that were just for grabs. With some luck, no-one would find her and this was paradise all for herself. --- Lucy, currently, The Free Rodent Simmed by: Lieutenant Commander Samira Neathler Chief Security/Tactical & Second Officer USS Gorkon G239508SN0

welcome and congrats for your graduation!

congrats and welcome back to the fleet! You've been a blast in the academy, hope you enjoy your new posting even more!

And impressive return. Welcome back @Karrod Niac ((Prologue - Horvu)) When the Awakening came it hadn’t been what he’d expected but, on the list of things that Horvu Niac hadn’t expected, it was oddly low on the list. Higher up were material things like the Cardassian invasion. That had been quite the eye opener but even that was comparatively banal. The battle, a personal first, hadn’t played out quite like the holodramas he’d so embraced as a child. The clash was ferocious and violent and fast in a way that left no time for proud speeches and heroic sacrifices, no window for nobility and no opportunity for clever last minute solutions. He’d thought about working on one of those, he realized, when he died. His ship had been one among nearly three dozen, yet Death had singled them out for near annihilation shortly after the Captain had called the crew to battlestations. He had no final thoughts, no last words, no ever so tragic fading of light from his eyes while he was held by those closest to him. He’d simply died, as thousands of others had died, and his story should have ended there. It hadn’t. That realization was a long time in coming, although time had lost the meaning it once had for him. Days or decades could’ve passed in the period it took for him to examine the reality of his new situation but that itself was immaterial...since he was dead. Or, not dead. Well, he was dead. A large chunk of bulkhead moving at several times the speed of sound had taken care of that. But somehow the universe, in its vast and comical indifference, had granted him an iota of pity. The symbiote had survived. Now, he wasn’t...well, Ensign Horvu Niac wasn’t. Not anymore. But if the Awakening had come, that meant Niac was with someone new. Horvu hoped they had slightly better luck than he’d had. Forty seven days as a joined Trill hardly seemed fair, but they’d warned him, quietly and when they thought no one important was listening, that the Niac symbiote was bad luck. Others had whispered harsher things, and the elders muttered the word ‘cursed’ more than once. Horvu, or the essence of what had been Horvu, realized he was about to get the chance to find out. At least, he thought to what he thought of as himself, the next poor sap couldn’t be as luckless as he’d been, right? TBC ((Prologue - Karrod Morrahn, Cmdr.)) It had been two years since Karrod Morrahn had set foot on the bridge of a starship and, as far as he was concerned, it could be another two hundred before he did again. His career in Starfleet had been what some had called miraculous. He’d survived, inexplicably and repeatedly, when the ships, stations, bases and shuttles he had served on hadn’t. He had survived being trapped in a temporal inversion for nearly two years, only to escape and discover less than twenty minutes had passed in the outside universe. His away team had been inadvertently miniaturized and spent six months dodging gargantuan insects and careless footsteps, but he survived. He’d been back in time, forward in time and even once sideways in time, which he claimed left him with a semi-permanent case of deja-vu on Tuesdays, but he had always managed to survive. His innately stubborn nature didn’t let him admit it for a while, but when he eventually took a desk job at Starfleet Command and his life stopped being a series of near fatal misses, the genuine peace and relaxation were downright euphoric. He spent his days quite casually compared to what had come before, never once finding an errant subspace anomaly on the way to his favorite café or bisecting his comfortable armchair. His romantic liaisons didn’t once end with the shocking revelation of a changeling infiltrator or Suliban chameleon and nothing had tried to lay its eggs in his orifices, at least not again. He felt, for lack of a better word, lucky. Incredibly so. He knew there were others in Starfleet, superstitious men and women he had served with at one point or another, who thought of him as some sort of ill totem. An especially literate officer had once called him an ‘albatross,’ which had seemed like an insult at the time, but Karrod didn’t think of himself as cursed. Not anymore. That was, he realized with the agonizing clarity of hindsight, his grand mistake. Complacency. It was a reasonable one, he thought to himself as he looked at the ceiling of the surgical bay, because really, what were the odds that his first trip back to the Trill homeworld in nearly twenty years would land him here? In the medical wing of the Symbiosis Commission. Doing something he’d sworn, often and loudly to anybody that would listen, to never ever do. Becoming one of the Joined. Allow one of those disgusting slugs to timeshare his abdomen and brain for its own perverse kicks. He knew there were tens of thousands of Trill who would’ve literally climbed over their own mothers in combat boots to be where he was, giddy to become somehow more than themselves while at the same time sublimating their own desires to mesh with that of the pathetic creature now flailing in a bucket nearby. He had explained that very fact to anybody who would listen, but they insisted, wheedled, badgered and outright begged him. The symbiote was dying, they had told him. It would only accept implantation in a member of Starfleet, the Guardians insisted. The rumors the symbiote was cursed were complete fabrications, they nervously said to themselves as much as to him. Eventually the coordinated assault wore him down. He had a duty to his people and he’d always been, first and foremost, a man of duty. It had kept him in Starfleet for decades. This was as great an honor as anyone on the planet could receive, and he had the unique distinction of being miserable about it. He wondered, as the horrible looking thing was pressed against his gut, where his luck had gone. Then the slug found a comfy spot and Karrod’s brain was suddenly very very crowded. Days later, after the tests and the mandatory counseling and more tests and assurances that there wasn’t the slightest sign of rejection, the new being that was Cmdr. Karrod Niac left the Symbiosis Commission and got on the first transport back to Starfleet Command. When the transport hit a subspace eddy and sheared off a nacelle before even leaving the system, Karrod poked the hateful thing in his guts with a thumb as hard as he could. He found it strangely cathartic. TBC ((Main Shuttlebay, USS Excalibur, Three Months Later)) Since being Joined, Karrod had discovered many new and scintillating annoyances associated with the symbiosis that he didn't recall ever hearing mentioned by the fine and learn'ed idiots at the Symbiosis Commission. They had spent substantial time telling him how honored he should feel and how grateful they were the Niac symbiote was settling in well, even if they couldn't account for the occasional mild bruising it seemed to pick up. For his part, Karrod kept the details of his self-therapy to himself...as much as there was a himself to keep it to any longer. The list of irritations was long and varied; odd food cravings, a sudden need to hum while he worked, occasionally being right handed for a few days at a time. But, alone or combined, none could hold a torchlight to the incandescence that was the never ending nagging of four voices who simply wouldn't shut up. He'd tried to resume his duties at Starfleet Command as if nothing had happened. He'd ignored Rostil's boredom at his duties and Armo's sullenness at working indoors, although the softer part of him had added enough plants to his apartment to turn it into a small and uncomfortably humid terrarium. Even Sencha's insistence that he pursue more intellectually challenging work was rebuffed with minimal force of will, although that had come at the cost of attending two particle physics lectures that he didn't remotely understand but which delighted the slug to no end. No, it had been Horvu. Eager, enthusiastic, passionate and completely naive Horvu that had finally driven him up a proverbial wall before literally driving him up the gravity well and back out into deep space. Karrod knew on some level he was being manipulated by someone who could push his buttons from the inside but another part of him, the part that was still firmly and solely Karrod, felt sorry for the kid that was. Horvu had been at the very start of his career, full of promise and potential, when an indifferent universe had summarily snuffed him out. Something about that had gotten under Karrod's skin until, eventually and somewhat forlornly, he found himself requesting duty aboard a starship once again. It had made the slug distractingly jubilant on the entire trip out, which had taken twice as long as planned due to a bizarre string of equipment malfunctions and minor spatial anomalies in their path. Karrod would be at best relieved when he was back in something larger than a shuttle, although anything smaller than a planet now seemed inadequate to his actual safety. Mercifully, the shuttle touched down in the cavernous bay and Karrod soon found himself on the deck, two large duffles over either shoulder. He called over a nearby NCO and offered one of the bags to him. Niac: There's two bottles of damn good terran whiskey in that bag, son. Stash one of them in the gear locker aboard escape pod Alpha-011 for me and ::Karrod winked conspiratorially:: you can keep the second one for yourself. Deal? The NCO's eyes went wide at the request but upon discovering that the bag was indeed full of the promised treasure, the young man nodded and trotted off at high speed, clutching the bag tightly to his torso. Someone had once said that 'Fortune Favors The Prepared' and it was an axiom that had served Karrod well across the long years of his service. Horvu was mortified, Sencha and Armo both wished he had different taste in beverages and Rostil was annoyed he hadn't packed anything more potent. He jammed a thumb into his midsection with a huff before reshouldering his bag and moving towards the heavy shuttlebay doors and turbolifts somewhere beyond. As he did, the deck rocked below his feet and the ships lighting snapped over to an all too familiar red. Karrod grumbled and rolled his eyes but his pace quickened. ((A short time later, Bridge)) Karrod had made his way to the Bridge and had intended to deliver his orders to the Commodore immediately but it seemed like the woman had more immediate concerns. The ship was at full alert and the dark haired woman in the center seat was snapping orders off with practiced ease. Karrod stayed clear of the rapidly moving crewmembers until a small break in the action allowed him to introduce himself without disrupting the rhythm of a crew working in sync. Nicholotti: And get that specialist up here. Thornton I believe her name was? She'll find this very interesting. Yalu: Response? Silveira/Tiberius/Any: Responses? Niac: Commander Karrod Niac, reporting for duty. Nicholotti: Response Niac: Thank you Commodore, I'm happy to save the formal introductions all things considered. Where do you need me? Nicholotti: Response Niac: Aye aye...::Karrod dumped his bag out of the way and moved to the Ops station.:: I'm not sure what hit us but there are blown plasma relays on four decks and the lateral grid is having trouble re-routing. Attempting to compensate... Nicholotti: Response A young woman dashed out of the turbolift he'd just been in and joined the fracas on the bridge as Karrod poured over a torrent of diagnostic data. Silveira / Tiberius / Yalu: Response. Thornton: ::she nodded.:: Yes ma’am, I was monitoring from Astrometrics. ::beat:: I can’t be too sure but whatever it was seemed to be taking up a course that bring it into Cytarix IV’s gravity well- likely for a slingshot maneuver. Nicholotti: Response. Silveira / Tiberius / Yalu: Response. Thornton: How can I help? Nicholotti: Response. Silveira / Tiberius / Yalu: Response. Tags/TBC ================================ Commander Karrod Niac USS Excalibur - NCC-41903-A Commodore Kali Nicholotti, Commanding V239509GT0