Alieth

@LuxaLorana is GREAT at describing places and it's great to see all the work and time he has put into describing the Ronin's stellar cartography. Add to that all the insight and great storytelling and you have a sim I've been wanting to throw in your face for days. Enjoy! Great work! ((Stellar Cartography, Deck 10, USS Ronin)) Three days had passed quickly on the Ronin. Luxa doubted that she'd ever been as busy in her whole life. They’d spent entire days reconfiguring the science lab databases and updating various systems. Of course, this required more data processors to be installed and almost delayed the lab's completion. Yet, somehow, the engineers had managed to get them installed and they’d completed the refurbishment with an hour to spare before launch. She'd barely gotten any of her naps, which had led to her nerves being more than a little frayed. It had helped that she had gotten a pleasant and friendly roommate. Yet, in some strange way, she found herself missing the imposing presence of Zoyara. If Luxa was a counselor, she'd misdiagnose herself with Stockholm Syndrome. A smile began to form on Luxa's face, wondering how her new roommate was adjusting to her. Grayson: Did you feel that? Luxa had felt a slight rumbling beneath them. An explosion? ((OOC - Crewman 2nd Class Gregor Grayson, is an Astronomer and Science Lab Assistant and a General NPC, meaning anyone can include him in sims, he's the science teams Nurse Ogawa hah)) Lorana: The docking clamps maybe? It’s been a while? :: Luxa stretches :: You think we're ready to fire this up? Grayson: :: shrugs :: The engineers seem confident that the ship won't blow up. Luxa's attention fell across the strange Stellar Cartography suite that was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the control panels that lined the walls, flanking either side of the entryway. She had never seen one that spanned one deck before, and found that she wasn't very certain about it. It didn’t feel right to have the large and expansive space taking up several decks. Lorana: Okay. I think now is as good a time as any. Grayson moved to one of the panels, and she heard the whole room buzz with energy as consoles blinked into life and the mapping grid appeared, blinking several times before a map circled around and settled on to the current sector they were in. It took up the entirety of the curvature of the far wall, which was three times wider than the working area they were stood in by the entrance. Holo emitters had been installed meaning that you could pull sections forward onto a raised platform, with a singular console to operate this particular part. Grayson: I kind of like it. Lorana: :: scrunching her face :: It'll take getting used too. They had fought and lost the argument to extend Stellar Cartography into the deck above or below. The drawback of an older vessel that was never designed for exploration or scientific missions. All things considered, she was proud of the work they had done utilising the limited space they had. The trill of a boatswain's whistle startled Luxa momentarily. Niac: =/\= Attention all hands, we are about to get underway. You have performed admirably in getting our ship ready for this mission and I'm confident we can face whatever is waiting for us out there. Secure your stations and standby for warp speed. Remember...a ship may be safe in harbor but that is not what ships are for. Niac..out.=/\= Grayson: Starting to feel real now? Lorana: :: nervously :: I just wish we weren’t heading straight towards the Sheliak. Luxa stepped a few metres in front and took the steps on to the raised platform, there was enough room for several scientists to work and confer if required. Grayson remained at the consoles behind, she could see that he was beginning to run diagnostics on the Cartography systems. Lorana: :: keying in telemetry, then hits her combadge :: =/\= Lorana to Alieth, Stellar Cartography is online =/\= Alieth: =/\= Response =/\= Lorana: =/\= Yes, commander. Lorana out. =/\= Grayson moved up the platform, taking a position beside Luxa, as she brought up the limited information of the Olidra System. Grayson: What now? Lorana: We do what we’re here to do :: nods towards the map :: we learn everything we can about this section of space. Every warp trail, rock, and line of record. Grayson inhaled a breath. Grayson: It’s a lot of space. Lorana: Which means we don’t have a lot of time :: nods to the console to his right :: You can begin by cross-referencing the databases on that system. We need to populate this map as best as we can with everything of note within the Alpha Isles. There might be something that can hint towards what’s going on out there. Grayson: I can pull some of the reports from the transport ships, you know the ones they send to Starfleet? Lorana: Most of them make them up, unless they know the Federation will audit them, which they never do. Check for warp signatures and energy readings, anything that can tell us what’s been happening out there. Start with the major powers - the Breen, Tzenkethi, the Ferengi and the Kzinti Patriarchy. Focus on any changes, routes that have been altered, unusual reports, distress calls and any new science vessels operating in that area. Maybe we can provide the Captain with something a little bit more than guesswork? As Grayson went to work, Luxa took a moment to look ahead, watching the Olidra System. In her mind’s eye she could feel it come alive. It was a mystery at the moment, a stranger in a crowded sky. oO not for long, Olidra Oo -- Ensign Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2

@Marty Tucker isn't wrong 😂

Kammus is his own thing for sure & I want more XD ((Main Engineering - Deck 14 - USS Ronin)) Personal Log - Stardate, today? 2400 something, I don't even know what day it is - computer, fill in the stardate when you close this log. New ship, new family. Just when I was beginning to become accustomed to the old one, something made me decide it was time to try a new adventure. The Ronin seems a capable craft, although I have not looked through the entire ship myself; the bridge is intact, engineering exists, and the lights are on. Generally, people are happy with those three things. I need to properly meet the new staff, the technicians will come and go as they always do, and this pile of PADDs probably will not get smaller. We all seem to be getting to our feet, no one knows where anything is, who anyone is supposed to be, and the new faces in the halls has me looking at their collar more than their eyes. Three or four pips, great. Any less, ignore. My mind can't handle much more than that currently. 126 problems, most can be solved with a good level 3 diagnostic. Six issues are reported critical by the computer, and half of those can likely be programmed out. However, three issues have me worried. The Captain advised staff from the station was available, but I never liked ground crew. They always do things by the book, their book. That doesn't work underway. Ships become their own creatures. We need to listen to the ship. It will tell you when it hurts. Maybe perhaps my dream of serving on a very old museum piece, actually working in space, is not that crazy. Back to work. Kammus Corelli - Chief Engineer - USS Ronin END LOG Kammus sat at his new desk, shoved in the corner of a tiny office, with random boxes piled head high. Yet another pile of PADDs lay on the desk. No doubt a thoughtful technician from Deep Space 33 advised the crew to simply lay the problems on the desk of whoever was going to take over. That was Kammus. He sat, not thinking about anything, letting the gentle thrum of the core wash over his thoughts. He was trying to learn its intricacies. The soft den of technicians cursing under their breath made him feel a little more relaxed. Technicians were all the same. There were the ones that lifted heavy things and used their capable strength to correct foundation and structural issues that proclaimed their anger loudly, and then there were the ones that delicately corrected faults with tiny precision who focused all their spite inwardly and only flashed burning hatred with their eyes. This was engineering. Kammus stood, collecting the three PADDs in front of him in a neat pile. Exiting the office, a petty officer crossed his path. There was a gentle nod, but work was happening. Another over eager might have softly asked "anything I can help you with sir" but a still softer gesture from Kammus waved them off. No, he needed to set the tone, he needed to gain understanding. Corelli: =/\= Kammus to Engineering staff, senior engineering staff, primary crew, shift leads, department heads, please report to Main Engineering in 10 minutes. Corelli out. =/\= He neatly laid the three pads out on the console in the middle of the floor, and waited. Soon they trickled in one by one, and filled the area around the floor console. Tucker / Perez / Quinn / Any: Response He held up two pads, mostly to get the rooms attention. Corelli: Right, yes, I understand the whole ship is about to fall apart and nothing is correct, we're all gonna die, that's normal. What I would love to know is how we are going to tackle these three problems: Cracked EPS Main conduit subjunction T84; Computer power relay fault 30 through 34; Airlock compartment 12 deck 18 leak detected. So, the warp core is about to fall out the bottom of the ship, the computer's power feed is probably melted and laying in a puddle, and the main plasma feet to the port nacelle has a crack in it? And nobody from the station could fix these things? Who wants to go first?! Tucker / Perez / Quinn / Any: Response Kammus stood wide eyed listening to the excuses, but he was most upset with the station facility staff just being lazy. Once again, they did things by the book, and Kammus wanted to write his own book. Corelli: Well, this is not the morning meetings, so I won't call you to attention. But understand this, we need to get these problems solved. I'm sure your faulty isolinear processor in replicator four thousand isn't really going to affect the running of the ship. I know someone that outranks you told you it needed to be solved immediately. But, and just follow me on this, don't you think - I could be wrong - that the warp core falling out the bottom of the ship is maybe just slightly perhaps more important on the level of things that need to be solved immediately than a non-working replicator? He blinked slowly as those last few words trickled out slowly. It took a moment for his speech to sink in. Tucker / Perez / Quinn / Any: Response Corelli: Fine. Ensign Tucker? Lovely to officially meet you. Would you like to put on your cold weather gear and help me fix that airlock? Quinn, yes? Great. Can you, possibly, please, find it in your heart to fix the computer's power systems? Yes? No? Finally, staff from DS33, fix the EPS conduit. That should have been done first. Thoughts? Tucker / Perez / Quinn / Any: Response TAGS / TBC _____________________________________________ LT. Kammus Corelli Chief Engineer - USS RONIN Writer ID: T239807KC3

welcome to the fleet!

It's always fascinating to meet a sim of a species seldom seen on screen/in sim, and I think @LuxaLorana nails it with Briza-Kar. It's a short sim but we already see a lot of his personality and it makes me want to know MORE about him. Keep showing us more of the ginger giant! ((Deck 11, Briefing Room, Security Complex, USS Ronin)) There was a lot to be said in silence. Briza-Kar leaned against the back wall, looking towards the new Chief. He was an individual of little words, spending a lifetime around alien species and other sapients who either judged him or misunderstood him. He was several heads taller than most, and as wide as most of the doors. His large Kzinti frame dominated most rooms, even if he himself would rather disappear. His fur a burning orange, and eyes a bright shining green. He was aware that he resembled the stuff of nightmares to most. He was relieved to see Carpenter, if not a little surprised to see that she'd be the chief if not only tactical but security as well. This kid had made good. They had served together when he was given a temporary assignment to marines several years ago. They weren't friends but he had always thought of her as true to what she said and that's enough for him. Carpenter: I wanna start by saying welcome and I appreciate you bein' here. I'm Lieutenant Commander Kirsty Carpenter and I'm yer new Chief of Security and Tactical. I know I don't much look it right now, but that says more about me than it does y'all. An equally polite chuckle, Breeze, as his friends nicknamed him, looked to the young ensigns and enlisted crew. Most of them were fresh out of the academy or some remote test centre somewhere. That explained why they'd be in the Alpha Isles. He wondered how many would transfer out within the first couple of months. Some, believed Starfleet was an easy job compared to the alternatives. In some ways they were right. He had worked just about all of them. Didn't make Starfleet any less dangerous. Carpenter: I'll be meetin' all of ya eventually, but I want you to know that I'm around and I plan to be for the duration. If you got a problem or you need something our Quartermaster can't provide, you just come see me. I don't cop much for passin' the buck, so...I'm here. She cleared her throat, bringing up the map of Olidra on the room's display screen. Carpenter: In the meantime, our first op. The Olidra System. Brass thinks the Sheliak are usin' the system as an illegal stockpile grounds for...somethin' and Cap Niac intends for us to find out the what and the where. We set out in three days. In those three days, I want a full Tactical and Security Assessment of the system. As well as any and all information we might be able to get ahold of on the ships in and out of Olidra. Holler up at the Science Department if you need to since they got the scopes and the scanners... She leaned forward on the podium. Carpenter: Any questions so far? Breeze only nodded, tipping his head towards Carpenter to indicate he understood. He sensed the nervous energy from the younger team. Briza-Kar: Maybe best to run some simulations :: looking at the new ensigns:: Make sure they know the right end of the rifle? He had a deep voice that seemed to boom through the Briefing Room, a young Bolian ensign jumped, looking back at him with wide pale coloured eyes. Breeze just glared at him. Kenmore/Hopkins/Carpenter: RESPONSE Briza-Kar: ::nods:: Of course, Chief. ((OOC - Just wanted to leave this here, happy to do some sims in the holodeck or whatever or just doing stuff)) Crewman 1st Class Briza-Kar Security USS Ronin A240004LL2 As simmed by: -- Ensign Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2

the horror children you made me made

welcome to the fleet!

Another one of those sims I had delayed putting here! @Tahna Meru is a marvel at writing her character, deep, thoughtful, she is able to go back to details from months ago creating a delightful continuity in the story and a wonderful sense of progression and growth. Watching her develop as a writer and an officer has been a privilege, and I think she's going PLACES. Even more so if she continues to write with @Bryce Tagren-Quinn , a rising star for me too, meticulous and beautifully described. These two girls have worked a great scene together, give us more of these two together! ((Cyrithra Forest, Palanon)) A quiet hush fell over the campsite as the Admiral and First Officer took the makeshift stage. Reynolds: Midnight approaches, so if I can steal your attention for a short while before we ring in the new year. Neathler: Don’t worry, there will still be plenty of drinks after we’re done. Reynolds: Those of you who’ve been with the Gorkon for a while know I like to start my presentations with one of the hardest ribbons to receive… Ribbons, medals, and promotions were passed around to the gathered officers, accompanied by words of praise for their actions. Meru always found awards ceremonies awkward, no matter how they were dressed up (or, in this case, dressed down). She understood them; it was important to recognize the work of the crew, and the ribbons could be encouraging reminders of what you’d done and survived. But it was kind of like getting a souvenir from the trauma gift shop. She cheered anyway, for her friends and comrades, because strange as the whole thing was, they earned this celebration. Ena’s award brought a particular swell of pride, though the younger Bajoran wasn’t there to receive it, and Meru made a mental note to congratulate her friend as soon as the night was over. A lightshow lit up the sky as the presentation drew to a close, marking midnight and the changing of the year. “Happy 2400” blazed across the night, accompanied by the joyous cheers of her shipmates, and she raised her nearly-empty cider in a toast, as she saw others doing. Loxley slipped away in the aftermath, probably going after the fresh desserts, and Meru turned back to Bryce. Tagren-Quinn: I suppose—I guess there’s no question if it’s Binch or Finch now. He smirked, teasing, and Meru made a face of awkward discomfort that further scrunched up her nose, before giggling. Tahna: Guess not. Tagren-Quinn: Have–have you heard of a New Year’s resolution? Do Bajorans have a tradition something like that? She shook her head. Tahna: No, I don’t think so. I’m not super familiar with the tradition—it’s a Human thing, right? Tagren-Quinn: On Earth, some will commit to goals like weight loss or being more devout in their religions. A personal goal, a behavioral adjustment deemed important enough to focus on, to improve upon. It’s not something that I’ve historically done but I think—I think this year, it should change. He seemed conflicted, almost pained. After a moment’s pause, the expression faded, turning to sturdy resolve. The light from the campfire made his eyes look that familiar, bright, youthful green once more. Tagren-Quinn: Never been good about opening up with folks and that’s worked against me. For a time, I felt much like my El-Aurian ancestors, though—aimlessly drifting, nomadic, not really belonging anywhere—but after tonight… I am—thankful for the community here, gathered around this camp, and for your friendship. I am not sure how that really rolls into a resolution but it’s a thought I just now had. Meru nodded. It was a rare moment of openness, and she wasn’t quite sure how to react. No witty remarks sprung to mind, all the encouragement she could offer seemed shallow compared to the genuine honesty he’d just expressed. So she smiled, and nodded, and before she could think of something appropriate to say he continued. Tagren-Quinn: Any–anyway, the mug’s getting a little empty and that cider's calling. Can never have just one mug. What do you say? Another trip to the tables, maybe congratulate some of our comrades along the way? She smiled, grateful to bring some levity back to the conversation—and regretful. She wasn’t the best at handling big emotions like this, she never had been. Just because it was easier to switch to something lighter didn’t mean that was the right solution, and at some point compartmentalizing could turn into flat-out ignoring. Tahna: Yes, we can’t let the cider run out! That would be a tragedy. Congratulations to you, by the way. First Contact is big! Tagren-Quinn: Response Her free hand fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve as they walked back toward the tables, and her mind drifted back to the idea of resolutions. Tahna: We don’t have New Years resolutions, but I guess it’s kind of like a renewal scroll. Tagren-Quinn: Response Tahna: Yeah, I mean, it’s a completely different holiday, but it’s the same idea. You’re burning your past problems, making yourself and the world a better place in the days ahead. And they did have a campfire, though it was entirely the wrong holiday and culture. She could imagine throwing her troubles onto the fire, walking into the new century a better woman. There was no reason, beyond the calendar, that you couldn’t toss your problems on a fire multiple times a year if it made you feel better. Tagren-Quinn: Response Tahna: For my New Years renewal scroll… She cracked a grin at the newly hybridized tradition, though it faded as she considered. There were plenty of things she regretted about the past year, and most came from a place of defensiveness and fear of getting hurt. She wasn’t sure she was ready to share that tonight, but…he’d been honest, hadn’t he? Risked vulnerability? So it was only fair. Meru took a deep breath before continuing, her eyes fixed on the tables ahead. Tahna: I tend to avoid things just because they might end badly. Like– like my mom. We haven’t spoken in… ::She stifled the urge to end there and change the subject.:: We don’t see eye to eye, or get along, but I wish we could try to. I’ve just been too scared to even begin fixing that relationship. So, I’d burn that unnecessary defensiveness. She mimed tossing something into the fire, and laughed lightly to break the tension. Tagren-Quinn/Any: Response

These last few weeks have been a bit of a mess and I haven't been able to upload as many sims here as I wanted to, but this one was reserved to post here for a good reason. Firstly, it's @Jo Marshall 's delightful prose, as always, gorgeous, deep and beautiful. Secondly, the wonderful way in which the dialogue fits @Quinn Reynolds 's characters, seamlessly. Simming goals. ((Cyrithra Forest, Palanon)) Across the campsite from them, past the rows of delightful lantern-lit cabins already warm for the night ahead, Jo caught sight of Alieth and their newest transfers, Finch and T'Lar, chatting the evening away. That's what they'd always used those evenings for. Getting to know the crew, getting to know one another. Talk, drink, eat, and celebrate together in the eventuality that one day, one of them might not be there to see it. Ever aware, her blue eyes combed over the campsite. Marshall: You'd think, doing what we do, he'd want to be a Marine Biologist on Deluvia IV, instead. At least the weather would be better for most of the year. Reynolds: He did want to be a marine biologist, for a little while. After the Eagle crashed, he was fascinated with the oceans and sea life for a long while. Brunsig: I remember the lectures. Trying to catch up on PADDwork and suddenly a hand-drawn picture of a Bolian sugarshark in front of your eyeballs. ::A hint, only a hint, of a smile creased the corners of his blue eyes as he looked toward Jo.:: Live in the equatorial seas of Bolarus, entirely vegetarian, and feed on sweetkelp—in case you were wondering. Marshall: That's the life. ::Her smile twitched at the edges of her lips as she folded her arms, sealing in the warmth.:: I remember his sugarsharks. Still got one in the Operations office on the hall of doodle fame. Has it really been that long? He was knee-high to a grasshopper last week. Coming on board the ship felt simultaneously like a glacial age and a week ago, when Dylan had run around the ship with the energetic exuberance of his young age, when the lithe Fleet Captain of the Gorkon had seen them all safely back home to their actual reality. He'd grown so quickly, and with such an old head on his shoulders, it felt like a Q had erased the years between. He could ride on his own now, she didn't need to show him as much anymore, and aside from small course corrections, he'd soon be speeding on his own bike. Reynolds: I suppose I’d fret whatever he’s doing. ::She exhaled through a rueful sigh.:: In the end, it just comes down to what you’re worrying about, rather than whether you are. Marshall: He's a smart kid. The only one I know that can run rings around you when it comes to dismantling a replicator at speed. ::She tongued her cheek as a small idea bloomed in blue.:: We should make that a challenge. Line you up in the Cargo Bay and time it. A daft idea, presented for the amusement of her friend, whose worry lines would one day represent a relief map of Bajor riverbeds. Stretching her boots out in front of her, Jo crossed them over, feeling the thickness of the socks inside, the woolly scratch on her skin and the delight in just… being outside in the natural world again. Flanked by trees on all sides, breathing in their expelled oxygen, feeling the stress slip away from her brain stem. Retiring to a quiet colony seemed like a good idea. Somewhere they could go on hikes, cultivate a garden, read and relax and do not much else. Reynolds: Anyway. Walter and I were talking; he thinks we should organise a reunion for everyone who was on the Gorkon during our time Over There. Brunsig: Dominion War vets do it all the time. ::He sipped from his brandy flask, and held it out to Jo once more.:: Gives people permission to talk about what happened, pay their respects to the dead, reminisce about the non-soul-crushing moments, eat vast amounts of cake, gently weep in each other’s arms, yadda yadda. Marshall: It's those yadda yadda moments that really give it the flavour. Taking the proffered hipflask, Jo knocked back a swig from it with all the burning sensation to go with it. Strong wasn't the word; smooth was probably nearer, with a post-swallow sensation of liquid lava. Knowing better than to offer it in the semi-circle she would if Erin were with them, Jo passed the flask back to Walter and nodded, approvingly. Marshall: I like the idea of it, though. ::Her mouth mulled around the thought.:: Tell me more. And as the party continued, the celebrations winding into the evening, the three friends sat, drink, and talked about a future that seemed perpetually on the horizon, just waiting for them to explore it. fin -- Commander Jo Marshall Chief of Operations USS Gorkon, NCC-82293 G239304JM0

Pretty sure i'll never forget this image of @Bryce Tagren-Quinn Thanks for It @Hutch

welcome to the fleet!

I've changed duty post BUT i guess a 180º change to security/tactical could be a really interesting change and see a perspective SUPER different from what i've written so far

The simple little joys of a child (new) life 🥰 I need more of this 3 @Jo Marshall& @Quinn Reynolds ((Personal Quarters, USS Gorkon)) They normally used the squat table with a rich mahogany-style finish and ornately carved legs as a perching post for Lena's boots while she reclined after a hard day's piracy, only this time it was a sight to behold. Scattered upon its surface lay a myriad of half-eaten plates, each one a culinary delight from the far-flung reaches of the galaxy. Savoury stick dishes from Cardassia, spicy-sweet creations from the Klingon Empire, and a few exotic delicacies in bright blues and purples that looked as though they hailed from distant worlds. Each plate had been ruthlessly devoured, leaving only a few scraps and crumbs to tantalise the senses of the unlucky soul who had to clean it up later. Under blankets on the sofa, Bear, Lena and Jiran nestled in the dim light, watching the stars through the large window. Bear, arms wild and full of gestures, belly half composed of kilm steak and menju nuts, leapt into the next story with abandon. O. Marshall: Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, there was a dynamic duo of space pirates, Ollie and Lena. ::He glanced across the boy's dark head of hair to Lena with a grin.:: They were the most notorious and feared pirates in all the land, known for their bravery and cunning. Together, Ollie and Lena set out on their ships, the Swishbuckle II and the Do' joH, into the vast expanse of space, searching for treasure and excitement. Jiran's dinner-plate eyes widened as he clung to the small Cardassian stuffed hound, icing from the most recently demolished ikri bun sticking to his child chops. O. Marshall: They stole treasure from rich merchants, raided enemy ships, and outsmarted their foes at every turn. But their greatest challenge came when they faced off against the evil, ::he emphasised the word with narrowed eyes and a low rumbling stage whisper,:: space pirate Skipper Scurvy, who had been terrorising Captain Lena for years. Unable to keep a straight face, and not inclined to do so even if she could, Lena grinned along. Cosy under the blanket, a stomach full of good food breeding contentment, she leaned conspiratorially toward their young charge. Josett: Captain Lena knew she was going to need help, even more help than the dashing Ollie and his Swishbuckle could provide. There was only one person she could turn to—::she filled the dramatic pause with a flash of a grin toward Bear::—Space Ranger Jiran, and his faithful hound. Recognising his name in the flurry of words, Jiran clutched at the plush stuffed Cardassian animal with delighted glee. Jiran: That's me! O. Marshall: You're da—::course correction,:: gosh darn right it is, kid. Ranger Jiran's hound, a loyal and brave wolf, would do anything to protect Jiran and keep him safe. One day, Ranger Jiran received a distress call from Captain Lena, her ship the Do' joH had crash-landed on a nearby planet! Full of the drama, Bear flew his hand into an invisible planet and blew his hands up and out in a gesture to resemble a fiery explosion, complete with ample sound effects of both the landing and the inevitable crash. Playing along, Lena gasped and threw her hands up in the air, waving them around as though she were falling. Halfway through, arms still above her head, she paused and leaned toward Jiran. Josett: It’s important to note the crash was in no way a reflection of Captain Lena’s piloting skills—which are excellent, by the way—and entirely down to Skipper Scurvy’s dastardly sabotage of her ship. ::She grinned at Jiran and his nonplussed squint.:: Anyway. Resuming her “falling”, she finished her play-acting and slumped back against the sofa, sprawling her arms either side. Josett: Trapped by the crash, all she could do was wait for Space Ranger Jiran to come and rescue her. Which he did, of course, being the hero he is. Bravely bounding through the forests and across the plains, his hound by his side. He arrived, seeing the smoking ship—and spied Skipper Scurvy landing nearby! O. Marshall: He saw Skipper Scurvy and some of his crew disembark from their ship, stomping—::he thumped his boots on the floor in time to his huffs,::—down the ramp with their weapons wielded high. Ranger Jiran and his mighty hound had to save Captain Lena before Skipper Scurvy got to her, and he had to stop Skipper Scurvy! Grabbing the used utensil from the table, still covered in remnants of cake, Bear brandished it like a weapon, a fierce look in piercing blue and beneath the grizzled blond beard. Jiran jumped, shock and surprise in his Cardassian ridges as he felt for Lena, one hand curling around her shirt. She grinned, covering his hand with hers, and leaned her shoulder toward him in solidarity. O. Marshall: Grasping his mighty fork of doom, he and his hound stormed toward the pirate's ship. They were too smart for Skipper Scurvy's crew, using their cunning and quick reflexes to outmanoeuvre everyone on board. With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, Lena leaned down and whispered in Jiran’s ear, simultaneously slipping the fork out of her husband’s hand. The youngster looked up at her wide-eyed, and she nodded, her grin wide. After a second of hesitation, the boy launched himself at the blonde with a roar, plush hound savaging Bear’s throat with a soft and downy tickle of fur. Josett: Get him, Ranger Jiran! O. Marshall: ARRRGHHHGHHGH! Attacked and not resisting it, Bear caught the boy as he leapt forward, the toy mercilessly ravaging blond stubble and human Adam's apple. Kicking his legs, Jiran laughed through his assault as Bear leaned back on the sofa, accepting his fate with all the drama and convulsing simulated death one might have expected from a Cardassian hound pummelling. O. Marshall: Skipper Scurvy… reaches up with his hand… ::His finger pointed at Jiran, eyes wild.:: "You have bested me for now, but I will have my revenge, Ranger Jiran!" Hooting with laughter, Lena slid off the couch. Crouching, she scooped Jiran up from his fallen foe and established him on her shoulders. With one hand looped behind to hold her charge secure, she planted a victorious fist on Bear’s chest and grinned at her husband. Josett: With Skipper Scurvy defeated, Space Ranger Jiran and Captain Lena repaired her ship. They lifted off—::she jumped upright, causing a waterfall of giggles from the young boy::—and jetted off into the stars, searching for a new adventure! Making unashamed engine sounds, Lena wove her way around the room, threading between furniture, Jiran cackling and whooshing on her shoulders. Bear leaned back to watch as the two scoundrels raced around their small quarters, laying waste to anything not nailed down. Fearless in their theatrics and undaunted in their performance. After recent events, seeing Lena's joy return, if only a flicker of it, shot him with a deadeye to the chest, entranced by the smile overtaking his wife's features and their two-year-old charge bringing it about. It didn't take long until he was up and chasing after them again. A night of play just the medicine it seemed they needed. fin – Lt. Commander Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

When you have a small baby you do what you need to do. Unnofficially, Llaira is Alieth's fav Romulan now, since she has a good taste in books @Jo Marshall ((Personal Quarters, USS Gorkon)) Chris yawned into the crook of his elbow as he carried Llaira back and forth, back and forth, through the living room. Despite her small stature, being that of a baby touching five months with a slender arm and dainty feet, their beautiful perfect creation sat heavily in his arm. Like her mother, her Romulan side had strong muscles, and at present Llaira used those muscles to move her head around, looking at everything and anything she could. And crying. Loudly. C. Sienelis: Hey, hey, come on now. Papa's got you. ::He bounced her up and down as she wriggled in his arms.:: Космос, космос, что за звезды? Они светят там, в небе высоко1. Of course, singing to her in Russian was the best way to get a child to calm down; the lyrical language was poetic and beautiful to the soul. Llaira, however, was not in any mood to be sung at, played with, coddled, cuddled, cradled, or set down for the nap she desperately needed and entirely refused to have any part in. No amount of brightly coloured and pleasantly textured toys could soothe her. Wandering his hand through his chestnut hair, Chris yawned again through the next chorus of the nursery rhyme. C. Sienelis: Мы летаем в космическом костюме, И все это так круто2. A complex array of vocal sounds emanated from their daughter at a rate of a sonic boom as Llaira dug her feet into her father's ribs and pushed. He caught her as she headed for the sofa and dropped them both down onto it with a soft whump of material. Llaira rolled away, grasping at her feet as she continued her warble; less of a cry and more of a protest. Of being awake, of being alive, Chris couldn't say. Bereft of options, he leaned forward and picked up the PADD from the coffee table. It was still on, the little green light shining unobtrusively, and he swiped up on the screen to see what Valesha had been reading that morning before her duty shift. C. Sienelis: "It was not logical for her to feel such strong emotions towards him, yet her heart could not be swayed. Despite their differences in upbringing and values, she found herself inexplicably drawn to him." He looked to Llaira, who looked back up at him with her big, hazel-green eyes, the wailing ceasing almost instantaneously. Flipping through a page, he found the title "Vulcan Fever" emblazoned back at him, with a tantalizing description. C. Sienelis: "As they try to find a balance between their opposing worlds and desires, T'Pria and Janus discover that love knows no boundaries and that the greatest challenge to their relationship may be the judgment of their own society. Can their love survive the trials of logic and tradition, or will it succumb to the pressures of the universe?" Cocking an eyebrow at his daughter, Chris tested his internal hypothesis again and continued reading aloud another passage. C. Sienelis: "He challenged her to look beyond the confines of pure reason and embrace the chaos and beauty of love. She knew then that she was powerless to resist the allure of his captivating presence." No crying emerged from their beautiful daughter, only captivated interest as she kicked her feet out at the back of the sofa, her delicately pointed ears twitching at the tips. C. Sienelis: Oh, it's like that, is it? This is how Mama gets you to sleep? Her bright smile shot him like a phaser to the heart. A direct hit. Shields rendered inert. He grinned back and picked her up, lying the both of them down on the sofa with Llaira nestled on his chest. Tiny baby hands gripped like claws into his green t-shirt. C. Sienelis: Alright then, where were we? ::He squinted at the PADD as the computer lowered the lights.:: "She knew that he was her rock, her foundation, and the only being who truly understood her. She had always admired his sense of wonder and duty, but now she yearned to see the passion and desire that she knew to lie beneath the surface." He continued to read through the novel passages in his whisper-soft voice, a gentle rumble in his chest. Each time he paused he listened to Llaira's breathing; the butterfly flutter of air escaping from tiny nostrils. Time passed as he read, several pages absorbed and taken in, lessons about Vulcan logic compounding with so much inner conflict. C. Sienelis: "...And she said, 'Logic may dictate that emotions are a weakness, but I have found that when it comes to love, reason alone is not enough. The heart wants what it wants, regardless of what the mind tells it.'" Chris paused, his thoughts crossing to Vorin, and a palpable sadness gripped him by the throat. Was his friend this conflicted all along? Why hadn't he spoken to him about it? Were all Vulcans brought up like that? Soft sounds of the snoozing baby brought near-instant relief. Llaira cooed to herself as she fell into her dreams, snuggling down into her father's chest, little hands catching and releasing his shirt with each breath she took. Picking up the PADD, Chris continued his reading. C. Sienelis: "He reached out to her, knowing that their passion would ignite the flames of desire within them both. She felt herself melting into his embrace, tracing the lines of his angular features with her fingers. 'Live long and prosper, my love,' she whispered, as she pulled him close and surrendered to their bond." ::Dark eyebrows lifted as he read the next passage in his head.:: And that's the end of Story Time with Papa. Gingerly, he placed the PADD down on the coffee table, trying his best not to move from his horizontal position and nestled back down into the sofa, his hand resting lazily on Llaira's back. He kissed the crown of her head, filling his lungs with the scent of baby-soft hair, and closed his eyes. C. Sienelis: Think Mama will notice if I start speaking to her in "Vulcan Fever" quotes? In response, Llaira blew a raspberry from her lips. 1 Russian: Space, space, what are the stars? They shine there, in the sky high. 2 Russian: We fly in a space suit, and it's all so cool. -- PO First-Class Christopher Sienelis Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

I always adore when people introduce scenes by catching the characters in the middle of something, as if we're looking through a little window and suddenly discover them in the middle of their chores. Also, I've always been a fan of missions that have long-term effects, that what happens, the events and the people that weave themselves into the tapestry of our characters have lasting repercussions and we are able to explore what comes out of it. This is a prime example of this, by the hands of @Quinn Reynolds , which is always a source of admiration and a standard to be achieved. Besides, why deny it, I've always liked Lena. Great work Vice Admiral! ((Intelligence Suite, USS Gorkon)) There were no windows in the intelligence suite, but that had never bothered Lena. She’d lived on starships for longer than she hadn’t, none as luxurious or thoughtfully designed as Starfleet vessels. Going about her days without a sign of the outside was as normal to her as wearing socks. And what was there to see anyway, other than distant stars and looming planets? Balls of flaming gas and hunks of rock were not what interested the former pirate. And certainly not today. In the suite’s modest conference room, Lena stood opposite the large screen on the wall, her rump resting on the edge of the table. A middle-aged Tyrellian man looked back at her, the lights in his office catching the rainbow of markings underneath his skin. Pictures around his office marked him out as a family man, and a genuine one at that—the goofy pictures were too candid to be there solely for show. His desk was neat and ordered, an organised man at work, and he had spoken kindly to the colleague who had popped in earlier during their conversation to ask for help. A decent man to handle Jiran’s case, she’d decided. Not least because he tolerated her ongoing barrage of questions and demands for updates with the patience of a Bajoran Vedek. Yasri: We’ve sent his DNA profile to the Cardassian government, to see if he has any family in the Union. Josett: And when they come back and say no one’s going to take him? With a frown, the Tyrellian man inhaled a breath and opened his mouth. But whatever instinct had intended for his first reply, his higher brain tossed it aside. Perhaps he knew, as she did, the chances of an orphan finding a place back in the Union were slim to none. Cardassian families were wont to toss aside the orphans they knew; ones born half a galaxy away to people who’d gone missing nearly twenty-five years ago? Not a hope. Yasri: We’ll offer to find him a foster family here. ::He paused and then exhaled a quiet sigh.:: If there’s one thing we’ve had too much practice at, it’s finding lost and abandoned children a home. We’ll make sure he has a good one, Lieutenant. You have my word. Until then, if you and Commander Marshall need any more help or support with him, let me know. Day or night. Josett: I will. Thanks, Yasri. He nodded and flashed a quick, warm smile at her, and then the channel snapped off with a blink, briefly showing a Tyrellian logo: Their Majesty’s Department of Family Services. Lena drummed her fingers along the underside of the table, lost in her own world as she pondered the toddler’s future. Before she could get into his teenage years, the door chimed. She stood and walked out into the main suite, grateful for the distraction. Oded: =/\= Anyone home? =/\= Josett: =/\= Depends on whether you’ve brought bribes. =/\= Oded: =/\= I’ve been asked to look into what the effect on Senya has been and, well, we can hardly send a shuttle down there to ask them, so… =/\= Redirecting herself toward a console, the hybrid cast an eye over the consoles to ensure no sensitive data was on display. Once satisfied, Lena leaned across and tapped her fingertip on the screen. The door opened, and she waved the other hybrid inside. It had been a while since she last spoke to Lojah; their paths didn’t cross too often aboard ship, especially given Lena dedicated so much time to escaping it. Josett: Not even a raktajino? ::She sighed, melodramatically.:: You need to up your game, Lojah. Surely you don't expect me to help just because it's my job? Oded: Response The hybrid chuckled, and gestured toward one of the larger displays, inviting Lojah toward it. She tapped on the display, and Senya appeared, centred on the screen. A series of orbits encircled it, each with a tiny speck highlighted and marked with an ID. Updating in real time, the satellites whizzed around the moon, information scrolling along either side of the image. Josett: Starfleet’s already got satellites in orbit to keep watch. Some are sensors, others monitor their communications or media. In here—::she idly waved a finger around the intelligence suite::—we’re mostly looking for any sign of space launches. The rest of the data we shunt toward the scientists and first contact specialists. Oded: Response Josett: I don’t think they noticed much. There wasn’t the upswing in comms you’d expect from an emergency response, especially a global one. ::She leaned forward, peering at the data.:: Looks like the algorithms pinged some interesting chatter from their science communities. You want to get one of the blueshirts down here to take a look? Oded: Response Josett: While we wait, you want something to drink? ::She thumbed toward the replicator, taking a first step in that direction.:: I’m in dire need of stimulants. Oded: Response -- Lieutenant Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon simmed by Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

I prefer vulcans raw indeed, pretty please

The same thing happens to me on EVERY shoreleave. I'm so chill, reading my sims and BAM suddenly a huge, multi part JP hits my mailbox from @Quinn Reynolds and @Jo Marshall . And I always say to myself "no no, be careful, you know what happens, it's a tidal wave of feelings with a beautiful bow and you end up so involved in the lives of two PNPCs that you can't stop thinking about them for weeks". And every time, EVERY TIME I reserve a time for myself to read them because I know they are beautiful and special and they illustrate the nuances of the human experience, from the wonderful to the terrible. And once again here I am with a JP of this kind, with a gorgeous exploration of two broken people, with hopes and fears and those cherished moments that want to blossom but feel scary to break because they are so authentic and wonderful all the same. And here I am, spamming DMs frustrated with Petra and wanting Jal to take the first step and both of these Ems just laugh at me, but we all know that both of their characters feel so real that it's impossible not to get involved in their shared stories (and the not shared ones too!). Thanks for this, now I want more of the peacock and the Icelandic girl. Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Welcome (back) to the fleet hope you have a blast around!

@Doz Finch making an STELLAR introduction to the commanding officers here, good job! P.S. Until corrected or till she reads your file, Alieth will continue to use that name 😜 ((Outside Admiral Reynold’s Ready Room, The Bridge, USS Gorkon)) Doz Finch, a pleasure, Admiral. No… Doreen, but you can call me Doz. Too informal… Ensign Finch, in the flesh, or what’s left of it after what you just put me through. HA! It was always a funny thing, meeting a commanding officer for the first time. Even funnier when that commanding officer was accompanied by their first officer. But the word funnier had different connotations for everyone. In Finch’s case, it was funny because she wouldn't dare admit that it was nerve-wracking, not at her age. She had spoken to Commanding and First Officers before - and after all, they weren’t aliens. Correction, they were aliens, but not in the…well…alien sense. In most cases, Finch had stayed on the lower decks, working closely with the enlisted chiefs, and the most common denominator: the Chief of Engineering. So aside from rare occasions when the environmental controls malfunctioned in a corridor, or a turbolift threatened to turbo-lift-itself into oblivion, instances where she came into close contact with the command team were far fewer than those instances shared by the officers. She had to admit though that this may partly have been because of her own disinterest in being up there. In the comfort of the basement decks, she and her mechanical comrades enjoyed a simpler life; a game of chess in jefferies tube six, tea and biccies in the back of the impulse engine room, even a game of Tellarite racquetball in dustier and less used cargo bays, when the Chief Petty Officer had his back turned. Ha! Those were the days. Though even in those pockets of paradise, safety and duty were never compromised, and everything would always be dropped at the call of a combadge or alarm; and they never complained, especially Finch. She was a hard-worker, thank you very much. With a hyperspanner in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other, it was the life. But everything changed on the USS Marigold. The intrepid class starship, and the last place she would ever talk to Bob Murphy again. Her closest friend and confidante. The one man she’d have given her own life for. The reason she commissioned. The reason everything changed, so late in her life. As Finch reminisced, her face gawped back at her in the distorted reflection of a bannister. She instantly recoiled, and crossed her eyes to try and get a better look, licking her thumb to rub it and make the view clearer. Her silvery, choppy hair looked like artificial spray-painted grass, and her face even worse; a rosy-cheeked Pelian with dehydrated raisin eyes. It was horrible to look at. And that’s all she did for the next three minutes. Stare and scrutinise in disbelief. Then the door to the ready room miraculously opened with a whoosh, revealing Admiral Quinn Reynolds and Lieutenant Commander Samira Neathler. Drats. ((Admiral Reynold’s Ready Room, USS Gorkon)) Finch: ::she proffered a wide smile:: Admiral Reynolds, Commander Neathler. ::she stepped inside:: I’m Ensign Doreen Finch, but please call me Doz, won’t you. It really is a pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances. Reynolds/Neathler: Response Finch: Well, anything’s better than what Commander Alieth’s been calling me. Ensign Binch. Not the foggiest idea where she got that from. Reynolds/Neathler: Response Finch: Thank you, Admiral. ::she said, taking a seat, looking around the room at Quinn’s subtle personal touches:: Reynolds/Neathler: Response Finch: Settling in well, Commander. But I have to tell you, I haven't met the Chief of Engineering yet, though I'd imagine that they're swamped after all that chaos on roadrunner rock. Reynolds/Neathler: Response Finch, though rather small in her chair, sat upright like a person much taller. Her face was crunched in focus, so much so that every possible line on her face had come towards the surface, almost like looking at the inner rings of an old tree, that each told a story about every ship she had served on, every person she had met, every win, every loss, every everything. A confidence that veiled the fact that, only moments before, she hadn’t even settled on how to introduce herself. Finch: Roadrunner rock. That’s what I’ve called the planet, in my head. I find, ::she said, emphasising her words:: that giving something a nickname really lessens the severity of a thing. Something a friend once told me. Reynolds/Neathler: Response -- Ensign Doz Finch USS Gorkon Engineer C239809SH3

Kyrl is such a character @Vylaa 😂

welcome to the fleet! have the best time around

I'll speak with a single image, like the heathen I am