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Posts posted by Wes Greaves
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11 hours ago, Alora DeVeau said:
Now I'm worried.
I'm so glad someone dropped this quote in. I read it on my phone and didn't wan't to try and mess with formatting like that.
Worth quoting simply for the awesome reference!- 2
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Congrats to both of you two. Excellent writing this week! I hope you had a good time! Looking forward to bumping into you in the fleet!
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Huzah! I hope you enjoyed your academy class! Looking forward to seeing you out in fleet!
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Agreed! I love the flavor you added to Peri's little coffee drake!
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Nearly spit out my coffee. Did not see this coming.
QuoteRichards: It looks like Christmas has come early.
The Vulcan was forced to suppress a sigh, familiar as she was with Earth Christmas traditions.
Alieth: Ensign, what did I say about remarks about elves??
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Man, @Geoffrey Teller you're just too good at weaving in excellent one liners.
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Way to go! Hope you had plenty of fun during the class! Looking forward to seeing you out in the fleet!
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The water was calm, its gentle waves lapping softly against the shore. Even the sky overhead contributed to the calm of the place. A secluded little lake tucked away in the mountains. Tall trees stood like sentinels around the water, reaching nearly to the shore. Aspen and pine alike reached up and painted the horizon in hues of greens beneath a blue sky. The dark wood of a small log cabin peaked out from the treeline before a thin wooden dock, a single figure sitting alone at the end.
Wes Greaves relaxed in a cheap folding chair, fishing line in the water, and a cool drink in hand. It was a warm day at his little hideaway, and he let out a deep breath. A breath he felt like he'd been holding for months. He'd needed this break from real life. A break from the doctors, from the counselors, and from Starfleet. They thought he was crazy; he knew it. No one believed him, but it didn't matter.
Wes heard it before he felt it. His breath caught in his throat as a deep chill ran the entire length of his spine. The sort of chill that comes from deep fear and unspeakable terror. The sound was rushing through the trees behind him. The subtle rustling of leaves in a thick forest. A warm wind blew past the man and ruffled his short hair.
The Marine turned his thoughts inward, just like the counselors had taught him. He'd always loved the wind; after all, he'd grown up sailing where the wind was his lifeblood. He tried to focus on that, but failed. After Telstrus III, that love had turned into something else. Something dark and foreboding.
That mission had started like any other—a mystery that needed solving, a starship and crew nearby eager to solve it. Wes had even led the away team himself. Six young men and women, including himself. Just the sensation of the breeze took him right back to that terrible day...
The surface was cool and rocky, with wide-open plains to the north and quickly steepening mountains to the south. They'd materialized at the base of a rocky cliff and immediately had set about their scans. He took stock of his small team, each a fine young officer. In no time at all they were spread out in a search pattern looking for the strange life sign that was the source of the mystery. A smile crossed his face at the team's proficiency, and Wes did his best to help their science officer with his scans.
An hour into the mission was when he’d first begun to realize something was amiss. The ship wasn’t answering any check in calls. Their communicators still worked, but the guardian angel in orbit wasn't responding. Nothing on the tricorder that could determine why. That was about the time Wes heard it for the first time. A light breeze, nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact it was the first indication of wind he'd experienced since they'd beamed in. Ever so faintly, hidden in the sound of the breeze, Wes could make out a whisper. It was a scratchy voice, dry and worn with age, but he couldn't make out the words.
The Marine rallied his team and began searching in the direction the wind to no avail. No one else had even heard the voice, but with each new breeze came another whisper, just barely audible. They searched for another hour, and the wind grew stronger by the minute. No one would say anything, but Wes could tell they all heard it. The wind would roll in, someone would look surprised, searching for the source of a sound, but when he would ask about it, the officer would simply wave him off and say it was nothing.
The day dragged on, each new search pattern resulting in more questions with no answers in sight. By the time the sun was beginning to set Wes was getting concerned. Surly, the ship would send a relief team or a shuttle to extract them. He’d only planned on being down there for a few hours. As the horizon darkened Wes finally made the decision to seek shelter near the rock face. In minutes the team found a small alcove that allowed a respite from the still-growing wind. He could still hear the hint of the whisper in that breeze, but now the man was sure he wasn't the only one.
The eagerness of the small team had been replaced with something darker. They all looked at each other with narrow eyes and suspicious glances. As the evening faded away into blackness they turned in for the night. One by one, each person found a comfortable position and curled up to sleep. For what seemed like hours Wes laid awake, trying to fight for rest while inaudible whispers in the wind kept his mind spinning. He was nearly asleep when the wind changed direction and whipped into the alcove.
"They're killers…"
This whisper was stronger. The dry raspy voice spoke as if directly into his ear. Wes snapped up and looked around in the dark, his hand reflexively reaching for a phaser. No one was there. Not even his team. He was alone with the wind.
"Hello? Who's there?" the Marine called out.
"You won't survive the night… They'll find you…"
With a flourish Wes was on his feet, phaser in one hand, tricorder in the other. For a moment, the wind died down, and the voice relented, but Wes couldn't detect anything with the device. He took a hesitant step out of the alcove and scanned in an arc for the rest of his team.
"You can't run from them…"
A shiver ran down the Marine's back as the wind and the whisper seemed to whip around him. There was no explanation for it all. His tricorder detected no life signs, not even his own team. The Marine tried his communicator again, but there was no response. The darkness of the planet seemed to consume him. Wes could see no more than ten feet in front of himself, and the wind dominated his senses. With as much gusto as he could muster, he called out and challenged the wind.
"I'm Captain Wes Greaves of the United Federation of Planets; identify yourself!"
The wind, already blasting and strong, seemed to snap at his clothes in response. A whirlwind of dust spun around him, and with it a raspy cackle.
"Find them first. Before they find you…"
He snapped his tricorder shut in frustration and the spinning, cackling wind blew around him again. Without hesitation, Wes pushed forward, directly into the gust. It was like walking through water. Every motion took extra effort. Every move was resisted by the howling wind. He wasn't sure how long he marched through the dark, but when he finally stopped he wished that he hadn’t.
Wes found the first two bodies together.
Their security and science officers lay on the ground no more than a few feet apart. The distinct dark color beneath their bodies was a muddy, gore-soaked, mess. The sight of a blood-stained rock and the crushed skull of one turned Wes's stomach. Deep bite marks in the other's neck spoke to clear causes of death. For a time, Wes tried to talk himself out of the obvious, but he came to no other conclusion. They'd killed each other. The bloody rock still lay at the feet of their security officer, and the blood soaked mouth of the science officer was testament to their final actions.
"They found each other at the same time…" whispered the wind.
"Who are you!" the Marine cried out in anger, and the swirling wind laughed at him in response.
"Find them first. Before they find you…"
Again he trudged along, searching for the rest. One by one, he came across each of his team members. Their doctor, stabbed to death. Another science officer strangled, the bruises on her neck evident, even in the dark. Each time the wind had laughed in its dry, evil, whisper of a voice. Each time it had told him to find the others first. Each time he'd marched deeper into the night. Until the last one.
Wes's tricorder beeped with a lifesign ahead, and even as his spirits lifted, the wind laughed at him again.
"They found you first..."
Before he could react, a giant rock whistled past his head, narrowly missing him. The Marine spun to find their chief of security standing near a boulder, reaching for another rock to throw. The look in the woman's eyes was crazed, and she cackled with delight as another rock was hurled, this one hitting Wes in the left arm with a sickly crack as his forearm broke. A burst of adrenaline carried him through the pain and the man dove for cover, drawing a phaser in response.
"Dianna, what the hell are you doing?" he shouted.
"I’ll get you first! Just like the rest of them!” came the woman’s chilling reply. The wind snapped and swirled and laughed as another rock narrowly missed Wes’s head.
“Stop! It’s me, Wes!” he screamed across the now roaring gale. His words were stolen by the wind and the man watched in horror as the chief of security drew a long slender piece of metal and charged him.
A bright beam of light crossed the distance between the two in a split second, illuminating the ground in a bath of orange hues. When darkness once again engulfed them, it was quiet. The gale stopped, and the plains were deadly silent.
Rushing to the fallen woman, Wes scanned her. Not believing the tricorder he reached trembling hands to the woman’s neck. Her pulse was gone.
It didn’t make sense. None of it did. His phaser was on stun, he triple checked the setting.
“Is this what you wanted?” he shouted up to the sky. “Show yourself, whatever you are!”
Despite his pleas, there was no response. No wind. Not even a gentle breeze to answer. Just the cool hum and the faint blue shimmer of a transporter beam taking hold and whisking the Marine off to saftey.
The XO told him he’d only been on the surface for an hour. They said that there was no evidence of strong winds on the surface, let alone a gale. The ship’s captain was adamant that they’d beamed him back as soon as they had realized that communications weren't working.
For months, he’d undergone tests. The doctors couldn’t find a thing wrong with his head. The counselors did the best to reconcile his memories and feelings. It was all chaulked up to stress induced hallucinations. No one believed his story. No one believed that the wind spoke to them. That it told them to kill. The only thing they all could agree on was that Wes Greaves was the only survivor of Telstrus III.
The gentle warm breeze ruffled his hair again and Wes stood from the chair on the dock. The faint sound of whistling wind through the trees terrified him. Not bothering to reel in his line, the man left the fishing pole and retreated into the cabin. Away from the wind. Away from its insidious whisper.
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I was rereading this JP this morning while updating the Thor's mission summary, and man, this is just so elegantly written. I LOVE the sheer amount of lore and build up that is done in this two parter. @Alieth and @Brutus did such and amazing job with developing the kingdom of Calabrum in such few words. The stink of @Geoffrey Teller is all over this thing too.
And that ending... I missed it the first time around, but way to tie everything back to the Thor at the end.
I consistently stand in awe at the writers around me. Bravo you two.
Quote((The Seat of Queens, Calabrum))Far Below the Sundered Mountain there were dark places no man or beast would dare to tread. Within them, something which had long slumbered was awakening, or so the people of the land did fear. It shook their homes with dread tremors, toppling farms and terrifying livestock. Rivers briefly reversed their course and acrid fumes belched forth from the peak, a certain and grim omen of coming destruction. Rumor in the lowlands was flying, with panic’d people flocking towards the imagined safety of the castle walls in numbers too great for them to accommodate. Camps had formed along the outer walls where the terrified huddled under the stone easements, desperate for a protection that did not exist. When the rumbling came again and the tricolored flags of Calabrum snapped and fluttered without a breeze, the people cried out. From her throne, the famed Seat of Queens, Arta du Pendragon could hear their cries clearly, as she had for weeks now.She had dispatched her finest and bravest knights from the Crimson order and had been in deep consultation with the Azure order of wizards, but no solution or even cause had yet been found for the calamity. All that was known was the sky had darkened, and the quakes had grown stronger, and the fumes were poisoning the land.
As she had so often in the last few days, Arta rose to her feet and let her footsteps sweep around the circular chamber, from the high podium to the large rectangular windows that overlooked half the courtyard. There, laid the seats of the Cox and the Navigator, the crimson knights that faced towards the people, not to the royal throne.
She herself had been the Navigator Knight many years ago, before she was elected to the Throne, but still, her gaze had never strayed from that window. Looking at her fellow townsfolk, not at the centre of power in the kingdom.
Now they suffered, and she was unable to distance the kingdom from that which threatened their lives. Their options were dwindling and the days slipped through her fingers, leading them all on a course leading to disaster.
She had to do something. Soon.
Behind her, the broad red wooden doors swung wide open, ushering in a peculiar figure, a remnant from the time of legends, a man with elven blood and the wisdom that only centuries and magic could bestow.
du Pendragon: Velik, I longed for your presence, and for your guidance.
He was old. Old in a way that none else in the Order of Crimson Knights could claim, nor even the Azure Wizards, among whom he had first taught, many moons before. Age bore upon his brow, and yet, the shaggy eyebrows still swept up, in a fashion no other in the Kingdom could readly claim. Coming to a stop, he reached up, and eased the hood back, long, white hair cascading down to his shoulders. One of the wizened brows arched up his forehead, and the ghost of a smile flickered across his craggy face.
Velik: As I have often stated in the past, it is unwise to ...trouble the wise. You have called. I have come.
She let a faint smile light up her features, though it never reached her eyes.
du Pendragon: You have seen the signs, the great harm that looms over our people. I have consulted the Order of Azure, the wizards and the alchemists for its nature, but they have offered me only riddles and prescriptions and no answers. I have sent Crimson Knights and none have returned to tell us the result of their enquiries. What would you do, O wise one, to fight the evil that lurks our kinsmen?
Velik: (Looking out the square window) There is naught that we can do with ease. I no longer possess the ...magics needed to quell such phenomenon. The path before you is treacherous. Hope, yes, there is hope, but it is faint. ::He stilled, becoming as unmoving as the stations of stone surrounding them.:: A call to the stars.
du Pendragon: Those are just old wives' tales, fairy tales, fables and myths. I’ve people scared and dying, old man. I need solutions.
A scowl crossed his face and he gave a snort. For a moment he looked over his shoulder, and gave a terse nod.
Velik: Yes indeed. Petulant though she may be, she is right. They are dying. :: He faced her again.:: Do not think I suggest it lightly, child. They may not answer. They did not in the past. But many years have passed. Perhaps...perhaps there is something there we can leverage. If not help, knowledge.
The words seemed to pain him to suggest, as if some inner turmoil ate at him from within. With pursed lips, he made his way past her, gripping the staff of his station. Rags of golden velour peeked out from the ancient’s robes, bedecked with flowing, elven script, as he moved past her, to stare out at the Kingdom below.
Unconsciously, the Queen raised her hand to the chest and traced the black symbol embroidered on her golden regalia. The symbol of her Royal Rank, her Duty and her Right: a stylized star that pointed to the sky, like the meteor that had fallen from the firmament above and beyond the Outrigger’s Stones.
du Pendragon: To the stars? To the Elders? Peasants pray to them each and every day, and I've never heard them answer, are you suggesting...?
This time she turned to look at him. The aged face hadn't altered one iota, the same aquiline profile, the same elfin ears sticking out amidst the strands of off-white hair. Nothing seemed to have modified his appearance, no more than the usual mad shine in his eyes.
Velik: ‘For when Pandora had opened her box, and seen what she had unleashed upon the world, sickness. Death, and untold horrors, she rushed to close the lid once more. For all the things that mortals lacked, hope alone remained.’
As cryptic an answer as ever, and quoting the old poem seemed to give the Wizard some private sense of satisfaction. His shoulders seemed to bleed off tension in that moment, and he turned his head up to the stars, offering up another parable, one that the Queen would recognize. One that all who went through the trials of KnightHood would understand..
Velik: Ex astris, scientia.::He turned again to face her.:: Did you think it but words to soothe the soul, or aspire to?
he frowned and turned her gaze back to the square window. This time, however, her eyes looked more to the heights than to the skyline of the city rooftops. Beyond the rolling hills and the woodlands, past the dark clouds and the dusky fumes rising from the land, to the sky that wrapped her country and beyond.
du Pendragon: ::muttering::“From the stars, knowledge” ::She chuckled softly.:: I've always thought that this phrase urged us to look forward, to clear away the mystery of legend and focus on seeking the truth of knowledge. To become the best version of ourselves, through wisdom.
Her gaze returned to the wrinkled, eccentric man with elvish features.
du Pendragon: And you suggest that to do so, I should embrace legends of the dark ages. Nevertheless, Master of Sorcery, I have little other choice. If saving our people requires descending into obscurantism and folklore to seek out knowledge, I will do so. Tell me, Wise Man, what shall be the next step?
Velik: Step. Yes, exactly that. She speaks of wisdom beyond her years. ::Only then did he turn his gaze to her.:: To the old grounds. I have not been there in many seasons, and yet, that is where we must go.
Despite her years, her eyes widened in surprise.
du Pendragon: But what about the 'klings? They are not legends, they chased our people for eons before they reached this safe harbour and even today they destroy all who approach the forbidden zone, what good can I do my people if I die and never make it there?
Velik: Do you think I give this council lightly? ::A stern, sharp note folded into his expression, as if the wizened old mage was suddenly somehow more present.:: How many of your predecessors I counciled against the ascent, hmmm? Yet the logic of the moment is undeniable. The needs of the many ::Here he paused, to gesture to the open window, the fields and buildings beyond.:: Out weight the needs of the few. ::He drove a bony finger at her.:: Or the one.
She bit her lip and looked out of the window again. The sun had reached its zenith. Cattle mooed somewhere beyond the parade ground. The air brought the smell of scorched crops and sulphur.
du Pendragon: I shall do so.
With her decision made, a few words to her majordomo set things in motion. Her mount was prepared in the stables by the time she had changed into clothes more befitting the ruins.
((Two Hours Later, Highsun, Among the Outrigger Stones))
As a child she had visited this sacred place, a yearly pilgrimage by the royal court to the original seat of the Kingdom. She played among the strange monolithic plinths, harder than any stone or metal castle forged, with wonder and delight. Now, she came to this place in desperation. The entrance, known only to the royal family, was well disguised behind a rockface but slid aside smoothly when her hand touched the proper glyphs. She had never before stepped inside. To her knowledge, none had since the first Queen, over one hundred and fifty years ago.
She gave a small sigh and let her hand descend to the pommel of her sword. That made her feel more confident, as did the presence of the ancient talismans that had been given to her: the tri-corner and the phalasador, the medallion badge and the messenger. All of them hung around her girdle, ancient as the land itself, chained to her with spells and incantations.
If the Wise Man was right, they would protect her. If not, they would be a burden that would slow down her efforts.
And so, she went into the antique vaults. Strange, ancient magics permeate the ruins, the air seemingly crisp, always moving, the corridors, slightly lit, pulsing with eldritch energies beyond the ken of mere mortal. There were marks on the walls, eerie lights beckoning her on her path, spirits from the past humming in forgotten tongues and guiding her deeper and deeper into the labyrinth towards the red doors of the First Chamber.
The huge doors opened in front of her, once red, now chipped and rusted, immortelle and mossgreen drawing a strange tapestry across their surface. As soon as they did, the Chamber lit up before her, magic buzzing in every wall and surface. The air had a peculiar smell, stagnant and dusty and yet clean, unspoiled, like something that had never been touched by sin.
Arta clenched her jaw and moved towards the centre of the hall, a chamber in whose image and likeness the Seat of Queens had been built. In spite of the centuries, next to the throne, she could still discern the first queen's blood, the blood she had spilled as the ultimate toll that she had paid to save her people from the threat of the 'klings, her ultimate sacrifice.
Arta's pale eyes remained transfixed on that stain, to them more around that familiar yet distinct hall, as her mind pondered on the duty that both real woman and legend shared: save their people.
At last, she slid onto the throne, rested her arms on its sides and her hands laid over the glow of the ancient runes. Slowly, determinedly, her fingers repeated the lines of the incantation she had been taught, the secret knowledge that Velik has taught her.
As she completed it, the ancient ruins seemed to hold their breath, like a lurking animal waiting for a sign to pounce. Only then, she straightened up in the chair and uttered the secret name, the ancient knowledge that had been passed from one queen to another on her deathbed, uninterrupted since the first one.
du Pendragon: Excalibur. I need you.
Suddenly the room sprang to life, of colours and glowing and sounds beyond description. Outside, a beam of octarine light broke through the clouds and streaked beyond the astral spheres, in search of the only thing that could help them.
A Deity.
[[END]]
As simmed by:
Velik
Reluctant High Wizard and General Recluse
Calabrum
T239712JS0
&
Arta du Pendragon, Heart of Gold, first of her name.
Queen of Calabrum
Calabrum
E239702A10
&
Kindred Spirit
Deus ex machina and logistic support
Calabrum
V239509GT0
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I got a good laugh outa this one @Anton Richards
QuoteDe Scheppes: (slight smile) You have better eyes than I do.
Anton took the compliment in “strides”
Richards: It’s in my nature, I’ve always been super observant.
As he said this Anton briefly stumbled, tripping over what he “observed” to be a large rock.- 2
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Ugh. These rock puns will be the death of me.
QuoteGra'vel: That should make accessing the uplink port a little easier, Lieutenant Johnson!
Johnson: Gneiss job, Gra’vel.
And again..,..
QuoteGra'vel: Soil and stone are not an issue, Chief. Gra'vel can clear the way. The danger, especially for all of you, is collapse. All of this is...::Gra'vel struggled to find the right word::...sandy. Loose. Shale. Move the wrong stone and many more will move.
Johnson: Don’t want the Rolling Stones?
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Ouch! Talk about a burn!
QuoteHenderson: Really Snowball? I figured you'd just want to do barrel rolls around the system.Lia's eyes bugged at the mustachioed lieutenant for a moment. Even with the inertial dampeners, did he want them all to lose every little bit of their lunches?
Singh: Please ignore Lt. Henderson, Commander. When he was four someone told him he was clever and he never let it go.- 3
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Welcome! I hope you enjoyed the cadet cruise we have around here! Looking forward to bumping into you out in the fleet!
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@Geoffrey Teller, you're literally KILLING me with these puns.
For context, Gra'vel is a horta. Yes. A sentient tunneling rock creature is named Gra'vel.
QuoteGra'vel: =/\= Gra'vel digs this idea. . .
Cue collective groan.
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Came here to post this and saw you beat me to it. I LOVE the ending! These two writers are simply amazing.
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Now this is how you write an angry doctor! I love the bluntness and harsh vibes you put into this @Alieth. @Addison MacKenzie should be proud.
Quote((Hours after the Odin’s rescue, Main Sickbay, Deck 10, USS Thor))
Usually the chief medical officer would not push a hover stretcher from the operating room to the recovery room but, once again, Alieth did it. It wasn't the first time that day, just as it wasn't the first time she'd carried a patient into that same box.
With measured movements, she placed the gurney next to the biobed and made the transfer from one to another. Carefully, very slowly, to avoid straining her friend's wounds.
When the procedure was complete, she dropped into a nearby chair and sighed. Her red surgical scrubs were riddled with darker stains, red over red, the collar of the garment sweat-darkened, as if she had run a marathon in the sun in the desert.
Maybe worst.
She closed her eyes for a second and let her shoulders slump. Just for a second. A second of respite. A minute to reminisce, to assimilate and to breathe.
Footsteps approached, soft and quiet almost to where she sat.
A couple of beeps on the side of the biobed.
A deep breath.
She opened her eyes.
The nurse had left, but on the trolley beside the bed was a cup of tea.
One corner of her mouth curved lazily, barely a millimetre.
Laan.
Greaves:Response
Alieth: In the sickbay my friend, you held out for seven hours before Quen could take care of you.
Greaves:Response
She rubbed her eyes, and looked at her friend. Pale and with dark circles around his eyes. Bruises that they hadn't bothered to remove, not for the moment, on practically half of the exposed skin of his body.
Alieth: Before that, I want you to understand how you had been doing. You had plasma burns over 36% of your body, a broken arm in three places and seven broken ribs. I had to reconstruct four vertebrae and despite EXTENSIVE use of the osteoregenerator, you have a good handful of medical supplies inside your body to keep everything in place for a few weeks. I would kick you to the gator deck right now if I did not already know that you were going to ruin my work there, but at this moment I do not even want to look at you.
She gave him THE STARE. One that, however, wasn't as caustic as it used to be since there was a noticeable concern in her dark eyes, one she couldn't suppress in spite of her self-control.
Greaves:Response
Alieth: Unfortunately, that concussion you had was a bad one, and I want to keep you under observation. Nauseous?
Greaves:Response
Alieth: Well, if it changes, let me know. Now, follow the light.
Greaves:Response
She extracted a small torch from the trolley where the tea was cooling and moved it from right to left, up and down in front of his eyes. Despite his protests, she did not speak until she was satisfied with the test.
Alieth: Okay, now you can inquire
Greaves:Response
Alieth: She died, Wes.
Greaves:Response
She ignored his words and carried on.
Alieth: She was dead for seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds before we were able to restore her heart rate.
A faint groaning sound rang out from the next biobed. Alieth allowed herself a smile, tiny and bright, before she hid it behind her tea cup and took a short sip.
Alieth: Mister Greaves, welcome Miss Katsim to the world of the living. And be grateful to the Prophets and her Cardassian heritage.
Greaves/Katsim: Response[[Tag! & TBC]]
=================================
Lt. Alieth
Chief Medical Officer
USS Thor NCC-82607
E239702A10
Image Collective Facilitator /Art Director
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I spent the entire reading of this JP laughing. Brilliantly written @Geoffrey Teller @Alex Brodie. Great action, great dialog, and great one liners.
Quote((Holodeck One, Deck Five, USS Thor))
It didn’t seem that long ago that he, Dar and Quen were gathered in this room trying to plan for a possible ship rescue mission considering mass casualties and possible Dominion involvement. Looking back, he’d have taken a horde of Jem’Hadar over Anroc any day of the week. He rubbed his eyes and went back to the table he was working at.
The room was warmer now, the holographic projection of oak panelling and brass fittings all around with the large workbench in the middle. He wondered what Geoff would make of the content…
He unrolled his kit bag and laid out the various items...more for show than anything else. There was only one thing he needed here, he unsheathed the rapier from its scabbard and took a small bottle and cloth from the side pocket of the bag. He dabbed some of the oil onto the blade and began to work it along the metal. He’d not really had a chance to indulge in his pastime since they’d left the Embassy and, while the edge was still good, he wanted to make sure there wasn’t any rust or corrosion seeping in...there was plenty of that in his own old bones.
He started whistling a tune and singinging slightly to himself but it didn’t last long.
Brodie: ::singing:: The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees; the moon was a ghostly galleon; tossed upon the cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor; when the highwayman came riding, riding, riding...The highwayman came riding up to the old inn door.
As if on cue - the door hissed open and Geoffrey Teller walked in; Alex looked up from the glistening metal blade.
Brodie: Geoff, good to see you. ::Holding up the sword:: Last chance to back out.
Geoff raised his hands slowly in a show of mock surrender.
Teller: Look Counselor, if you want the promotion that badly you can have it. ::Geoff winked:: This isn’t a Klingon ship.
Geoff put his hands down and smirked, taking in the details of the room. The holodeck doors had closed behind him, so the illusion was complete and somehow agreeably warm. Rich old wood and well worn metal fittings covered the classical walls. It was a suitably anachronistic setting for what they had discussed, and Geoff was immediately engrossed.
Brodie: As I recall, when we discussed this originally, you were having trouble adjusting from being an Engineer to being in Command?
Geoff nodded, his attention more on the selection of cutlery arrayed on the great wooden table in the middle of the room.
Teller: Yep, although I suppose I’ve had a bit more practice since then, little time to process when the ship wasn’t flying apart. ::Geoff leaned against the table for a moment, suddenly a bit tired.:: Job keeps you busy, that’s for sure.
Brodie: Would it be fair to say that the role is more ‘hands-on’ than you envisioned?
Geoff gave it some serious thought, trying to recall what it was he had ‘envisioned’ the role of the First Officer to be. It seemed like a very long time ago.
Teller: Alex, this may sound strange to say, but I honestly don’t remember what I imagined on the way in. Certainly not...this, though. ::Geoff tried to change the subject and nodded to the table.:: So, are you going to explain these things to me or am I just supposed to guess which part is sharp?
Brodie: Well...this…::Flicking the sword upright:: is a Rapier. My personal favourite and the sword I’ve spent the most time using. A lot of people think of this as a light and flexible weapon, similar to a foil.
Alex lifted one off the racks on the wall and waggled it around, the tip of the blade whipping around as it flexed. He held it up next to the thicker, longer, wider bladed weapon with the basket hilt.
Brodie: See the difference?
The engineer in Geoff could appreciate the visual difference in the metals, the thickness of the polished steel blades, and the honed tip of Brodie’s rapier. If the Counselor ever needed to make a point, he had found the perfect implement. Geoff put a hand on one sword hilt, then the other.
Teller: ::To his right, the foil:: Stabby sword. To his left, the rapier:: Stabbier sword.
Geoff wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the Counselors expression mirrored that of many teachers, doctors and counselors he’d known over the years. It was a unique combination of bewilderment and mild disappointment science had come to call ‘The Teller Effect’.
Brodie: The rapier, truth be told, is sometimes called a murderers sword. So names because it’s a thrusting weapon and almost impossible to do less than catastrophic damage to a person...although cuts and nicks are possible in the right hands.
He placed the sword down.
Geoff reflexively took a step away from the rapier. He’d never particularly enjoyed weapons the way some of his colleagues in the security and tactical departments had. To Geoff, a phaser was simply a tool, and not one he particularly relished using.
Teller: Got anything a little less...well..murderie?
Brodie: Probably best not start you with that. I do have one question for you though, Geoff. Do you want to learn how to fence...or fight?
Geoff thought about it, not especially clear on the difference.
Teller: Well, lets just imagine for one second I’m not even sure what divides one from the other. Is there a level zero we can start from?
Brodie: Well, there are manuals for both but fencing is more competitive whereas sword fighting is far more practical.
The word ‘practical’ rang in Teller’s ear and he needed to hear no more. Certainly, this would be at least as ‘practical’ as his attempts to learn Vulcan martial arts had been. Unconsciously, Geoff rubbed phantom sore ribs.
Teller: ::Geoff snapped his fingers:: Oh ok got it. In that case, let's skip the ‘En Guarde’ and go straight to ‘Avast Ye Land Lubbers.’
Geoff scanned the table and found something that looked the part of a pirate cutlass to him. Some kind of antique saber, with a bright bronze hand guard and a slightly curved back blade, fit his hand perfectly.Teller: This looks a little more my speed. Uh...matey.
Brodie: It’s a good look on you. That’s actually a sabre rather than a cutlass but both are a type of backsword.
Teller: Hey I’m willing to take your recommendation, especially since I know you’ve got all this ::Geoff nodded towards the impressive collection of sharp objects:: stashed away somewhere.
Brodie: They’re mostly holographic I assure you but the data they’re built from is accurate. Have you ever done any studying of fencing or the like?
Teller: Hmm….well I once studied an ancient text on sword fighting during a long shuttle trip. Fell asleep on it but I think I remember the key lesson. ::Geoff picked up the saber and raised it with feigned precision.:: ‘The pointy end goes in the other person.’
Brodie: Sometimes...if you’re lucky. The sabre, like the rapier, is used in ‘academic fencing’ or Mensur. We’ll not be doing that.
Geoff had no idea what a type of erotic massage on the Andorian homeworld had to do with sword fighting, but he nodded along with the Counselor and took a few more experimental swings. Excited to get started, Geoff looked back to the table, and then to the equipment racks on the walls. There were swords of all description in abundance, but no helmets or shields or even particularly thick shirts. Knowing his tendency towards unexplainable accidents for which he was completely faultless but often proximate, Geoff found the lack of protective gear somewhat alarming.
Teller: Uh, Counselor...shouldn’t we be wearing...uh...well, anything, really? I feel strangely underdressed for the swinging of sharp metal things.
Brodie: Because you wear minimal protection about your head and the idea is to strike your opponent on the face and brow. The concept is to not dodge the blow but suffer the impact and stand unflinching through it. Rather barbaric but they say it builds character.
Brodie rubbed his own dueling scar that was hidden under his beard.
Geoff’s eyebrow went up.
Teller: Let me see if I’ve got this straight. There’s a sword fighting technique that says get stabbed, it’s fun? I know a couple klingons who would love that, but fleshwounds aren’t exactly my idea of therapeutic.
Brodie: Well, again…we’ll not be doing any of that. There’s a lot of added extras…
His eyes glanced back towards the table where his pistols, parrying dagger, half cloak and vambrace were all sat.
Brodie: ….but they key thing….is footwork.
Geoff ignored the pistols and the smaller knives, immediately donning the half cloak over one shoulder. It swished agreeably as he pantomimed a few movements.
Teller: Think I could sell the Captain on adding these to our uniforms? Slap a division color stripe around the edge, they’d look dapper.
Brodie: They do serve a purpose ::Alex picked one up and draped it over his own shoulder before pulling it onto his forearm.:: You stand with it forward and hide your point behind it...harder to defend against.
He returned it to table
Brodie: I’m not sure command would go for it though. Our uniforms don’t even have pockets...I’m not sure how they’d feel about capes...
Geoff put the half cloak down, not entirely convinced it was a bad idea.
Teller: Fine fine, it’s Starfleet’s loss. You were saying something about footwork. Not sure if you heard about my springball game with the Captain, Peri & Dar, but I’m pretty sure my skeleton is a different shape now. So I’d say my footwork has room for improvement.
Geoff winced slightly as he patted his ribs. The game had been days ago and he still felt stiff.
Brodie: Heard about it? ::Smiling:: My dear Geoff, I won five slips of latinum on it….but I think we need to test your form a little...
Teller: Well if you think I’m ready for that, who am I to argue. To the field of honor, good sir.
Brodie: Hmmm….yeah...about that field.
Alex moved to the side of the room and pushed open the heavy wooden door a crack - he beckoned Geoff to follow him.
The fresh air hit him at once...albeit not fresh but holographically generated...as well as the sound of creaking wood and the sound of the swelling sea. The ship shifted as the waves carried it along - and then came the song...
Geoff stood in awe of Alex’s recreation. Through the magic of the holodeck they had stepped seamlessly from a stationary room to the rolling deck of a ship at sea. The sheets fluttered in the breeze, block & tackle swinging lazily from the masts, all to the backdrop of the gently lapping sea. Geoff swore he could feel the salt building up on his skin.
Brodie: ::Shouting:: Oh, the year was seventeen-seventy-eight!
Geoff smiled and raised his voice in song along with the crew.
Assorted crew: How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now!
Brodie: When a letter of marque came from the king to the scummiest vessel I’d ever seen!
Assorted crew: Goddamn them all!
Geoff hooted and shouted with the crew. He wasn’t entirely sure who the king was in this context, but the holographic crew seemed to dislike him and that was good enough for Teller.
Brodie and crew: I was told we’d sail the seas for American gold, we’d fire no guns-shed no tears. Now I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier, the last of Teller’s privateers!
Geoff laughed and cheered along with the crew as they returned to their duties, hauling line and tending the thousand small duties a ship at sea required. It was a magnificent recreation, with a flair and a charm that was unique in Teller’s experience.
The counsellor turned to the Thor’s first officer to check his expression.
Brodie: You like?
Teller: I’ll be putting you in for the Daystom Prize for Holography as soon as I get back to my desk, Alex. This is absolutely fantastic. Plus...how have we served together this long and I’m only just finding out about your singing voice?! That’s one hell of a baritone you’ve got there.
Brodie: I have to say it’s not an authentic sea shanty, it actually originates from the mid-twentieth century it’s more of a folk song.
Geoff shrugged expansively.
Teller: To paraphrase a wise man, ‘never let the truth ruin a good shanty.’ ::Geoff stepped to the rail and leaned over in delight, the saber at his side forgotten for the moment. Sparkling blue waters stretched to the horizon.:: This is beautiful, Alex. I didn’t realize it, but the sea must be something special to you.
Brodie: I’ve always lived near water...I love the smell, the sounds...the freedom.
Geoff took a moment and savoured the feel of the ship and the texture of the wood under hand. Alex was right...this was the perfect setting.
Teller: Well Counselor, here we find ourselves on a fighting ship at sea, a stout crew at our backs and the wind blowing true. I wonder what use a sword would be in this situation.
Brodie: Ah...well...when we’re also in the Golden Age of Piracy...you never who you might meet on the open seas...
Geoff smiled, but his laughter was cut off when a heavy metal hook dug into the railing a few centimeters from his fingers. Behind him somewhere on the quarterdeck a lookout began ringing the alarm bell in earnest.
Master At Arms: Prepare to repel boarders, ya dogs! No pay for any man who doesn’t carry a weapon. And you! ::The man pointed directly to Teller:: Shut that slack gob and ready your steel, halfstack!
Geoff’s hand went to the hilt of his sword but his face screwed up in a scowl.
Teller: Hey who you calling halfstack, you photonic…
Brodie: Keep it friendly...
Teller: Hey, he started it. Watch yourself!
The pirates, or whoever they were, had begun boarding their vessel in earnest, swarming over the sides from an unseen location. .
Teller: So this is one of those learn as you go trainings…got it. Any last words of wisdom before we slice into the fray?
Alex unsheathed his own weapon, the blade glinting in the sun.
Brodie: The only plan you can have in a situation like this...don’t die...if we don’t die then we win.
Teller: Simple, easy to remember…::Geoff drew his saber and nodded to Alex in salute::...Shall we?
Brodie: Oh...after you, I insist.
With a war cry that carried clear across the deck, the two men waded into a melee of ringing steel and pistol shot. Geoff wasn’t sure if this was a particularly effective way to learn the graceful art of the sword, but he was having more fun than he’d had in ages. Even when he got stabbed.
((Two Hours Later, The Bloodied Deck Of HMS John Paul Jones))
With an exhausted cheer that ran from stem to stern, the crew declared victory over the invading pirates, the few remaining survivors scampering over the sides or leaping from the rails back into the sea. Geoff’s chest was heaving in exhaustion, his arms felt like they were full of hot iron and he was fairly sure he was bleeding from at least three separate wounds, but their hearty photonic crew had carried the day and the ship was safe to ply its wares on the simulated waves once more.
Alex was sat with his sword propped up against the crate he was sat on, the waves were still and were gently rocking the John Paul Jones as she made her way towards port...wherever that was to be. His own little joke...a founding member of the navy of the United states in the eighteenth century...a Naval Officer and a Pirate all at once. He’d even been a member of the Russian navy at one stage. It was a fitting mix for Brodie of several facets of his life.
He opened the crate and took out the anachronistic looking medical kit. He popped open the box and removed the dermal regenerator and gestured to Geoff to lift his shirt so he could see to his wound.
He also handed him a bottle of not at all replicated dark spiced rum.
Brodie: That’ll numb the pain a little. What do you think then? It’s actually based off of a Klingon battle program I picked up - it’s no Battle of Klach D'kel Brak simulation but it’s quite a work out.
Geoff saw the dermal regenerator but smelled the rum, and grabbed for the dented tin cup gratefully. His eyes widened when he realized he was enjoying the genuine article. With a satisfied sigh, Geoff plopped down on an adjacent overturned barrel.
Teller: You know, I’ve known a few klingons in my career and never really understood the whole fetish for swords they have. Always seemed like a bit of a mess to me. Now…::Geoff looked over the ruined deck and the wounded crew::...well, it still seems like a mess. But one hell of a fun one. So how’d I do? Think I’ll earn a berth on this fine privateer?
Brodie: Your footwork was pretty good - I wonder if that’s a result of the years you spent as an engineer balancing on ledges and hanging in Jeffries Tubes while you worked. Just remember to try and close up a little and get involved - a lot of sword clashing will just leave you with a blunt or broken blade.
Geoff rubbed his arms which he could barely lift.
Teller: Or arms that feel like they’re going to drop off if you look at them wrong. Still though...this was a good time. Thanks Alex.
Brodie; You feel better - letting some of that steam off?
Geoff leaned back, enjoying the lapping waves a moment.
Teller: Yeah, I did. Don’t do it enough and recently…well, the stuff with Sern...that Vulcan stuck in my head…::Geoff sighed.::...it’s getting bad, Alex. Alieth doesn’t want to admit it but she’s worried, both about my passenger...and me. ::He shrugged, then turned his attention back to the water:: She’s got me on light duty till she can consult with some “specialists” but I’ve been around enough Doctors to know when they’re getting desperate.
Alex had hoped things might be able to be resolved during their trip to Vulcan...or that Alieth would have found a way to extract the...what was it...consciousness? Soul? Essence or Sern?
Brodie: I’d wondered if it had found a kind of equilibrium. I know it’s a delicate matter so I haven’t wanted to pry but it sounds like things aren’t getting easier?
Teller: It’s strange, Alex...really strange. Sometimes I wake up and walk to the replicator and don’t realize I’m drinking tea till ten minutes later. Yesterday afternoon I was trying to give the computer my access code and I kept saying it in Vulcan. I even discovered I can pluck a decent tune out of one of those lutes. Alieth tried to help but now I think....::Geoff tried to find the words that could explain the bizarre patchwork amalgam of memories and experiences and emotions that were now rattling around inside his head.::...there’s just too much in here.
Alex paused to think before he spoke his next sentence...it was a fleeting thought but one that was also recklessly stupid. That having been said, he had a duty to try and do something for Geoff and his struggles with Sern.
Brodie: I’ll reach out to some people - see if there’s anything I can do to help you and Alieth resolve things with your...mutual friend.
Teller: Well whatever happens, it’s good to know that at least the ship…::Geoff nodded to their surroundings::...is safe from the scourge of high sea piracy for now. If you think that’s enough sword fighting for one day, I’m going to limp my way to sickbay and hope Alieth isn’t on duty. Or Quen. Or...hmm...actually maybe I should just go find a med kit in a shuttle.
Brodie: Well, you’re not actively bleeding anymore. Maybe see how the bruises heal before you worry the medical team? As for the ship - the pirates are an optional extra, feel free to use the program whenever you like if you need a little space.
Teller: Appreciate that, Alex...and hey, if I haven’t said it enough over this last year, I appreciate you. You’ve helped me, and this ship, more than you realize. ::Geoff smiled:: And that’s a Good Job Guarantee, Counselor.
Geoff raised his rum tin and the two cups clinked together.
Brodie: ::Taking a swig of rum:: Happy to be of service. ::Raising the mug a second time and speaking softly with a smile and a wink:: Drink up me hearties...yo-ho.
Sharing a drink and a song neither man made a move towards the exit. For a few moments more they were worlds away from their lives and responsibilities, duty and labor still safely on the other side of the heavy holodeck doors.
[End]
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Lt. Cmdr. Alexander Brodie
Chief Counselor
USS Thor NCC-82607
dualitygamer@gmail.com
Writer ID.: A239005BM0
&
Commander Geoffrey Teller
Executive Officer
USS Thor - NCC 82607
Commodore A. Kells, Commanding
V239509GT0------------------------------------- 2
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Okay, okay, one more from this JP. It's just too good!
QuoteMaster At Arms: Prepare to repel boarders, ya dogs! No pay for any man who doesn’t carry a weapon. And you! ::The man pointed directly to Teller:: Shut that slack gob and ready your steel, halfstack!
Geoff’s hand went to the hilt of his sword but his face screwed up in a scowl.
Teller: Hey who you calling halfstack, you photonic…- 3
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I expect nothing less from @Geoffrey Teller
QuoteGeoff ignored the pistols and the smaller knives, immediately donning the half cloak over one shoulder. It swished agreeably as he pantomimed a few movements.
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This got a snort of laughter out of me.
QuoteKatsim: Oh! It’s you!
Jehe: I could hardly be anyone other than myself.- 2
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Welcome aboard!! Its great to see new faces!
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Welcome! Its always a joy to see new faces around. I hope you enjoyed the academy!
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This is amazing! Love it!
Cmdr. Geoffrey Teller - Modern Problems
in Appreciations
Posted
Literally came to post this today since nobody had yet and you beat me to it.
Loved this venting of our modern problems!