Tahna Meru

March 22

Congrats, good work, and welcome to the fleet!

March 5

Ahhh lovely work @Torvi Ylvor!

February 28

Howdy Gorkonites!

"Wait, December? But it's nearly March!"

I know, I know, don't worry about it, we're gonna catch up and you'll all get your shiny badges. Promise. On that note, allow me to present December's wittiest wordsmith...

Gnaxac: I d-d-don’t know anything about what the humans call f-f-feng shui, but engineers are experts at getting big things into small spaces. ::he blushed:: In engineering I m-m-mean.

Congrats, @Genkos Adea! I'm always glad to see our engineers putting their expertise to work.

Keep an eye out for a fresh Quote of the Month poll or two from me this week, and enjoy the remainder of shore leave!

February 7

@Bryce Tagren-Quinn is back with some evocative descriptions and some lovely El-Aurian perspective.

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((Flashback – A Few Months Ago, Kentucky, Earth))

Sania stood on her porch, steaming mug of tea in her hands, light brown hair tied back in a long braid. An oversized coat drowned her tall, lean frame and her gaze lingered on her farm.

She blew into the mug before testing a sip, allowing her mind to wander as laughter broke in the distance.

Leaves falling.

Worlds falling.

El-Auria.

It was around 2265 when the Borg swept in and destroyed the cities of her homeworld, assimilating some and killing millions. The small number of souls that managed to survive escaped into the galaxy, splintering off in different directions, desperate to hold onto their lives, their families.

Whatever they had left.

What did they have? Besides each other and loved ones… stories, and a deep and rich history (including that cold war with the Q), that would become less and less clear as new generations were born.

Before the Borg’s invasion, the El-Aurians traveled the galaxy (and beyond, some might say), full of black velvet and flecks of gold, leisurely visiting worlds.

Why visit without announcing themselves? Wasn’t it obvious? Why travel at all, if they weren’t going to wage a war, pillage and conquer, strip resources like the Borg?

What was in it for them? What drove them?

Some would say it was because of their perceptiveness, and their sensitivity to the universe; they not only wanted to know more about the moments of beauty, but the times of chaos, how it all balanced and existed. A part of that was understanding the life out there, the planets and their peoples, taking in their stories, as it all contributed to the cosmic web.

One item to fall, so would another. One item to rise, so would another. One item to fall, another would rise. One item to rise, another would fall.

With anything, some would say they all weren’t saints, though. Some probably traveled for personal agendas, too.

Sania remembered a time from before, exploring that starry sea, reaching worlds... Separated from her homeworld, separated from other El-Aurian groups. Almost isolated. A time when she was called Sanuul.

That was a lifetime ago.

Many lifetimes ago.

In the present day, she was the proud parent of a young rambunctious boy who was in the middle of diving after his uncle, disrupting a pile of leaves on the farm. Leaves that, as a pedologist, she would not necessarily manage—leaving it to go back to the world, as intended.

Bryce: Rory!

The man rose, his messy head of dark hair catching some of the organic litter, and reached over to his shrieking nephew who tried desperately to get away, clutching onto what appeared to be stuffed krelo bear—with the biggest grin on his face.

It was moments like these that she relayed back to the woman who would always hold a place in her heart—Elyia, her ex-wife. A spitfire who fiercely loved her twin.

The twin, who stayed a few weekends when he wasn’t busy with work. He hadn’t seen Rory in a bit, and the boy wanted to see his uncle again.

And the uncle?

He was laughing again—like, really laughing, Sania would relay to an eager Elyia, who was still away from Earth.

Singing again, that was revealed on another day. Sania had found him humming along one normal, uneventful morning as he made grits and scrambled eggs with hot sauce, and placed a plate in front of Rory at the table.

The tidbits had eased the worry that seemed to have been embedded within his sister’s eyes.

A breath.

Little by little, each day…

Perhaps it had something to do with the Academy. Perhaps…

Maybe… if offered a new perspective?

Add it to the list of things. A list of things he was thankful for. A list that he kept, but told no one of.

As Sania watched her son interact with his uncle—both laughing, happy, carefree—she was reminded of the voyages from long ago. About the loss of things, the gaining of others.

The constant that was change.

The beauty of the now.

And the hope that was tomorrow.

--
Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn, MD
Medical Officer
USS Gorkon (NCC-82293)
T238909AT0

February 7

@Jo Marshall's lovesick Kero Rix is a delight to read, but more importantly, I have a new life goal of being arrested on Betazed now.

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((Sto'Vo'Kor, Deck 9, USS Gorkon))

Over a plate of perfectly replicated, if only slightly mournful Gagh, and a steaming cup of raktajino, the unsung heroes of the fleet dined and talked, enjoying the break between the endless task lists.

Jeffery Jones, leading Chief Petty Officer escaped from Engineering, slurped down another tentacle and dabbed the corners of his mouth with the available napkin and banged his flat palm on the table, causing the Edosian opposite to furrow an already furrowed brow in response.

Unflinching as ever, Aphlex returned to his crossword.

Jones: Now, did I ever tell you about the time I was nearly declared persona non grata on Betazed? All over a hat.

The twinkle in the old man's eye suggested mischief on a scale yet unmeasured, and he leaned back in his chair, raktajino in hand.

Across from him, Ensign Twikik paused, a forkful of something green, wobbly, and distinctly Tellarite-bacterial in nature, halfway to his mouth. Tales of Jones' exploits wandered precariously to the edge of believability. Twikik looked as if he might set his utensil down with a mixture of resignation and intrigue, only to shovel it in and speak anyway.

Twikik: Land of the mind-readers and endless, insufferable ceremonies? ::He grumbled with a snort, green flecks spraying.:: What did you do? Insult their fashion sense?

In hindsight, having lunch with the three was amusing if not the most diverting of distractions Rix needed. Not that it mattered. His brain was held captive, wrestled into submissions, then ransomed back to him for the tidy sum of Thea's current whereabouts, what she was doing, and who she was doing it with.

The holovid feed displayed above the bar was enough of a reminder.

The vibrant glow of the aurora borealis enveloped the screen as it transitioned to a bustling conference hall adorned with flags from across the galaxy, draped like elegant tapestries from every risen surface the creative directors could find.

Reporter: =/\= …streaming live from the heart of Andoria, where the Federation and Allied States Economic Summit has just begun. A pivotal moment in our shared galactic history, promising to reshape trade relations as we know them. =/\=

Steaming mug of raktajino nursing in his hand, Rix perked up, watching the holofeed with rapt attention. His Bajoran heart constricted a little as the pangs of worry crept in, only to be banished to a shallow grave with another sip from his Klingon coffee. Beneath the table, his boots crossed, nervously rubbing against one another, liable to start a small fire.

Jones: On Betazed, hats are no laughing matter! ::He leaned forward, arms folding on the table edge.:: They had me sit through an entire presentation on it. Top-notch security detail there. Ever looking to get yourself arrested, Betazed is the place to do it. The cells have cushions. You get a minibar.

This time, the utensil did meet the table, the Tellarite letting out an exasperated huff.

Twikik: For the love of Krognik...

Sensing he only had so much of the Tellarite's attention, Jones continued. Rix shook his head, exhaling a brief, if preoccupied, chuckle.

Jones: The tradition dates back to their first contact with the Vulcans. A misunderstanding involving a Vulcan ambassador with a particular sense of honour, a ceremonial headdress, and a Flanarian bird.

On the holovid screen, the reporter introduced the summit leaders and the important dignitaries arriving to take their place among the throngs of negotiators. Brown eyes studied the crowd behind, seeking out the Tyrellian tapestries, the familiar colours of the Palanon ambassadorial robes. An elbow nudged into his ribs to bring him back into the room.

Twikik: So? ::Momentarily, the Tellarite looked as if that were the end of his inquiry, until…:: What happened?

Jones, with the air of a seasoned raconteur delivering the punchline to a well-crafted joke, grinned broadly. Ensnared another in his tall tales.

Jones: Well, after a night in a classy clink, a lengthy presentation of Betazoid historical hat traditions, a formal apology from my captain at the time, and a promise never to wear anything larger than a beret, I was released. But let me tell you, ::he pointed a finger from around his mug,:: I've never looked at a hat rack the same way again.

A victory sip sealed the story. Behind the grizzled exterior of the Tellarite's beard, Twikik let out a grumbling laugh.

Kero: Hey, give it a rest a minute.

Reporter: =/\= …of diplomatic pageantry, we witness the arrival of two of the youngest delegates to grace the summit’s halls. Ambassador Niallyn, a rising star among the diplomatic elite, alongside Royal Highness, the esteemed Ydari Eilothea of Palanon. Embodying the aspirations of their storied lineage… =/\=

Older than most, and recognising the blush of young love riveted to the Bajoran's features, Jones shook his head. Twikik rolled his eyes. Fork picked up, brandished like a weapon, he set about his dessert once more.

Delicate pink bloomed on Rix's bearded cheeks as he watched the holofeed, the drone cameras focusing in on Thea, beautiful as ever, looking as comfortable in her role as her training had prepared her for. Flanked by the Ambassador. Diligently performing their designated duties for the good of their homeworld. Regal, was the word that slipped into Rix's mind, fighting off the other thought; that the pair looked like the future of the Tyrellian people had already crowned them.

He smiled, briefly amused by the thought of sending her a message later in the evening, letting her know how incredible she'd looked. How much he missed her already. Ask if she's enjoying herself. What passed for food at those summit events. Make plans for when she comes home.

Barely a handful of nights ago, Thea had nestled into Rix's side, head on his shoulder, small breaths as she slept tickling his ear, making his pulse thrum. His brow crumpled together, thick eyebrows making his eyes look darker, intense. An upsurge of thoughts tumbling fast over one another. His back slumped against the chair.

Five days. Five nights.

He could do this. He let out the breath he'd held.

Piece of cake.

The Federation News Service jingle played over the sounds of the bar, the fading steamed scenes from the conference parting ways to the Andoria icelands. The mess hall hummed with the background noise of a starship at ease, but at their table anticipation hung thicker than the aroma of Plomeek soup on Vulcan Love Poetry Night. Aphlex had even looked up from his crossword.

Clearing his throat theatrically, a mug of raktajino refreshed, Jeffrey Jones began again.

Jones: Did I ever tell you about the time I hitched a ride on a Klingon Bird-of-Prey disguised as a statue of Kahless?

--

Lt. Commander Kero Rix

Deputy Chief Operations Officer

USS Gorkon, NCC-82293

G239304JM0

February 7

I love the worldbuilding @Vylaa has been doing during shore leave on Andoria, and with Vylaa and her family. This series gave some particular insight into Andorian culture, and Vylaa's feelings about it.

Part 1: Public Display of Affection

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((Eketha Street, L’Uvan, Andoria))

The air was crisp that day in L’Uvan. But then again, it was always crisp on Andoria. The street was busy. Vylaa and her thavan walked down the street, dodging other citizens of the city who were in a bigger hurry than they, as well as the occasional crewman from the Gorkon, all of whom acted far too touristy.

You’d think they’d never seen snow before...

Father and daughter paused outside of an older style building. The sign over the entry way was written in large Andorian script, with a smaller translation in Federation Standard underneath. It proclaimed the business to be the Crooked Stalk Tavern.

They entered the familiar place. It was set up with mostly small tables seating only two or three, although there was a large bar along one end. Vylaa’s shreva preferred more intimate seating in her establishment hence the lack of large tables.

The shen stood behind the bar, where she was eyeing her middle child, one side of her mouth upturned. Her antennae, well, one of them, were curved toward her husband and daughter. Her permanently bent left antenna, as usual, pointed off to Ovylaa’s left.

She’d gotten the wonky appendage after being thrown by a zabathu as a teenager. It’d taken the search party two days to find her, and by then her injuries coupled with the inevitable frostbite had left Vylaa’s mother with the crooked antenna in addition to a permanent limp.

Ovylaa: Well, child, it’s about time you came to see me.

Vylaa slid into one of the tall seats in front of the bar. Her antennae waggle playfully.

zh’Tisav: Well, you know you could have come to Bajor with everyone.

Ovylaa: Hmm, you know I don’t travel anymore.

Vylaa’s thavan seated himself next to the zhen. Ovlaa was already pouring him his favorite ale.

Etharith: When did you ever travel?

Ovylaa merely smiled.

Ovylaa: Well, it was before you met me. And then we started having children, so…

zh’Tisav: Do not blame us for your lack of adventures.

Her parents both grinned and eyed each other. Ovylaa was half-Aenar and had a close mental bond with her mates. No doubt the two bondmates were sharing thoughts that Vylaa really didn’t want to know.

zh’Tisav: Get a room you two.

Etharith: We did, once.

Ovylaa: That’s how we ended up with triplets…

zh’Tisav: Ew! Gross!

It always gave Vylaa a bit of nausea whenever any of her parents acted so lovey in public. She spied a nearly empty bottle of a particular brand of ale on the back counter. It gave her the perfect excuse to escape the ick-fest.

zh’Tisav: I’m going down to the storage caves. I’m guessing old Shrev still comes at about the same time, and he’s going to want his favorite. You two just.. ::Shivers.:: Ew…

As she escaped through the backroom door, she heard her shreva speak.

Ovylaa: Says our bonded zhei with three soon to be four children…

Vylaa knew the route well. She and her sisters had earned spending latinum at the tavern in their late teens, first as bar-backs busing glassware and trash, then as fill in bartenders. She slipped through the tiny kitchen, grabbed a hand lamp, and pushed past a curtain at the back.

Behind the curtain, an old staircase descended down into the rock. It had been carved a long time ago into the floor of a natural tunnel that led to some small caves that Vylaa’s shreva used to store her surplus of alcohol, taking advantage of their natural climate control.

Vylaa passed the first chamber by. Ovylaa was particular with her organization, and the smaller first chamber was for the off-world stuff. Less space was needed for it because, frankly, the residents of L’Uvan rarely wanted it. She needed the next chamber down.

TBC

Part 2: Cotton Candy Galaxy

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((Storage Caves, The Crooked Stalk Tavern, L’Uvan, Andoria))

Vylaa ducked through a low arch that separated a carved stone staircase from a small cavern. Inside the air was chilly, although not nearly as cold as on the surface, the perfect place to store the dozens of bottles and crates of alcohol stored on rows of wooden shelves.

The zhen’s breath misted in the chill air as she made her way past the many shelves to a natural bench formed into the cave wall where she sat to rest. She was in no hurry to return to the bar and see more of her parents public display of affection

Vylaa turned off her light and laid a hand on her pouch and immediately the baby kicked, hard. She quickly lifted her hand.

zh’Tisav: Okay, sorry. I’ll let you sleep...

She leaned back against the rough rock wall and waited as her eyes adjusted to the eternal darkness of the small cave. Soon she started to detect a faint pink light above her, and as her eyes further adjusted it resolved itself into a delicate web of light, as if a giant spider had built it’s web of cotton candy..

It was a rare species of lichen that grew underground in certain cave systems. The symbiotic pairing of fungus and algae lived down here and slowly ate away at the rock. The bio-luminescence was a part of that; each colony of glow lichen gained it’s hue from the mineral composition of each cave system where it grew. Each was different and Vylaa counted herself as one of the few people who’d ever seen this particular shade of bubblegum pink thanks to it being a privately owned cave.

The zhen glanced down and returned her hand to her pouch.

zh’Tisav: The science nerds would love to see this place, Tyvya.

She sat there under the pink spidersweb of light for a while longer, having a one sided conversation with her youngest child. She hadn’t told anyone, yet, that she’d settled on a name for her, or even that she’d already done a scan and learned she was another zhen. It was her secret, but somehow, she didn’t think anyone would mind or object to the child being named for Sallia’s birth-zhavey.

((Timeskip))

Vylaa must have lost track of the passage of time sitting there beneath her private bubble gum galaxy. From the rooms entry, she heard a faint voice calling her. It seemed she couldn’t escape any longer. She rose, found the bottle of ale she had come down here for, and reversed her steps up the rough rock steps.

She passed her shreva at the top of the stairs. The older woman pierced her with a curious stare.

Ovylaa: You took long enough.

zh’Tisav: Well, are you two done embarrassing me at the bar? ::She hooked a thumb over her shoulder.:: Because I can go back down...

The zhen led them back out through the backroom, ignoring her mother’s frown. Her thavan was still sitting at the bar where she’d left him, chatting politely to a friend. She smiled as she passed. At the end of the bar, where he always sat, was the reason she’d retrieved the bottle she held in her hand.

His name was Shrev ch'Shaalil. At first glance, well, at any glance, he was rather shocking to see. Rather frightening, actually. He wore a permanent scowl which made his damaged face all the more fearsome, and the zhen knew any conversation with him would not exactly be pleasant. As a child, she’d been terrified to be around him, now she felt bad for him.

He had been serving with a ground unit during the war when a Breen weapon had ended his career and nearly his life. Instead, he’d permanently lost his right antenna and part of his skull. An Andorian with only one antenna was only half an Andorian, a creature to be pitied. Children feared him, and no bondgroup would have him. And so, understandably, he was bitter. His keth had given him a place as one of the clan’s archivists, those who recorded the clans day to day business and preserved it with their history, but mostly they expected little from hm.

The former soldier spent most of his time here, on the same stool at his third cousin’s watering hole, drinking away his war pension. Light from overhead glinted off of the metal plate that peek from between the ragged edges of his scarred wound, and he glowered at Vylaa as she poured him a glass and set it and the bottle in front of him. He paid by the bottle here.

Shrev: Vylaa…. Bringing another brat into the world I see.

zh’Tisav: Good to see you too, Shrev… When are you going to stop being an ***hole?

The chan waved a hand through the space where his antenna should be.

Shrev: When I get this back.

zh’Tisav: Wishing for a miracle?

Shrev: They don’t exist. ::Pause.:: Do you know what the brat’s going to be?

zh’Tisav: An Andorian, hopefully...

TBC

Part 3: It Ain't Easy Being Blue

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((Crooked Stalk Tavern, L’Uvan. Andoria)

Vylaa stood behind the bar at her shreva’s place, chatting to one of the regulars. Or at least, trying to chat to him. Shrev was a bitter old war veteran who now hated the world. Vylaa felt bad for him, and so despite his unpleasantness tried to be a friend. She imagined his was a lonely life.

Perhaps he reminded her of her own charan. They both had suffered head wounds from service during the Dominion War. The difference was Shrev’s had stolen an antenna, and to an Andorian losing an antenna, even temporarily, was absolutely devastating. Many chose not to live with such a curse. Vylaa had heard rumors, that he had tried many times, but a savior had always come along just in time.

zh’Tisav: I’ve always wondered, why do you drink that particular brand? It’s pretty rough.

Shrev: ::Taking a sip.:: It’s cheap. Stretches my latinum, so I can keep coming here for the thrilling conversations.

zh’Tisav: We’d all rather you found something else to do with your life other than searching for what’s at the bottom of a bottle.

Shrev frown, the action making the stump of his severed antenna dip toward his eye.

Shrev: ::Sneering:: Like what? Wander the streets and count how many children run from me in fear?

zh’Tisav: Well, from what I hear, you were an amazing fighter. You should pass that on to our Guards.

Shrev continued to sneer, which pulled the skin of his damaged face into a more gruesome visage. It was likely he’d heard the same song and dance from many others.

Shrev: So they can end up like me? I’ll pass.

zh’Tisav: You had an unlucky run. So did my charan, he lost a damn eye. But your skills might save the next Guard. Or a whole unit. Think of that.

If anything the old chan seemed more angry. As if she’d struck a nerve.

Shrev: Your charan got off lucky. And he had a family, he had you. That makes a difference.

That gave Vylaa pause. Her entire life, Shrev had been a dour-faced, untouchable presence in her shreva’s tavern. His distaste for everything and everyone was, admittedly, a constant in her life. She had never considered that he’d actually missed having a family. She wasn’t sure what to think of this revelation, and cast about for something to say. She recovered quickly, and grabbed the now half empty bottle and put it up on a high shelf. She wasn’t going to contribute to this mess any longer.

zh’Tisav: You’ve had enough. Go back to your keep and dry out.

Shrev: ::Snarling.:: Give that back!

He had stood almost instantly, his seat sliding back a few inches. He was much more menacing not bent over a bottle. But his attempt to intimidate the zhen was for naught, given that his eyes barely reached her collarbone. The zhen just crossed her arms while Shrev wobbled on his feet.

zh’Tisav: No. ::She turned her head to the side and pierced her shreva with a glare.:: Your keth may be fine with you killing yourself slowly, but I won’t help anymore.

Vylaa heard her mother’s familiar uneven limp behind her.

Ovylaa: You heard her Shrev, go back to the keep and sleep it off.

Shrev looked about ready to jump over the wide wooden bar, but unseen to Vylaa her thavan rose to his feet and fixed Shrev with a forbidding stare. Recognizing he was outnumbered, the chan instead turned and shuffled to the door, his shoulders drooping. Once he’d left the tavern Ovylaa spoke softly.

Ovylaa: You could have handled that better, Little One. He may be a belligerent old drunk, but he looks forward to seeing people here. It’s one of the few places he’s treated like a normal Andorian.

Vylaa picked up an empty glass and filled it with water and took a long drink.

zh’Tisav: I only did what should have been done a long time ago. He needs help, and letting him drink himself to death isn’t helping. You’re his kin, you should have stepped in a long time ago.

Etharith: ::Quietly:: The gods chose his path, and this is how he chooses to walk it. Andoria is harsh, and some get left behind. It’s the way it’s always been. We must be a strong people. I know it’s hard, but you’ll understand one day.

Vylaa had heard it all before. It was the same rhetoric taught to every Andorian schoolchild since time immemorial. The species survived on the backs of the strong, the weak had to go. Losses were inevitable, and sacrifices had to be made.

Only, this wasn’t ancient Andoria. Things should be different now.

zh’Tisav: I don’t think I want to understand. It seems a lot of our ways are just convenient excuses for ignoring people who need help. We ignore Shrev’s drinking when it’s right in front of us. We stuck Sallia’s zhavey into an asylum and forgot about her. It’s all a bunch of kritkraw s***. ::She set her glass down with a loud thunk, grabbed her coat and moved for the door.:: I think I’d like to be alone for awhile. Sometimes… it’s not so great being Andorian.

She put her long coat on and stepped out into the cold. She frowned up at the sky; a snow squall had blown in from the ocean to the north. It hadn’t reached it’s full intensity yet, but it would soon drop visibility to a few meters. The zhen reached into a deep interior pocket of her coat and retrieved her skating blades and carefully clipped them to her footwear.

Properly kitted out, she carefully walked out to the track of ice that ran down the center of every street. Skating would get her home and out of the storm the quickest. She pushed off, putting distance between herself and her parents as fast as she could.

February 7

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Gnaxac: You say that, b-b-b-but Commander Sevo was a v-v-very hands-on scientist. I d-d-don’t know if she’s ever t-t-t-told you, but she punched a dinosaur once. That’s m-m-most hands-on.

Finch: She punched a dinosaur?

She paused, eyebrows like two hunger caterpillars pressing together as though fighting for the last morsel of leaf. She suddenly visualised it in her mind; one of their resident Mission Specialists, swinging her arm around as though it were a flail, and then thumping a tyrannosaurus rex square on its nose. Not complete of course without wiping her spots down afterwards. She’d have to find more out about that, get the nitty gritty details of it.

Gnaxac: Well, she d-d-doesn’t mention it much. Just every d-d-day for the last f-f-five years.

@Genkos Adea @Doz Finch @Ayiana Sevo 😆

January 31

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…it was only a fleeting thought, (one departure due to medical, a second to share the first's experiences...) but if it didn’t make his pulse say, “hey buddy, you can’t use the cardiac inducer on yourself.”

I love how @Bryce Tagren-Quinn captured mood and tone in this sim, especially here, with some humor-coated anxiety. 😆

January 21

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Marshall: You can say that again. After years of watching Quinn do it, I've realised it's a diplomatic smile and gestures that say "we come in peace" but also, "we have photon torpedoes just in case".

Just-In-Case Torpedoes is my favorite kind of diplomacy! @Jo Marshall

January 17

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Cain: See you on the other side.

Ylvor: Sto-vo-kor? ::Torvi joked, before nodding::

@Torvi Ylvor Correct.

January 15

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Jo grinned, the small niggle at the back of her head reminding her that—excluding Tahna, the rest of the Gorkon's command structure was cheerfully skating on thin ice, quite literally. There they'd be, the brass, transformed into frozen statues in a subterranean glacial gallery. Slightly sobering thought.

Figuring the Prophets would be listening at some juncture, and seeing as Tahna was Bajoran, Jo sent a winged prayer upwards they'd come through this alive, or if they didn't, the young Bajoran would sprout several more arms and a brain the size of a Vorta's to cope.

January 15

Rereading @Doz Finch's sim to reply to it and giggling over this exchange all over again:

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Tahna: Yeah, jin’sarra is more like coffee, and— ::Meru frowned.:: Hold on, you gambled with Tali? And you still have all your organs?

Finch: Yes! Then again, she’s a smart woman so I suppose I wouldn’t notice if any were missing.

January 15

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Samira leaned back in her chair. Dinosaurs, rogue planets, jumping time zones. Something simple would be nice. Still, that was very unlikely to happen.

The wishful thinking is strong in this one @Samira Neathler

January 4

Howdy Gorkonites!

Happy New Year! We've survived the holidays and Sargasso V, both feats worthy of a good drink and a pat on the back. So, cheers, and hurrah! Now all you have to worry about is not freezing to death on Andoria--that should be easy, right?

Of course, if you don't survive, you can always pass your katra/symbiote/etc on...well, unless your species doesn't work like that. Uh, RIP.

With that, our November Quote of the Month winner is...

Ylvor: If we perhaps get killed, then we will probably have a bet to see which one of us gets a better looking host next time around. I'll have to get a new wardrobe... again.

Congratulations, Kyle! I hope you like your badge, since...well, you made it. 😉

Enjoy shore leave, everyone!

Cheers, y'all!

December 5, 2023

Congratulations folks, and welcome to the Fleet!

December 1, 2023

Howdy Gorkonites!

It's the end of November, and we've got holidays just around the corner waiting to pounce. So in the spirit of the season, this month's Quote of the Month announcement is a little different...

But first, we've got new folks on board, so let me explain! The Gorkon is home to an illustrious and long-standing Quote of the Month competition. Every month I compile all the sim quotes that made me giggle, pick one for each player, and send out a poll for the ship to choose a Quote of the Month. Everyone is welcome to nominate quotes for the poll (here, email, or Discord, you know where to find me!), everyone gets to vote, and every month there's a winner's badge and bragging rights for our champion wordsmith.

Now, you've waited long enough. October's winner isssss....

Marshall: What setting do you usually keep them on, Mister Bowers? Existential dread?

Everyone congratulate Jo on being the funniest in the Gamma Quadrant, and thank Torvi Ylvor for the amazing new badge!

Also, a quick congratulations to all our new Ensigns on surviving their first mission (I know it's not quite over yet, so please don't prove me wrong in the final hour)! I'll see you all around on shore leave.

Cheers, y'all!

November 6, 2023

Howdy Gorkonites!

Wow, time flies when missions are going wrong!

For the new folks, allow me to introduce you to the Gorkon's illustrious and long-standing Quote of the Month competition! Every month I compile all the sim quotes that made me giggle, pick one for each player, and send out a poll for the ship to choose a Quote of the Month. Everyone is welcome to submit quotes for the poll (you know where to find me!), everyone gets to vote, and every month there's a winner's badge and bragging rights for our champion wordsmith.

This month, the winner isssss....

Ferrucci: Copy that. I’ll try not to cause a singularity that will destroy the univ- ::coughing:: Ehm, yes I will...uhm...proceed.

Congratulations, Ensign, on your first win! And thank you for not actually creating a universe-destroying singularity this time.

Cheers, y'all!

October 31, 2023

Congratulations, and welcome to the fleet!

October 21, 2023

"Nothing is impossible, not if you can imagine it. That's what being a scientist is all about!"

October 12, 2023

Quote

Stoyer(Storis): I thought we were going to learn?

Cantus: Are you here to learn? All I’ve heard is how much you wish to go home. Though that is not an unusual request, you are an unusual group.

Stoyer(Storis): Well, I tend to think for myself.

and

Quote

Cantus: Now. Can I trust you to act sensibly, or…

She trailed off, the guards didn’t move, but their presence told Greg enough.

Tahna: We can mind our manners, right?

This time it was Tahna who looked first at Cory, then at him, her head cocked as if she was broadcasting a secret message in his direction. He wasn’t a mindreader, though. Maybe the scientist didn’t know that.

@Cory Stoyer and @Samira Neathler are so fun to write with and these bits had me cackling, but...

October 9, 2023

Congratulations, and welcome to the fleet!

October 7, 2023

Howdy Gorkonites!

We made it to my favorite month, yay! Fall is fall-ing, cider is flowing, pumpkins are being eviscerated, and Halloween is just around the corner. It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Last month's quote of the month was a tight race, with two thirds of the crew receiving a vote (mind-boggling, and proof that we're all funny as hell). But in the end, there can only be one winner...

So please join me in congratulating the funniest peanut in the gallery, the Admiral herself!

(Reynolds) Quinn smiled, wondering what Namura might make of their two new ensigns. Depending on how Ferrucci displayed his stubbornness, he might catch the acerbic end of her nature. Something to keep an eye on, perhaps. Both of them. Officers, not eyes. Well, maybe both of those, too.

Congrats and well-earned, Skipper!

Now, looking to the mission and the month ahead, everyone, say it with me: I will not actually join a cult. Got it? Good. Go forth and explore!

Cheers, y'all!

September 29, 2023

Quote

It hadn't occurred to her, until then, to perhaps entertain the notion that they were standing in a sacred place. In a place where the Prophets kept their unworthies for a time. The ropes were a bit much, but who was to question the will of the Prophets? If she had rope, she'd probably do the same rather than expend some of their extraterrestrial magic dangling the undeserving from the roof.

😂 @Jo Marshall sounds like maybe you could blame @Doz Finch for the predicament, she's the one who's been pestering them for a new pagh!

September 29, 2023

On 9/25/2023 at 6:32 PM, Doz Finch said:

Made me chuckle. We may never know! 😂 @Jo Marshall

Excellent use of the Rule of Three, that!

September 27, 2023

Congratulations folks, and welcome to the fleet!

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