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  1. Please post any funny lines or memorable quotations from sims from our crew!
  2. So I was driving to work and today's date struck my mind which made me wonder what the significance of it was. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks... Three years ago yesterday is when I officially graduated from the Academy and today is when I was posted on my first ship, the USS Veritas! First, I'd like to thank @Ayiana Sevo for training me as I was just a mere green cadet learning how this amazing experience both IC and OOC within the community works. You certainly had a lot of patience with me as I look back on the emails we exchanged almost constantly. Here's the link to my last Academy sim when I graduated! Next I would like to thank @Roshanara Rahman, @Blake, @Mei'konda, @Lael Rosek, and the rest of the Veritas crew for the outstanding experience aboard the ship for my first few months writing with you all! I look back on my First sim aboard the USS Veritas every now and then to get a good laugh over how nervous I was when German just happened to be on the ship off screen when the ship had been many years in the past after dealing with Borg shenanigans. Another thanks to @Mei'konda and @Lael Rosek for helping me along with a smooth transition to the USS Astraeus as well as continuing to mentor and helping me with building my confidence to explore the opportunities given to me to eventually help and mentor others to have just as much fun as I've had with the game! And last, but certainly not least I would like to thank @Sal Taybrim, @Alora DeVeau, @Sheila Bailey, @Jalana, and the rest of the Ops and Conny crew for all the best experiences during shoreleaves and missions. Been a wild and crazy ride through the cosmos, loving everything that's happened! I'm glad to be able to write and have fun with you guys! Words can't describe how much I love this game and the people I've met along the way. @FltAdml. Wolf, you're an incredible person and leader whose gift of inspiration and passion to keep this PBEM RPG group alive for so long since 1994 is amazing! With just seeing a small amount of what goes on behind the scenes shows how much you and both councils put so much time and effort into making SB118 a great place to make long-lasting nerdy friendships. And that's just enough of my long winded speech of gratitude. Thank you all again! Live long and prosper 🖖🤓 Dane/Ensign German Galven - Science Officer/StarBase 118 Ops V239507GG0
  3. I believe that setting a scene is one of the critical parts of our media, and that making it appealing, engaging and yet with a delightful ability to open a door to another world and let us be enchanted by it is a true artistry. @Jo Marshall does a wonderful example of creative writing here, perfectly setting the scene, the mood and the tone it will have, while giving us a window into the wonders of Deluvia. I can almost feel the sea breeze. _______________________________ ((The Golden Tree, Promenade, Cochtois Lagoon, Deluvia IV)) A little further toward the centre of the promenade stood a huge golden tree. It was quite likely the tree had been there when the Selkie had settled on the planet in recent memory, as the gnarled branches and thick roots growing out of the loamy soil whispered of centuries rather than decades. Boughs and limbs stretched overhead in a canopy of gorgeous crisp leaves, fluttering beneath the radiant sun, and soaking up the salty sea breeze wafting in from the lagoon. Set up around it, several tables for standing and leaning on, and more importantly, resting a glass on, were arranged in a circle. Instead of sitting and marvelling at the view, or taking in the thriving tree, or listening to the rustle the leaves made on the quiet hum of the zephyr, guests could stand and take their requested beverage in the full knowledge when they were finished, it was time to move on. Only a few had made their escape in the brief space of time Jo had stood there. Leaning her elbows on the wooden tabletop, she looked out to the sea rolling just off the promenade, listened to the leaves and the chatter of nearby patrons, and the sounds of clinking glasses over the swell of the ocean breaking against the shore. Pensive was in her mood, while her expression bore someone trying not to be so lost in her own thoughts. Ordering another round of drinks, she looked up when someone familiar stepped into view not so far away and waved him over. Marshall: Cory, over here! Stoyer: Response A selkie server with eyes like pools of mystical shimmering water set down another two glasses of their token golden tree ale — made from the sap of the tree they stood under. Light orange and smooth in texture, they served it in a plain but tall glass. It smelled of fruit and a little like sugared cinnamon, though it was hard to describe without tasting it, and it lingered on the breath for hours afterwards. As her friend approached, Jo pushed the accompanying glass over the wooden table toward him. Marshall: It tastes nicer than it looks, trust me. Though try to take it slow. It packs a punch to the olfactory senses like no other. Stoyer: Response Marshall: With great power comes the great need to take a nap. I’ve been eying up your hammock spot for most of the morning. ::Said with steely determination in blue it would one day be hers.:: How are you doing? Skarbek hit you like a freight starship as well? ::Then paused for a second as she looked at him with a wisp of a smile on her features.:: Have you got taller or am I imagining it? Stoyer: Response -- Lt. Commander Jo Marshall First Officer USS Gorkon, NCC-82293 G239304JM0
  4. One of the best worst things that ever happened to me on SB118 is two awesome writers plotting STUFF! behind my back without me having a clue about it and making me laugh out loud with it. @Meidra Sirinand @Ikaia Wong you guys are the worst... Keep up the good work. ((Ikaia’s Quarters - Room 03-1122 - USS Veritas - 03:00 in The Shoals)) Ikaia had long since fallen asleep in his quarters. Softly snoring, he had his blankets pulled over his head leaving his bare feet exposed. His dreams, however, were interrupted by the sound of a call on his PADD. He was barely conscious as he woke up with a snort. He was still feeling groggy when he sat there for a moment questioning if he was really being called for something. It could be that someone needed him in sickbay. Maybe? His arm lazily popped out from under the pile of blankets as he fumbled blindly for his PADD. He groaned as he tried to feel for it. His hand bumped around his nightstand until he finally felt the PADD. He ended up sliding his whole hand down the screen in order to try to answer the call. What he failed to account for was that he had turned on the camera to his PADD. So anyone answering would be greeted with a pile of blankets. Ikaia allowed his arm to dangle off the side of the bed. Wong: ::Yawns:: Aloha…. This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Ikaia Wong…. How… how can I help you….? He sounded sluggish and tired. Times like these, he was a little useless without coffee. Sirin: Greetings, Lieutenant Wong. Have I disturbed you? Meidra had wandered Resolution’s corridors for the last hour, trying to come up with a suitable gift for her cousin. Alieth had been looking forward to a particular type of race where she would cobble together various bits of chaos and metal to get an engine ready to get her across a great expanse of land in as little time possible. She remembered Lt Wong had sent Alieth a certain type of chocolate that Meidra believed might be a good distraction. Because Aleith was becoming insufferable. Wong: Huh….? That wasn’t sickbay. He lifted himself up. The blanket still covered his head as he looked at the screen. Wong: Heeey. I remember you... How are you…? Sirin: I am well, thank you. Do you remember me? He remembers that face! This was one of the teal shirts he met at the Medical Officers Support Group (MOSG) meeting. Meidra’s eyebrow raised in amusement as he sat up, bleary eyed like a small child. Sirin: You’re looking well rested. It dawned on him. He had his camera on. Meaning that Lieutenant Sirin had a really good look at him right now. Ikaia sheepishly pulled the blanket off his head and tried to pull his hair back. That went about as well as it could for someone who still felt uncoordinated. His hair was still a mess. Wong: Sorry you had to see that! Meidra waved a hand dismissively at the camera. She’d seen far worse. Sirin: I’ve seen Genkos before his first coffee. You’re fine. I need a favor. Well he definitely didn't have his first cup of coffee either. That wouldn't be for a while yet! Ikaia tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Wong: A favour? I don't mind helping! ::yawns:: What's the….. favour? Sirin: First, I would like to thank you for getting my cousin addicted to those little balls of decadence. She’s been on a quest to find some, but her canine may have eaten the tag showing where you acquired them. I need the chocolate. Wong: Oh! Ha ha…. You're welcome! Yeah. I picked them up on Esperance. I think the store was called The Chocolate Tribble. Thankfully, they didn't actually have tribbles there. Otherwise, I don't think I could safely step inside unaccosted. Meidra had the brief memory of Tribbles attacking a certain fanciers’ event on Risa not that long ago and shuddered. She hoped that her former pet, Roc, was doing well traveling the universe with an evil shape shifting alien from another dimension. She also wondered when her life would start making sense. Sirin: ::pause:: I would hope that you didn’t get her addicted to eating Tribbles. She thinks the chocolate was extremely delicious. Wong: She does? That's fantastic! I picked out the dark chocolate cinnamon ones for her last time. They're amazing! But pretty diabolical for a Vulcan. Meidra laughed, and could see why her krei enjoyed this Klingon’s company. Alieth was getting grumpy, for those people who knew her well, and Meidra was getting tired of the random messages sent to her PADD at all hours such as, “Why do ensigns insist on breathing near me?” and “How much do I really need this job?” She sighed heavily, staring into the camera, and hopefully into his soul. She was desperate. She repeated the only thing that made sense right now. Sirin: I need the chocolate. Wong: I think I picked up two extra boxes just in case they got lost on transport. You never know with The Shoals! Anyways, I could send you the other two boxes if you'd like? The counselor’s face grew almost giddy with excitement. She leaned in and looked right into his soul with the intensity of a cousin who had reached her limit. Sirin: Send them directly to her, for the sake of my sanity. Do you have any idea how disagreeable that hobgoblin can get when she’s found a new source of addiction? The random messages, the threats of her taking the Thor into the chocolate nebula to track down cocoa? She is seriously making me want to throw a box of candy at her and run for my life! ::takes deep breath:: I apologize, Lieutenant, please send them if it is convenient. Wong: It's okay! I don't mind parting with them. Sirin: Thank you, if you could be certain to make the boxes Cheesecake proof, that would be delightful. I told her that she could get chocolate anywhere, but she insists that these particular candies have given her a greater insight into her state of being. In Alieth speak, this means she was, as the humans say, wasted. She refrained from her views on naming animals after food, and simply took a quick gulp from her ever present flask. Seriously, keeping your cousin sane and out of prison for chocolate deprivation was a full time job. Wong: But I have to ask - what's the occasion? Sirin: ::totally serious:: My not killing her. Wong: That’s a uh… good enough occasion. Sirin: ::shrugging:: She would do the same for me. Wong: Back at the Academy, I had to hide my jars of chocolate hazelnut spread if she came over to study. If I didn’t, I’d definitely have discovered them missing after she left. I think she once took one of my half eaten jars when I wasn’t paying attention. Meidra bit back a laugh, Alieth made no secret of her fondness for anything sweet. Sirin: Were you still eating from it at the time? Wong: Uh hey! How about we leave my eating habits out of this? As for Alieth….You know somehow, I don’t think that would have mattered to her. Sirin: As an infant, she once reached into a relative’s mouth for a piece of fruit and started eating it. Then realized it was not candy and spat it back at our cousin. ::fondly:: Even then, she had a bit of stubbornness to her. Wong: I can see there’s been at least some things that haven’t changed since our Academy days! Ha! But how has she been doing these days? Sirin: Pouting that she cannot race, I mean - socialize, with her friends due to work. She needs a vacation, but her shore leaves often turn out to be more chaotic than her missions. ::coughs lightly:: I mean, the ones she spends with me, but I digress. ::sits up and smiles brightly:: She is well, thank you for your inquiry. Meidra looked at her chronometer, she had a new junior counselor to meet. She sighed and looked at the Klingon again in thanks. Sirin: On behalf of my sanity, I thank you again, Lieutenant. I hope that we can one day meet in person and share more stories of my delightful Krei, and the lengths I will go through to keep her from going through withdrawal from sucrose. Lt Meidra Sirin Counseling Officer USS Resolution R239707MS0 + Lieutenant JG Ikaia Wong Physician Assistant USS Veritas V239711IW0
  5. Another good one from Reynolds. Short, but pointent, full of emotion that you just can't help but feel. ----- ((Lobby, Emerald Reef Hotel, Deluvia IV)) Caedan was sharing a drink with Genkos in the bar of the Emerald Reef, enjoying the underwater landscape the hotel offered while they reconciled past hurts. Their talk had begun with the incident at the Admiral's wedding reception, and while the Rodulan still felt some culpability for his part in the messy affair, it had relieved him to hear that Genkos didn't share that opinion. Perhaps inevitably, their conversation had turned to more recent events and the Betazoid's guilt over his part in them. It had felt a bit like looking in a mirror; one man berating himself for his part in a situation when there really was no blame to place. Caedan had said so, and they'd looked at their reflections again, with him offering Genkos a piece of relief without wiping away all of his guilt. But a casual slip of the tongue had caused Genkos to put Caedan under the microscope in a way the Rodulan wasn't familiar or comfortable with. He rarely talked about himself, especially with difficult subjects, preferring to let the spotlight linger on other people. Most people were all too happy with that arrangement, but evidently the doctor wanted to listen as much as he did talk. Nkai: In some ways it feels a bit like Skarbek. So... ::He lifted a hand, open-palmed, searching for the words to describe the experience of being Over There.:: So divorced from normal reality, it seems like a bad dream. Adea: I’m no therapist, but that’s probably a good thing. Caedan nodded. He'd thought the same thing himself; it allowed for some emotional distance, offered the ability to look back without being hit by the full force of the emotions that he'd lived through. There were still memories which brought a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes, moments of particular hardship or sorrow, but he could talk about most of it without breaking down—and that was a victory. Nkai: I like to think so. Adea: It just feels like each successive trip there makes it far worse; makes me far worse, and I’m starting to feel hugely phobic of the ship. Of my first adult home. No response came easily to Caedan's mind. It was a feeling he knew too well, the reason he hadn't gone home to Rodul in decades. A place filled with happy childhood memories that he cherished and held close... but also a place filled with some of his darkest moments and memories he tried to lock away. That was hard enough to do at the best of times, and he could only imagine what it would be like if he retrod those old stomping grounds. Adea: Rationally, I know I’ll get over it, but emotionally, you know, the brain never wins. How do you manage it? You always seem so… well put together. Nkai: Yeah? ::He scratched the back of his head and chuckled.:: Maybe that's just my advanced age working for me. Mellowed out through the sheer passage of time. He paused there, feeling as though he owed a better response than a joke and a slide away from the question. Maybe because Genkos needed one, maybe because Caedan had played a part in hurting him in the past. His smile slid away as he shook his head, his instinct to keep his past private warring with the desire to help someone in pain. Nkai: I think... ::A sigh blew past his lips.:: I think we have to make peace with the idea that there's darkness in all of us. That knowing that and accepting that is the best way to make sure it isn't the part of us in control when the situation's that bad. Adea: Response Caedan grimaced, trying to corral spiralling thoughts and the expanding crackle of thunder in his chest into something that would make sense. It was hard to keep it from carving deeper lines on his face, to prevent his muscles from bunching into a defensive hunch, and he leaned more of his weight on the bar counter as if it could offer moral as well as physical support. Nkai: You know, I think the Q put me on the Fourcade and away from the worst of it because that wasn't the way to get under my skin. I've already lived it. The Cardassians started their occupation of my homeworld when I was fifteen, and the history books say it wasn't as brutal as their conquest of Bajor, but... But brutality wasn't essential to cause suffering. Callousness and indifference could be a blade just as sharp, incising just as deep, leaving scars just the same. As he thought about it, digging up the memories he tried so hard to bury, raw emotion erupting like crude oil spilling across virgin soil, there was a slight comfort that his thoughts weren't readable. His soft underbelly wasn't completely exposed to the Betazoid. Nkai: I remember people freezing to death in the winter because the Cardassians rationed our energy supplies. People begging for scraps for their children because they rationed our food, even though we produced more than enough for everyone. I remember the—::he swallowed, a lump biting at his throat, Syana's lost smile drifting through his memories::—the protests that turned into massacres they blamed on the victims, and the people who just vanished. All this time later, it had become hard to picture Syana and Vawne's faces. His first love was nothing but wisps of memory; the scent of her hair when she was curled up in his arms, the bell-like sound of her laugh when he amused her, the feel of her breath against his cheek when she whispered something cheeky into his ear. Vawne's big brother scowl when his younger siblings interrupted whatever terribly grown-up thing he was doing, his hearty cackle when he let them win tickle wars against him, the tight grasp of a hug when he was trying to make them feel better. Gone. Centuries before their time, barely a brushstroke on the Artist's canvas. He frowned, blinking himself out of the reverie, and continued. Nkai: One of them was my big brother. They barged into our house one day and dragged him away for "questioning" and we never saw him again. It broke my parents. And to this day we don't know what happened to him, because they destroyed their records at the end of the occupation. There's now a branch of archeology that specialises in finding mass graves and identifying who's in them, and him being found in one is the only closure we can hope for. Imagine that; your one hope for closure is someone's going to call you up one day and tell you they've found your brother's body. Adea: Response Caedan nodded slowly; in response to Genkos or his own inner monologue, he wasn't sure. These were things he hadn't even told Jo or Valesha, perhaps more than a little afraid that his dearest friends would look at him differently afterwards. Nkai: What I'm trying to say in a really roundabout way is... I was young, and I was hurt, and I was angry. When my brother's friends asked me to help them fight back, I said yes. And in the next few years I did things I'm not proud of. He paused for a deep inhale, breathing it out through his nose. Those details he would not dispense. It wouldn't make him or Genkos feel any better to share the gruesome details of Caedan Nkai, bomb-making resistance fighter. The Betazoid had been in Skarbek, and he knew what lengths people could go to in the fight for freedom, especially in the face of cruelty. Nkai: So I know it doesn't feel like it, but it's a gift. To get to face up to that part of yourself without having to do things you can never take back. Adea: Response -- Lt. Commander Caedan Nkai Mission Specialist USS Gorkon simmed by Rear Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0
  6. Paraphrasing our first officer and since we didn't have a quotes thread, let's start one! From "Minefield, both metaphorical and literal" Allegedly Lia Rouiancet, in fact @Tony, aka Kells You've KILLED me with that, Skipper XD
  7. OOC - for those of us who've followed the Tale of Two @Meidra Sirins, this was a delight. And even if you haven't there's a lot here to enjoy; @Yalu also deserving of praise! (( Ship’s Library, Deck 2, USS Resolution )) Gertrude Kettleworth, MLS, had very little shushing to do, as Meidra and Dwich sat at a small corner reading table, saying nothing. They had agreed to meet and discuss their relationship, and each of them came with something they wanted to get off their chest. Now, everything was out in the open, and they remained together, hands intertwined in the center of the table, waiting for the other to say something. Finally, it was Dwich who broke the silence. Hamsan: Thank you for telling me this. The words felt empty coming out of Dwich’s mouth. “Thank you?” Meidra had shared with him a terrible secret, something he could never have guessed in a million years, and his heart broke for her. “Thank you” seemed so insufficient. An insignificant, polite formality. And yet, it was all he could think of to say. For her part, she seemed to accept it in the spirit in which it was intended, which made him feel so much better. Sirin: Thank you for being understanding about it. I felt like I was lying to you about myself, and that is not something that I wanted to continue doing. Dwich nodded. Indeed, the “two Meidras” had perplexed him over the course of their growing relationship. Now, it all made sense. Hamsan: I can’t imagine how difficult it has been for you. How lonely you must have felt carrying this secret. Sirin: I’ve spent most of my life feeling lonely, I suppose it’s been hard for me to realize that I’m not alone anymore. ::beat:: I haven’t been very fair to you, and for that I apologize. Dwich wasn’t looking for an apology, nor did he feel that Meidra had anything to apologise for. Relationships were difficult under even the most favourable of circumstances. Meidra was dealing with a very painful truth from her past, while Dwich was struggling to define his future. As Liri Ketel, one of Bajor’s lesser-known and least artful prophesiers so ineloquently wrote: “When you have one foot in yesterday, and one foot in tomorrow, you’re [...]in’ on today.” Hamsan: I guess it’s all just part of the path the Prophets have laid out for us. Meidra sipped the iced tea, feeling a bit foolish. She’d never been a particularly religious person, as Vulcans focused on the here and now instead of a future that logically, they could not see. And El Aurians, well. They only seemed to believe in themselves to the detriment of other relationships. To love someone who had such a strong sense of their place in the world was quite precious. Sirin: I think that I learn more about who I can be, every day that we are together. Hamsan: I understand. You were betrayed by the group of people in the universe you should be able to trust the most. No one, not a Vulcan, not an El-Aurian, not a Bajoran, would so easily trust after being treated that way. Sirin: Learning how to let people in hasn’t been easy. But it has been worth it in many ways. There will always be times where I am not as...open...as I wish to be with you, but it will never be because I doubt how you feel. Dwich exhaled in a not-quite-laugh, not-quite-sigh. His mixed emotions were on full display. Hamsan: ::grins:: My turn now? Sirin: ::nods:: Of course. When Dwich told Meidra that his lifelong vocation was just as strong as it always had been, he too felt as though he’d been leading a double life, the “two Dwiches,” to complement the “two Meidras.” It felt good to get it off of his chest, but it was a potential complication to a long-term relationship. People become ranjens and prylars and vedeks because they want to serve the Prophets, to put them before any and all worldly concerns. Such a commitment wasn’t ideal for making a relationship work. Hamsan: I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. The truth is, I can’t help feeling that my pagh is still meant to walk this path. That someday, I will join the clergy like I always wanted. ::beat:: I didn’t expect to fall in love with you, though. Sirin: I didn’t expect to fall in love with anyone. But I would never hold you back from what you feel you need to do with your life. Hamsan: You’re an important part of my life now. I can’t imagine it without you. ::beat:: But that doesn’t replace or diminish what I still believe is my life’s calling. I hope you understand. Sirin: ::pauses:: How do you see your life after StarFleet? How would you even begin to know how to transition into such a life? ::pauses:: How would I? Hamsan: My four-year tour of duty is up next year. I could always sign on again, but… His voice trailed off. Starfleet had given him so much, and it seemed less than grateful to cash out after everything the organization had invested in him as a medical technician. Hamsan: I have made some inquiries. There are monasteries and temples all over the Federation now. It’s not like I would have to hide away in some forest in the middle of nowhere on Bajor. Sirin: ::squeezes his hands:: You know that I only joined because I had no one I could trust except my cousin, and she trusted StarFleet. Slowly, this crew has become my family ::smirks:: even Genkos. But even though I am grateful for their acceptance, and their companionship, I can’t imagine my life without you either. She took a deep breath and stared at him, focusing on his emotions. As an empath, she had always felt things so strongly that she’d forced herself to block emotions from everyone around her. This time, this once, she’d indulge and feel everything from someone else’s perspective. The rush of love and strength surrounded her like a blanket and she smiled brightly. Sirin: As long as you can feel as you do now about our joined path, I’ll walk it with you. However, if you ever feel that you need to walk alone, I - won’t be happy, but I will try to be happy for you. Because I do love you. Hamsan: I love you too. And still I want to share more of my life with you. The counselor considered this. What was the next step? Biting her lower lip, she acknowledged that they needed to have a conversation with someone a bit higher up then they were. Sirin: We’ll need to speak to Commander MacKenzie. TBC PNPC C2 Hamsan Dwich Emergency Medical Technician USS Resolution NCC-78145 simmed by Lieutenant Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145 Justin D238804DS0 and Lt Meidra Sirin Counseling Officer USS Resolution R239707MS0
  8. @Hallia Yellir combines scientific curiosity with overactive imagination and unquenchable optimism. It makes her a joy to read, and reminds all of us that there's more than enough room in Starfleet for FUN. ((Security Control, Deck 3, USS Resolution)) Yellir: Oh! Perfect! I need… ::checking her PADD:: two type one phase— wait, make that three, three type two phasers and fi…— no, six! power cells. I need them for an experiment. Aine's eyes went wide. oO That's quite a requisition for a science experiment. Oo Aine wondered what kind of experiment it was, and with scientists the way they were, who really knew? Sometimes it was better not to ask. Luckily, part of their resupply was included phasers because of the worry the effect the Skarn homeworld may have had on them...and one was missing. And being still docked, they could always get more. Hallia tilted her head slightly. A little alarmed by Aine’s reaction, she looked down, wondering if she’d said something wrong. The security officer seemed a little caught off guard by the request. But then again, not many science officers request directed energy weapons for an experiment. Part of her felt a little bad, but then again, it was either this or try and make one out of lab equipment. Which probably wouldn’t go well, as Hallia was all thumbs when it came to engineering. Perhaps actually learning more about the subject might benefit her. Sherlock: Um, yeah, that should be no problem. :: gesturing towards the weapons locker :: Standing, Aine made her way across the room. Pressing her finger onto an access panel, the door to the weapons locker slid open with a quiet hiss. Hallia grabbed the phasers one by one, and held them in her free hand. Sherlock: So, what kind of experiment is this? Yellir: ::smiling, Hallia mumbled quietly, almost unable to contain her voice to such a volume:: I made a chunk of what I call synthflesh. Sherlock: A what? Yellir: ::Nearly yelling:: Fake skin! ::covering her mouth and quieting herself:: Well… not exactly. It’s a layer of… skin really. It’s not real in the sense that it’s a part of someone’s body. However! I replicated it from leftover protein samples I found. Sherlock: What's it used for? Yellir: Oh, I’m SO glad you asked. It’s a regenerative layer of skin that can be easily grafted onto a patient. It skips the proliferative phase of the humanoid body’s natural healing ability. Ensuring that, potentially, in a matter of seconds and or minutes, depending on wound severity, it can knit back ripped open flesh and allow the immune system to focus solely on clearing out bacteria. It’s a little redundant, given we have dermal regenerators and whatnot, but I thought it could be fun. Maybe useful in the rare case someone is intolerant to the devices or something. As Aine grabbed for powercells, Hallia rambled on and on, explaining her process behind the idea as well as the parts she found most interesting in her mind. The Yelikan nodded, thinking of the security officer as such an amazing listener. Sherlock: That's fascinating. :: handing the power cells to Hallia :: So :: beat :: what do you need the phaser for? Yellir: Well, you see, in non-scientific terms, I’m going to shoot it and see what happens. I want to see if it offers any resistance to directed energy weapons. Hallia’s arms carried the lump of items. Using her chin to steady the pile, she continued talking. Sherlock: Response? Yellir: I mean, my hypothesis is that anything above stun is probably going to absolutely smoulder it. But, you never know! Maybe it’s somehow resistant to particle weaponry? ::jokingly:: We could outfit the ship with ablative skin in that case. Sherlock: Response? TAG/TBC ______________________ Lieutenant JG Hallia Yellir Science Officer USS Resolution G239409EK0
  9. There was one of these for the Victory and I seen other ships with a simular topic, so here is a new one for a new ship, who wants to be the first to put up a funny Quote from one of the crew??
  10. It's always a pleasure to see talented writers scribing together, and this is an absolute pleasure. Well done @Etan Iljor and @Yalu; this is so much fun. I cannot wait to see where it goes! (( Shuttlecraft Rennell, Outermost Boundary of the Celendi Nebula, The Borderlands )) Awash with a hazy golden glow, the Celendi Nebula was situated at the eastern most edge of The Borderlands. An unfathomably large stellar gas cloud that had held its secrets for as long as the Federation had attempted to cross it, it was best known as a navigational hazard and a place best avoided by all but the most foolhardy explorers. Though not impossible to traverse, its composition made it extremely difficult. As he looked at the readout on his console, Etan Iljor could see why: synchrotron radiation, neutrino emissions, magnetascopic interference and large quantities of protomatter. He turned to the shuttle’s pilot- his roommate and Resolution’s helm officer, Lieutenant Yogan Yalu. Etan: Remind me why we’re here? ::he asked, his voice flecked heavily with sardonic humour.:: The corner of Yogan’s mouth turned slightly upward and he let out a brief chuckle. Their current situation reminded him of the latest chapter of The Belonging Season, his psychodrama du jour, in which the protagonists had just embarked on a locked-room style adventure of self-discovery and -expression. This simple survey mission, however, would likely pale in comparison to the pages of The Belonging Season. Taking his eyes off his console for a moment, he looked to his right, to the copilot’s seat, where his roommate and friend Etan Iljor sat, an inscrutable expression on his face. Iljor’s sense of humour never failed to bring a smile to Yogan’s. Yalu: I could read the mission briefing again. ::beat, in a theatrical narrator voice:: In a section of nebula, so weird, only two junior officers could possibly survey it. ::beat, normal voice:: With Resolution being repaired, I think we just might have been the only pilot-scientist combo hanging around the station. It had been a two day voyage from Deep Space 224 to their present location- just long enough to remind the young science officer why he did not care for the small auxiliary vessels used by their mothership. Two years earlier, he had been one of eight cadets sent out on a training expedition in such a vessel. What had started as an exciting opportunity for exploration and discovery had quickly lost it’s sheen when it had become apparent that eight cadets were not supposed to fit in such a cramped space. Two weeks and many, many frayed nerves later- Iljor had returned to the Academy campus on Betazoid with a healthy resentment for what many called ‘the Class 2 coffin’. Etan: And we couldn’t have taken the Waverider instead? Yogan nodded his shared disappointment. Waverider was far more comfortable for a two-person survey mission than this type-9 shuttlecraft–at least they would each have had their own bunk–but it was designed primarily for atmospheric rather than interstellar flight. Plus, it happened to be docked on the underbelly of Resolution’s saucer section, which meant... Yalu: It had a bit of a rough landing on that planet. It figured, given the Resolution’s last assignment had resulted in a crash landing that had damaged almost every system and compartment aboard. Of course the Waverider was being repaired. Some people, like Iljor, did not have any luck at all. Etan: Figures. ::he said, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect, before turning back to the readouts on his console.:: All that magnetascopic interference and ionising radiation is going to make our job a lot harder. Even at a considerable distance from the nebula’s outermost boundary, sensors were already struggling to identify anything inside. A confusing and contradictory stream of data filled his screen, reducing the sensor’s effectiveness by nearly 70 per cent. It occurred to Iljor at that particular moment, that there were some nebulas Starfleet were best avoiding. With all of its potential hazards to navigation and impediments to commerce, exploration, and general development in the region, it made sense to Yogan that properly charting some of the more dangerous fringes of the Celendi Nebula was a relatively high priority. It never ceased to amaze him that with all of their technology, still so much of their galaxy remained unexplored. Yalu: You’re right. The interference in this sector is 500% higher than the baseline for the rest of the nebula. Who knows, Iljor, there might even be undiscovered planets in here. ::beat, grins:: Have you completed first contact training? Etan: At the academy. ::he replied, bobbing his head:: It’s a required course for all students on the Anthropology & Archaeology track. ::best:: I must have spent a hundred hours in the simulator preparing for my exam. Maybe more. ::he turned from his console to glance at the pilot.:: What about you? Yalu: ::chuckles:: Nope. ::beat:: Well, yes and no. One of my previous hosts, Auzell, was a Starfleet officer, and she served on a couple of First Contact teams. I remember that simulator, too. Yogan, on the other hand… well, I suppose I can rely on my MED 111 course at the Academy. ::beat, off Iljor’s look:: Bedside Manner. I got an “A.” Iljor chuckled as he turned back to his console. He often forgot that the Joined Trill had entered Starfleet with the intention of practising medicine. Instead he forged himself a path as a consummate helmsman. He ran a scan of the region before them, not expecting a clear reading. The Celendi Nebula was not likely to reveal its secrets to the two men. Etan: I’m picking up a slight drag from our impulse engines. ::he cross referenced with the external sensor feed.:: The nebula density is increasing. As they neared the nebula, the density of its contents increased, blocking out the stars and casting a more muted, flaxen quality to the space ahead of the small shuttlecraft. Less awe-inspiring and more like an unpleasant soup one might order without realizing what it was made of. Yalu: I’ll take us in slowly, monitor our position, and keep an eye out for any navigational hazards while we execute the survey pattern. ::beat:: Once we’re off and running, it’s your show. Iljor smirked in reply. Etan: I hope your not expecting a gripping psychodrama, Yogan. ::he replied with no small amusement. He had seen the man’s reading material in their shared quarters.:: This will be a more sedate show. oO One that might put us to sleep. Oo ::he added mentally, preparing himself for a long assignment with little reward.:: The friendship Yogan had formed with Iljor since the two were assigned to share quarters on Resolution could best be described as easy. He enjoyed the Bajoran scientist’s company, and while they had few interests in common, they possessed a similar attitude that made cohabiting in a living space relatively unremarkable. Iljor was a contemplative sort, much more like Yogan Verso was before being Joined to Yalu. Even with all of the past lifetimes enriching and transforming his personality, Yogan was still introspective at heart, which made the two officers well-matched as roommates. Yalu: All right, starting in grid One-Alpha. ::looks over to Iljor, grins:: Survey away, my friend. Technically, as the superior officer, Yogan was in command of the survey mission, but when Iljor had first arrived on Resolution, the two men made the decision to leave their rank at the door of their shared quarters. Here, they were on duty, but their confinement to the shuttlecraft made the experience seem much more like they were hanging out at home rather than at work. Yogan was content to sit back and let the scientist do what he did best. Etan: ::he breathed in and reconfigured the console in front of him.:: Beginning scans of grid One-Alpha. Full sensor sweep. Yalu: Holding position. There is a stream of radioactive protomatter moving slowly toward us, but we’ll have moved to the next grid by the time it gets here. ::beat, sighs:: Exciting enough for you? He leaned over to get a better look at the data on Yogan’s console, his cautious nature taking hold. The information displayed was just as the Trill had said. Rendered as data on a screen, it did not look particularly threatening but if it intersected with the shuttlecraft’s position, there would not be much left of either man for Doctor Adea to identify. Etan: ::he looked at Yogan.:: I’m gripped already. ::returning his attention to his own sensor scans, he began to analyse the data that the sensors were relaying.:: I’m detecting a 0.002% increase in neutrino emissions. ::he rolled his eyes for dramatic effect.:: However will we sleep tonight? Yalu: ::chuckles, wryly:: With this firestorm of activity? I’ll be up for days. Yogan looked out the forward viewport at the slowly swirling, golden-green nebula. He was grateful to have a couple of days of uneventful, routine work to do before Resolution was ready to welcome them back aboard. There were still some twinges in his lower back and soreness in his arms from the physical work of building the home for the Romulan refugees, and sitting in the pilot’s seat of the shuttlecraft for an extended period had left him feeling a bit stiff. He’d heard about a place on Deep Space 224 where he could get a massage to work out the knots in his shoulders and neck, but after receiving a somewhat lukewarm review of the place from Meidra, he never pursued it. Etan: How did you find Oreen V? The topographical and environmental reports I read made for some pretty unpleasant reading. Iljor had not seen Yogan since he had returned from the nascent Romulan colony, even though they shared quarters. With his sleep cycle all but non-existent, Iljor had taken to working in the various science laboratories on the Resolution or wandering the gargantuan Deep Space 224. His conversations with Genkos and Aine had given him some solace that he was not as alone as he felt- but still, sleep eluded him. One such report he had come across during his nighttime endeavours made Oreen V seem like a difficult place for anybody to set up a colony, let alone a group of disaffected Romulans with limited resources. In a way, their efforts made him think of the refugee camps-turned-semi permanent settlements that had cropped up all along the Bajoran border with the Federation during the Occupation. Conditions on a plethora of worlds had been difficult to say the least, if not downright hostile to Bajoran life. But those displaced in the Diaspora were a hardy group- and they had made the best of a terrible situation. He knew that his paternal grandmother, Sobra, had spent some time in one such ‘settlement’ but she didn’t much like to talk about those years. He had tried occasionally over the years to glean some information- but it had not been until after her passing- at her memorial service- that he had learned she had worked as an healthcare assistant in the Federation administered medical centre. Yalu: The reports were accurate about the planet. The environment is hospitable, but definitely not conducive to sustainable, long-term settlement. ::beat:: I got the feeling it was given to the Romulans to settle because no one else wanted it. ::beat:: But they’ve done a remarkable job of building a community there. It’s inspiring, considering what they’ve been through in the last decade. Etan: They’ll bounce back. ::he said with certainty.:: The Romulan people are amongst the most resilient species in the quadrant. Part of my anthropological studies at the academy were centered on the Romulans. We don’t know a lot about them, believe it or, but what we do know is that they thrive in adversity. We may not always see eye-to-eye, if ever, with them- but we can respect their ability to come back swinging. Yogan held deep respect for Iljor, whose words sounded like they belonged to someone far older than his 22 years. Coming into the world on the heels of the Occupation and the devastation of the war, it would have been perfectly reasonable for someone of Iljor’s generation to become disillusioned and bitter. Instead, he seemed to maintain an inextinguishable curiosity about the universe, coupled with a healthy admiration of the accomplishments of his people. Yalu: You’re right. If Bajor can come out of the Occupation, with all of the devastation the Cardassians wrought over six decades, there’s hope for the Romulans. Etan: There’s that too. The smile that curled the corners of his mouth was tinged with pride. The Cardassians had plundered Bajor for sixty years. Plundered it for minerals, art, literature, arable land, oil and gas- amongst other things. By the time the Resistance finally succeeded in driving them off Bajor, the planet had been strip mined to within an inch of its life, most of its arable land had become poisonous, it held little natural resources and its people- once united in common cause- were on the verge of warring with one another. Iljor had been born several years after the end of the Occupation, but as a small child he had still seen the scars that it had left. He was undeniably proud of the work his people had undertaken to transform their homeworld back into a centre of diplomacy, commerce, academia and art. Etan: oO And there are still scars, even now. Oo ::he thought to himself, reminded of the accusations that Akhbett Jirall had levied across his beloved parents. He didn’t want to think about them for the time being- though it was becoming increasingly difficult not to. He forced himself to look back at the readings on the screen in front of him.:: Stellar winds in this grid are increasing. Not by much, but we still should be careful. Yogan’s attention was diverted briefly to the navigational console, and he noticed the same thing that Iljor did. His hands moved across the glossy surface and keyed in sequence of commands. Yalu: Engaging manoeuvring thrusters at one-quarter. That should keep us from getting buffeted about too much. ::beat:: Haven’t seen much of you since we left the Briar Patch. ::beat:: Or, come to think of it, since we got back from Trill. Opposite duty shifts, I guess? Iljor nodded, but looked at his console in an effort to not look at Yogan. He suddenly felt the cloud that had been hanging over him returning. Had his roommate noticed just like Aine and Genkos? Yogan had noticed that Iljor had seemed preoccupied of late, even more contemplative than usual. At first, he had chalked it up to the transformative experience they’d shared on Trill, Yogan’s zhian’tara, but Iljor’s muted disposition had continued beyond that. Etan: Uh, yeah. I guess. ::he could hear himself, he sounded non-committal:: It seemed as though Iljor wasn’t particularly eager to talk about it, and although Yogan was concerned for his roommate and friend, he didn’t intend to push the issue. After all, the two officers shared a living space and were friendly, but Yogan knew that Iljor had closer friends aboard the ship with whom he could share his troubles. Even so, whatever was on Iljor’s mind seemed to occupy him at all hours. Yalu: I’ve heard you pacing in your room at night. Etan: Hm? ::he looked up and glanced over at Yogan before looking back at his readings.:: I’m fine. ::Was it his imagination or did his own voice sound higher?:: Yogan looked down at his controls, manufacturing a break in the conversation. Perhaps there could have been a subtler way of backpedaling from the conversation than awkwardly about-facing back to work, but it was effective. Yalu: Grid One-Alpha is complete. Setting course for Grid Two-Alpha, thrusters only, 500 kph. Glad of the opportunity for the break in the conversation and feeling guilty about the fact he had lied to his roommate, he focused on the work ahead of them. Etan: Understood. Reconfiguring sensors now. Yalu: ETA at Grid Two-Alpha, 90 seconds. The craft rolled slowly toward its new destination, the only sound inside the shuttlecraft being the low hum of the engines. Yalu: I hope that whatever is bothering you, you have support to work through it. Iljor looked at Yogan from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t pushing the issue and for that he was immeasurably grateful. Etan: I do. He had yet to speak to Meidra although he had made an appointment. Knowing that Aine and Genkos were prepared to be there for him, even without knowing the specifics of the situation had made him feel a touch better. In his own way, Yogan was showing his support and Iljor was grateful. Yalu: I’m glad. ::beat:: Holding position at Grid Two-Alpha. Ready when you are. Etan: Sensors reconfigured. Beginning scans. Yogan looked through the viewport at another unremarkable swath of nebula, when something in the distance caught his attention. Yalu: ::pointing:: What is that? At first Iljor could not see what Yogan was pointing to. Given the Celendi Nebula’s reputation to could have been almost anything. Then his eyes caught it. Against the backdrop of the dusty golden gas clouds that marked the edge of the nebula, something was drifting slowly in space. The way in which tumbling gently over itself suggested to the science officer that it had been ejected some time ago from the nebula- perhaps a day or two- via the stellar currents that were found within. Iljor’s hands danced quickly over his reconfigured console, directing every available sensor at the small object. Etan: Scanning the object now. Yalu: It’s moving slowly, less than 20 kph. ::beat:: Getting a clearer picture of it on sensors. The sensor scans resolved themselves on the screen in front of Iljor. He raised an eyebrow and let out a small gasp of surprise. Etan: It’s a Federation Type-7 shuttlecraft! Yalu: ::squinting:: What’s it doing out here? The rounded hull of the shuttlecraft tumbled through space, emerging through the nebular haze and becoming easier to make out. Yogan’s question was purely rhetorical, as the small vessel was clearly adrift, its journey at the mercy of the currents whipping and whirling through the nebula. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t good. Etan: I’m running it’s registry through the Starfleet database now. ::he said, his hands at work once again.:: According to the this, this shuttle belongs to the starship Ibn Battuta. ::he turned to Yogan again.:: Does that sound familiar to you? Yalu: ::copies Iljor’s data onto his own console:: Doesn’t ring a bell. ::beat:: It says here that Ibn Battuta patrolled a section of the Klingon border near the Celendi Nebula in the late 2360s. Etan: So it’s been out here for thirty years? I’m going to run a search on the Ibn Battuta and see what I can find. Yalu: The hull is intact. I’m going to move us in closer and tractor it out. ::beat:: Our survey can allow a brief detour to investigate. Yogan piloted their shuttle deeper into the nebula, which was more difficult than he anticipated due to the unusually dense matter surrounding them. A few minutes later, they were parked back in their original position near Grid Two-Alpha, with a derelict shuttlecraft staring back at them a few dozen metres off their bow. Etan: Should we go over? The idea caused a strange mixture of intrigue and apprehension within the science officer. Abandoned and adrift shuttlecraft certainly held secrets, but whether anybody should uncover them was debatable. Yalu: Good question. ::beat:: Is it safe to beam over? Iljor ran a quick scan before replying. Etan: Sensors are showing that the shuttle is operating on a reduced power mode. There’s a breathable atmosphere over there, but we can remote trigger it’s power systems to bring it up to full operating capabilities. Yalu: ::shrugs:: Might give us a sharper clue into this region of the nebula. After all, this craft has been lost for 30 years. Iljor’s console bleeped at him. His search on the USS Ibn Battuta had brought up some interesting information and he scanned through the documents that the computer had selected for his attention. Etan: The Ibn Battuta reported a missing shuttlecraft on Stardate 48401.32 that had been sent on a survey mission. The ship itself tried for a week to find it but two officers were reported missing in action, presumed dead. ::the realisation that meant for the two men hit him like a stellar wind.:: Oh Prophets, you don’t think…? His eyes fell across the old shuttle full of trepidation, imagining the state that it’s occupation would be in after three decades. Sensors had not registered any life signs, after all… Yogan bit his lip at this particularly grim development. The historical parallel wasn’t lost on him, either. Two officers, sent off in a shuttlecraft to survey the Celendi Nebula. What was that old cliché he heard during his school days? Something about learning from history or being doomed to repeat it? Yalu: We’d better prepare ourselves, mentally, for what we might find over there. Reluctantly, Iljor got to his feet and equipped himself for their impromptu away mission: a tricorder and a phaser. He was relieved that the Rennell did not carry Visual Recording Devices as standard. There were some things best left undocumented, if what he thought was waiting for them came to pass. Etan: I’m ready. ::he said, the reluctance he felt seeping into the tone of his voice.:: Yogan locked down their small shuttlecraft, the 24th-century equivalent of dropping anchor or yanking the emergency brake. Confident that Rennell would be waiting for them when they were ready to return, he stood and grabbed the same bits of kit as Iljor. After keying in a site-to-site transport and setting the time delay, he rose from his seat and joined his fellow officer at the back of the cabin. Yalu: Let’s go. Holding his tricorder in one hand and his phaser in t’other, Yogan breathed deeply in half-anticipation/half-dread as the transporter beam enveloped the two men, sending them into the unknown. (( Derelict shuttlecraft )) The first thing Yogan noticed upon beaming in was the smell. Stale air made the small space feel even stuffier than usual, and the cold temperature immediately made him feel clammy. There was clearly no threat lurking behind seats or under consoles, so Yogan holstered his phaser and switched the tricorder to his dominant hand. Yalu: No signs of electrical damage. Nothing to indicate a catastrophic systems failure. ::beat:: With a quick power transfer, this craft would be flight ready. Iljor took a second to reorientate himself and get used to the staler air of the derelict vessel. He unclipped his tricorder, opened it and began scanning just as Yogan had done moments earlier. He felt an odd sense of unsettlement, as though things were not supposed to be the way they were. There wasn’t much space to wander around, which made the initial search of the craft relatively brief in duration. After turning 360 degrees multiple times, Yogan realised that the unpleasantness he had prepared himself for. Etan: Where are the corpses of the missing officers? ::he said, bewildered and looking to Yogan for guidance.:: Yalu: I don’t know. ::beat:: I’m half expecting one of them to drop out of the ceiling. ::adjusts tricorder settings:: I’m scanning for residual humanoid tissues now. If they’re here, or were, we’ll find out. Yogan slowly scanned the interior of the spacecraft, sweeping the tricorder across each surface. The readout didn’t change at all, and Yogan furrowed his brow in confusion. Yalu: I’m not picking anything up. No signs of decomposition, either. Those two missing officers weren’t in here. Or at the very least, they didn’t die in here. This is anticlimactic. ::beat:: I mean, I wasn’t hoping to find dead bodies in here, but… ::voice trails off:: At least we can recover the logs and tow the ship back to starbase. Etan: Good idea. ::he nodded in approval.:: I’ll get started on the logs. Yalu: ::returning the nod:: Aye. I’ll get the navigational computer online and establish a link with Rennell. If I can pilot her remotely, it’ll be a lot easier. Iljor took the copilots chair, which was a lot less comfortable than the one he had been occupying in the Rannell. He reached forward and tapped the old style console. A sharp negative beep met his touch and he blinked in surprise. Etan: That’s odd. This console won’t respond. ::he ran his tricorder across the console.:: The power systems don’t seem to be unaffected by whatever happened to the shuttle. But I can’t access the navigational logs. Yalu: Hmm. ::stands behind Iljor at the copilot’s seat:: Mind if I take a look? Realising that Yogan was more qualified than he was, especially when it came to shuttle operations he vacated the seat promptly and waved towards it. Etan: Be my guest. With a slight smile, Yogan took the seat. After a cursory inspection of the console, he didn’t get much further than Iljor did, but his tricorder diagnostic spat out a string of text that made Yogan raise an eyebrow. Iljor was right; it wasn’t a power problem. It was something far more mysterious. Yalu: We can’t access the navigational logs because they’ve been encrypted. Access restricted on Stardate 48401.32. ::beat:: That was the same date that Ibn Battuta reported this shuttlecraft missing. Why would someone have done that? The science officer considered the question before responding. Etan: Some kind of classified mission? ::he shrugged uncertainly:: But that still doesn’t explain where the occupants went? ::he ran another sweep with his tricorder, this focusing on biological material.:: I’m not even picking up any kind of biological trace matter. It’s like the shuttle was launched with nobody in it. Yogan’s brow was getting plenty of practice being furrowed. If he wasn’t careful, this seemingly simple-on-the-surface survey mission might develop a permanent crease in his forehead. The Trill intentionally relaxed his expression as he considered what to do next. Yalu: Ibn Battuta reported this craft missing with two officers aboard. Let’s try to figure out who they are. ::beat:: I have an idea. ::taps combadge:: Computer, do you have a record of the crew roster of the USS Ibn Battuta on Stardate 48401.32? Computer: Affirmative. Yalu: And a record of the same roster for, say, two weeks after that date? Computer: Affirmative. Yalu: Compare the two and report any changes. Computer: Working. ::beat:: Two differences between specified rosters identified. Yalu: Who are they? Computer: First Officer Lieutenant Commander Anxo Oliveria and Shuttle Pilot Lieutenant Junior Grade Parker Costanzo. Despite being mindful of the expression he wore on his face, Yogan couldn’t help raise an eyebrow at this bit of news. People go missing on missions from time to time, but for a senior officer to vanish without a trace added yet another wrinkle to this mystery. He thought about Addison MacKenzie, Resolution’s second-in-command, and had a hard time believing the crew would accept her just disappearing into thin air. Etan: The First Officer went missing?! ::he said, surprised.:: I guess that explains why Ibn Battuta spent a week looking for this shuttle. ::beat:: But according to our scans, they were never aboard. And a First Officer going missing in action would be pretty big news, right? So why have we never heard about Commander Oliveria? Things did not add up and coming so soon after their sojourn to the Briar Patch, Iljor was in no mood for more unanswered questions. Yogan looked back down at his tricorder’s display, as if to confirm that the data was correct. Both he and Iljor had run the same scans, and got the same results. With encrypted navigational logs, they couldn’t tell where the craft had been, but the condition of the [...]pit was clear: it had been launched with no one aboard. Yalu: We’ve got limited resources to get the answers we want out here. But I’m just as curious as you are, Iljor. We’ve got to find out what happened to Oliveria and Costanzo. Etan: ::he nodded his agreement.:: Maybe we should take this shuttle back to the Resolution? We’ll be better equipped to investigate there. Yogan nodded. The scientist was right. Perhaps Resolution, with her greater computing capacity, access to Starfleet records, and insolent-yet-efficient staff librarian, would be a more suitable base for launching an inquiry of this type. Yalu: Who’d have thought when we flew out here for a survey mission that we’d have uncovered something like this? ::settles back into the pilot seat:: Should be no problem piloting the craft remotely from Rennel, but it’s a two-day trip back to DS224. Iljor, I want to find out everything we can before we deliver this shuttle back over to Starfleet. Something feels wrong about this, and I don’t know about you, but I want to figure it out. Etan: I agree. ::beat:: We’ve already got too many mysteries left over from the Skarn Homeworld. I’m a scientist- and the idea of something going unsolved make my skin crawl. Their brief visit to the derelict craft had been a roller coaster. Yogan beamed over expecting to find the final resting place of two officers, left to the misfortune and abyss of deep space. Instead, they found an inexplicable situation and two officers whose disappearances remained a mystery. Yogan was pleased that his roommate and friend was as eager as he was to investigate. If nothing else, it might give them something to work on together after work, and be a welcome distraction to whatever had been troubling Iljor recently. Yalu: All right. The crafts’ navigation systems are linked. Let’s beam back and see if we can crack the encryption on those logs. TBC! Lieutenant Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145 Justin D238804DS0 Lieutenant JG Etan Iljor Science Officer USS Resolution C239203TW0
  11. OOC: I just love the way Jamie infuses Wyn's personality in the posts she writes with him. ((Ballroom C-10, Starbase 118)) Wyn Foster might be a little paranoid. At one point an antagonistic friend by the name of Sinda Essen had called him out, saying that he was packing drugs to stave off his own personal demons and he had hotly tossed back to her that no, in fact he did not self-medicate because he had already seen what sort of horrible destruction that could wreak. And in a quip of sarcasm she had called him paranoid. He had returned that yes, damn right it was paranoia such hard, fast and scathingly raw tone that it had stunned her to silence. No matter where, something could happen, someone would get hurt. His preparation never hurt anyone. His paranoia… well, jury was out on that. But he stuck to his preparation. Foster: In my boot. ::He pulled a perfectly fitted wallet-fold custom medkit from his polished boot.:: I always have at least one medkit on my person at all times. Though speaking of self-medicating, this was the … third… time he had seen ill effects connected to alcohol consumption and Ashley Yael. Once is a fluke. Twice is a coincidence. Three times? That outlined the horrifying possibility of a habit. Blackwell:::She gave a soft smile:: It’s one of the many reasons why I love having Wyn around. Yael: ::more to Wyn, sheepishly:: Sorry to make you work at a party. Foster Hey, it’s what I live to do. He tried to make it sound lighthearted. Tried. He was fighting the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat. His father had been an alcoholic. Was an alcoholic. Is an alcoholic, despite being sober for nearly thirty years. It was terrifying, dark, destructive and hard to break. A tiny voice was starting to plead in the back of Wyn’s head to ignore this. To wedge himself into a state of comfortable denial. A much louder voice was ringing warning bells. Wyn, remember the last few times you had warning bells? What happened? Terrible things happened. With every iteration he acted faster and with more vehemence. And every time he somehow failed harder, watching people die in body and spirit. Blackwell::With a quick wink to the Andorian, her gaze turned towards the crowd:: Quite the guest list ::with a sip of her water:: He offered a smile to Rue, trying to tamp down the rising wave of fear that rose in his chest. What if the warning bells were right? What if he messed it up again? What if he lost his new crush… and his longest, dearest friend? Did he have to be at this party? Could he run away and hide, railing at imagined fears by sobbing in a dark cold room? No? Curse those heavy, horrible pips. Yael: It doesn’t seem there’s any cultural specifics or theme to the party, which makes me think the items may be a collaboration of very different items. He offered a pinched smile and a nod. Foster I think ‘eclectic’ is the word you are looking for. ::he filled the hypospray and sidled over towards Ashley.:: Anything in particular you’re interested in spectating? And as soon as Rue started talking he used the change in attention to administer his special hangover cure – a patented blend of vitamins, minerals, nutrients and analgesics, guaranteed to make the day instantly brighter. And he was quick, too. Even Mr. ‘I hate being touched’ barely had enough time to react before it was over and done. Wyn indulged in a tiny smirk. He liked being good at his job, up to and including his ninja skills. Blackwell: Oh I am looking forward to the displays. I have all intentions to get a look as many things as I can while we diplomatically mingle. Foster Oh diplomatic mingling, that sounds great. He said in a tone that clearly said it sounded about as great as dumping a metric ton of tribbles into a Klingon mosh pit. Blackwell: Give good impressions, come off as personable, or at least interesting, and don’t make a scene - I think it should be manageable ::She grinned faintly:: I’ll even hold off on waxing poetic about any strange things I find. Yael: What if we prefer that you wax poetic? You might impress the scientists with your knowledge. Foster It is definitely preferable to diplomatic mingling. And he meant that. He would take nerding out on an obscure topic over meaningless mingling while trying to smile, bow and scrape in all the right ways any day. Leave the diplomacy to the diplomats and empaths who got a kick out of it. Blackwell::She shrugged faintly:: I heard a few rumors of what could be here. Treasures and curiosities from all over. ::She looked at the two and gave a brightened smile.:: What about you two? Anything you want to see? Yael: I’m hoping they have something from Iconia. Might be a long shot though. Foster: Dinner? He offered with dead honesty and a little shrug. Antiques were never his thing. When he was a kid he was on a starship and interested in every new thing they found out in space. And then in Pepperell, he had to admit he wasn’t very interested in stories about old stuff because it was always stories about old Human stuff. And he could never really get invested in it. He was, at one point curious about old Andorian stuff, but quickly found that he didn’t have enough cultural foundation in his genetic culture to understand most of it. Add in the fact that his father explained to him that he had hybrid biology just before he entered Starfleet Academy – as to ensure that his Academy entrance physical would not be his first time learning this – made him even less interested in his home cultures. He simply didn’t want to know in large part for fear of rejection. So, no… antiquities never really captured his imagination like they did for others. Yael: If they don’t have anything interesting, I’m sure we could sneak away to a relevant convention somewhere. They wouldn’t be as spectacular as all *this*... ::he glanced around them:: … but the Station is always hosting something new and interesting. Foster: Like Klingon mud wrestling. Was that a joke or an honest suggestion? Hard to tell with Wyn. Blackwell: ? Yael: We should keep our eyes on the arrival manifests as well. You never know when someone fascinating is going to show up. Foster: you expecting anyone? Paranoia welled up in him again. Should he be aware of something? Did he miss something? Blackwell: ? For a moment Ashley Yael’s eyes floated towards an overdressed Bolian dripping in ‘notice me!’ accents. Who seems exactly like the type of person Wyn would like to avoid, without knowing anything about him. Yael: Careful with that one. ::he nodded his head at the Bolian man, then looked at Rue:: Hard to forget him. Blackwell: ? Foster: Who is he? Yael: A journalist… if you can call him that. Jafarr Symote. He’s got a team of minions and a gossip show that airs all over the Station. And if he doesn’t have any juicy material, he’ll make it up and edit it in. That made the little doctor bristle, visible. He liked nothing about that. Nothing at all. Foster: So noted. I will summarily avoid him like the plague. Blackwell: ? Yael: I suppose he’s *relatively* harmless… just don’t let him corner you in a corridor. Yeah, cornering Wyn Foster in a corridor would probably end badly for the both of them. The little doctor didn’t take well to threats and had enough untreated PTSD from past trauma on Starfleet duty that he would likely take any attempt at cornering as an attempt at violence. And with a less than scrupulous reporter? That would be a nightmare. Blackwell: ? Galven: Usually things that are considered relatively harmless are pretty irrelevant, but I'm not going to keep anyone's "time." ::He raised both hands, moving his index and middle fingers in air quotes:: He jerked his head to one side and raised both antennae and snowy brows in unison. Foster: How the hell did you sneak up here? But at least German Galven was a known quantity. Not a skeevy reporter. Still, he got the drop on them and that bugged Wyn. He really needed to get his antennae checked. Yael/Blackwell: ? Galven: I actually cornered a few reporters a few weeks ago as a matter of fact. Foster: Cornered? ::he watched with muted shock.:: I hope you didn’t hit any. Actually he kinda hoped Galven did. Reporters deserved it. Yael/Blackwell: ? Galven: ::smirks:: Apparently they didn't want to hear about anything and everything. ::shrugs:: So have any of you been to a gala like this before? Yael/Blackwell: ? Foster: Nope. Medical conferences tend to be more dry and boring. Less merchants and pageantry. You just knew that if this convention was only scientists and archaeologists that this gala would be a lot more quickly and a lot less fancy. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? Foster: Really I’m just here to smile, not cause a scene and eat. And because I was told to be here. And that, in a nutshell, was how the little surgeon approached fancy dinners. But hey, he’d take fancy food. That was a nice perk. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? A chime rang and the lights shifted, indicating they should move to a table. Foster: Oh, looks like things are getting started. ::He pointed to the stage:: A six course dinner with entertainment? White the shindig. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? Foster: I expect it’s entertainment of the archaeological variety. He started strolling around the tables, reading the nameplates. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? Foster: Aww, that’s cute, they have little department color stripes to identify our names. Handy. Whoever planned this party had an attention to detail – and that he could appreciate. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  12. Earnest, sad, and most of all a really compelling read. @Randal Shayne writes so strong usually, but this trio knocked it out of the park for me. Almost makes me feel bad about Maria being such a thorn in his side. Almost. Part 1: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/TkDoayUI-08 Part 2: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/eEbkaY0Rg6k Part 3: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/4qsGAL3K9T4
  13. It's about time we had one of these for our wonderfully wacky and eclectic ship and all who sail in her. Go nuts!
  14. I'm honored that I was able to participate in such a special moment for my CO, @Tony, aka Kells, and that I could help be part of what made it special for him! To all our guests you have our sincerest thanks for participating! =========================================================== (( Main Arboretum, Deck 5, USS Thor )) In his dress whites for the first time in a long while, Geoff felt an odd bit of nervousness creeping in around the edges of his fairly manic last minute planning. The guests were due to arrive at any moment and represented friends, mentors, colleagues and some of the upper echelons of modern Starfleet. It would be the largest single function the Thor had hosted and, thankfully, it wasn’t even Teller’s court martial. Fleet Captain Aron Kells, his CO and friend, was about to step into the truly rarefied air of the Starfleet and all these fine people were arriving to celebrate and witness the moment. Teller: Commodore Kells...rolls off the tongue. Very nautical. I like it. Talik: Sir, are you talking to me? A nearby petty officer was arranging trays of food on a nearby table, designed to mix in with the ambient foliage and rolling green grasses of their small slice of nature. Geoff realized as he listened to the rushing of the nearby waterfall that he hadn’t spent nearly as much time in this room as he should’ve over the last year. It was a profoundly soothing space, most especially here under the wide boughs and thick leaves of the central tree. The air handling systems had been designed to emulate a planetary weather pattern and Geoff found the occasional hint of breeze rippling in the treetop tremendously calming. Talik:....sir? Geoff took a deep breath, smiled, and put aside his small reverie. Teller: I wasn’t, Mr. Talik, but your opinion is welcome, and speak freely. Think the Fleet Captain’s new title suits him? The petty officer placed the tray down and considered his response for a moment before speaking. Talik: Well, honestly...sir...it’s a little...embarrassing to say but… Geoff's eyes crinkled into a confused squint. Talik:...well it’s just...Co’mo’dr is the archfiend of the afterlife on Denobula...I grew up there and I guess the name...stuck in my head. Geoff snorted, rolling the unfamiliar pronunciation around, entirely amused. Teller: I’ll make sure to pass that along to Starfleet Command. Can’t have the higher ups getting called devils behind their backs. ::Geoff lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper:: Not when they don’t deserve it, anyway. Geoff winked to the young crewman and relaxed a hair as the large double doors to the arboretum opened. Their first guests were arriving. Teller: Various sirs, ma’ams, honored non-specifics ::Teller was babbling. Apparently that ninth cup of coffee had been one too many.:: Welcome everyone, welcome. Please, make yourselves comfortable while the rest of our guests arrive. We’ll be getting started in just a few minutes. The Constitution was on shore leave; fairly extended shore leave due to the slight issue of not being entirely in one piece, the most notable issue being the missing warp nacelle. Which meant that, after a trip to Vulcan, to detour via Cardassian space on the way back to the Marchlands in the galactic south. Saveron had never really anticipated stepping foot on the Thor, but this was the second time within a relatively short space of time. Dressed in the robe variant of Starfleet dress whites, the Vulcan Commander paused to regard the expansive greenery afforded by the Arboretum, before his grey gaze fell on one of the few familiar faces. Approaching, he raised one hand in the ta’al, the traditional splay-fingered Vulcan greeting. Saveron: Commander Teller. It is agreeable to be in your presence again, and observe that you appear to be well. Given that the last - and first - time they’d met was so that Saveron could help extract the katric remains of Alieth’s long-dead lover from Geoff’s brain before he went completely mad, the fact that the Thor’s FO appeared to be suitably functional was eminently acceptable. Teller: Commander Saveron! I’m glad you were able to make the trip again, I never really got to thank you for the whole ::Geoff artistically pantomimed removing a ghost from one's head via the ear:: well, anyway...I owe you one. Geoff extended his hand in the ta’al but his smirk was far from stoic. Teller: That’s a Good Job Guarantee. Buried somewhere in his uniform jacket Geoff’s padd chirped with an incoming message. With a smile and a wave, Geoff watched Commander Saveron join the rest of the party as he dug out the padd and discovered a message for their guest of honor. // To: Commodore Aron Kells, Commanding Officer, USS Thor NCC-82607 From: Lieutenant Commander Chythar Skyfire, Medical Officer, USS Chin'toka NCC-97187 Subject: Congratulations & Invitation Hey, Kells. It's good to see you excelling in the fleet and I wish I'd be able to present a kilo of our Chin'toka-branded Nip of Winter in person, but with all of the planning for my wedding going on I am not exactly Mr. Free Time. I have arranged for said kilo of coffee to be delivered to you. By the by, if you aren't doing anything in October, I was wondering if you'd be interested in popping over to the Chin'toka for my wedding to Lael. I so rarely do social things in the public's eye, but here's a recording for you to enjoy of the proposal. And man, let me tell you keeping her in the dark that long was hard. Miss you, buddy. Fair winds. Fair winds and following seas, commodore. Regards, CD // Geoff smiled as he pocketed the padd, glad his first CMO was happy and well aboard the Chin’toka. He’d make sure the soon to be minted Commodore saw the message after the ceremony. Compared to normal space the Shoals was like mashed potatoes compared to - well, normal space. Thick and gluggy, and hard to navigate through. When Lieutenant Commander Wil Ukinix of the USS Veritas had received an invite to the celebration of Fleet Captain Kell’s promotion to Commodore, he couldn’t resist. So he’d made his way to the Thor despite knowing how slow the initial journey from the Shoals would be. Kells had been marooned on a tropical moon along with Wil and the rest of the Veritas crew, and Wil had personally escorted his ex-crewmate, good mate and continental neighbour Nic del Vedova back to Fleet Captain Kells so that they could be re-united. But there was another good mate that he had to see personally first. And, thankfully, that person hadn’t seen him yet... And once that person was lined up (and in keeping with what was becoming tradition), Wil ran at full speed in a straight line, and then crash tackled Geoffrey Teller to the ground. Geoff had made the small tactical error of turning his back to the door, concentrating instead on a plate of surprisingly delicious confections from some planet he’d never heard of. His moment of distraction and gluttony was all that his best friend needed to stealthily approach and tackle him to the ground. Geoff didn’t even bother looking up before speaking. Teller: ::wheezing:: G’day knackers! Ukinix: CHIEF! Teller: I thought I told our Marines to keep this crowd respectable. Panting, Wil stood up and offered his hand to Teller to help him up. Geoff smiled warmly as he was dragged to his feet and into a firm embrace. As soon as the Thor’s FO was on his feet, he wrapped his arms around Teller’s shoulders. Ukinix: How’s it going, ya’ bugger! It’s good to see you. Teller: Good to see you too, Chief. Or do you prefer your majesty these days? Wil Ukinix, Second Nephew of the 47th house, heir to the ancient creaky chair of Ithric? Not totally surprised by Geoff's teasing of Wil's potential pending Betazoid nobility, the Human/Betazoid hybrid gave Geoffrey a gentle but effective smack on the back of the little man's head, before looking around the room. Ukinix: ::Cheeky smile:: Is Kell’s Del around? Geoff looked around the arboretum which was filling nicely as the hour approached. Chatting amicably near a small crowd was the guest of honor himself and his husband, Doctor Niccolo Del Vedova, their acting chief of medicine. del Vedova: He’s right here! And he’s his own man! So to say, as he fairly charged Wil and wrapped him in an embrace, and only after that was broken did he reveal the man of the hour (difficult though he was to hide behind the shorter Del): Aron himself. Kells: Hello, Wil, Geoff. Geoff, thanks for this, truly. Aron looked around at all the familiar faces and beamed as he took them all in. Her arms crossed, and uniform collar extended to reach her chin, Commander Blake tilted her head down toward Captain Roshanara Rahman next to her. Blake: I think Wil’s trying to hog everyone to himself. Rahman: I suppose I can’t blame him... Ukinix: ::Turning to Blake and Rahman:: Isn't it exciting! Geoff’s smile widened to nearly goofy proportions at the sudden reunion of friends from the Veritas. It was the first time he’d seen all these people in the same place since he transferred more than a year ago. Teller: Commander Blake...Skipper. It’s been too long. A warm smile donned Blake’s face as she relaxed her stance. Blake: It’s good to see you again. I’m glad we could make our way out of the Shoals to be here. Rahman: Indeed. Roshanara smiled as she looked back at Teller, and then her gaze turned towards Del. Kells: (with a grin) I’m glad you could as well, especially since my last trip out there did not go according to plan. del Vedova: Aw, but at least we still spent some time together. That, Aron thought, was the understatement of the century: Limbo, as the Veritas crew had nicknamed the moon, operated outside of the time experienced by the surrounding space. What had seemed like hours from a removed orbit had been experienced as months by the shipwrecked crew. Naturally, though, Roshanara waved off the memory of that extended planetary stay with a more important question. Rahman: Are you two still an item? Aron considered answering with a kiss, but Roshanara also would remember his habit of a friendly kiss for any of his crew who received a promotion or an award. It would not answer her question. Del, however, beamed and embraced Aron for a moment. del Vedova: Space husbands! Rahman: ::shaking head:: Naturally. The Kriosian captain of the USS Veritas then looked to the man whom she’d first served under as chief engineer before he had brought her back to active service as his first officer for the Invicta Expedition. Rahman: No matter what, sir, you’ll always be Captain Kells to me. Del interrupted Aron’s search for a reply that matched how heartfelt Roshanara had been with a smack in the shins from his cane. Certainly he knew that Aron was in danger of tearing up. del Vedova: And never mind him, you’ll be Rosh to me. As Addison entered the arboretum, she smoothed the front of her dress whites when her eyes fell upon a group of colleagues very dear to her who’d already arrived. She’d normally have been there earlier, but she took the opportunity to take a quick tour of the ship. It was in much better shape than the last time she’d been aboard - leading the majority of the non-essential personnel off the ship in shuttlecraft during an emergency was a memory that wouldn’t soon leave her. Grabbing a flute of champagne, she approached the group of distinguished guests and former colleagues. MacKenzie: Teller isn’t causing trouble, is he? I mean, aside from his usual… Captain Rahman, always good to see you. Rahman: Likewise. I hear you’re doing good things on the Resolution. MacKenzie: ::gesturing to Blake and del Vedova:: And the two of you are looking good - the last time I saw each of you, you were patients of mine. Del exchanged a look with Blake, then shrugged at Addison. del Vedova: We got better. MacKenzie: ::resisting the urge to smirk at Ukinix:: Trouble’s junior colleague. ::winking:: How’ve you been my friend? Ukinix: ::mock offense:: Hey! I'd at least be Trouble's first officer by now. ::Offering hug:: It's so good to see you again Addison, I've missed you. With pleasantries exchanged, she approached Kells and offered a hug. MacKenzie: The man of the hour! I can’t think of a more CO. Congratulations, Commodore. Kells: Thank you, Addison! And all of you. I can’t tell you how much it means that you were all able to make it. Nor had everyone arrived yet, as the group in the arboretum continued to grow, most recently with an officer Aron had first met when he’d been assigned as an ensign, and who was now a captain of his own ship. Mei’konda: Speakiing of congratulations…hello, everyone. And congratulations, soon-to-no-longer-be Captaain Kells. Aron had last seen Mei’konda at his wedding to another of Aron’s former officers, Evan Delano, and he hugged Mei’konda as well. Kells: Captain! It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long, too long since I’ve seen any of you. Mei’konda returned the hug, despite just a moment of hesitation. There was a time, not so long ago, where he stiffened up like a board when Aron Kells’ eyes fell upon him. But this was a special occasion. Mei’konda: Indeed! It’s like a family reuniion, isn’t it? The Caitian approached the gathering of senior officers, dressed in the carefully tailored dress whites that inadvertently emphasized his lean, muscular build. With negotiations for the Federation’s new colony site successfully concluded in the Expanse, the Chin’toka had moved back close to Federation space in order to prepare to escort the shipments, and it had given Mei’konda the time to take a brief shore leave out to the Thor in order to attend a very special occasion. Since his own promotion to Captain, this might’ve been the most brass he’d ever been in the presence of, but he found it interesting that he didn’t feel uncomfortable in the slightest. These officers - some of whom had been his direct superiors during his own early days in Starfleet - were now his peers. He aimed a reserved nod toward the Admiral lurking at the edges of the room, and a slight smile toward Teller and Saveron, as well. He and the Vulcan had had their disagreements years ago, but he liked to think they’d buried the hatchet. Mei’konda: Commander Teller. Commander Saveron. A pleasuure to see you both again. Teller: Captain Mei’konda! This is fantastic...I haven’t seen you since..hmmm...since I got my [...] bitten off by some voles at your Captaincy promotion! I can promise you - none aboard this ship. Mei’konda quirked a slight smile over at the red headed Commander. Mei’konda: If it was goiing to happen to anyone, Mr. Teller, it would happen to you. Geoff laughed good naturedly as he fought to urge to scratch his suddenly itchy backside. Teller: I’ll take that as a compliment. Commander Saveron, do you know Captain Mei’konda Delano of the Chin’Toka? Kells: He sure does! (glancing around) Almost half of the Invicta’s senior staff is here. They were missing a few faces — Alora DeVeau, Quinn Reynolds, Evan Delano, Hanar Tuk — but Geoff had promised Aron that most of them would be there, and it was an impressive guest list no matter what. Flicking his tail upward to curl it around one of his ankles, the Caitian folded one hand behind his back and held the cup of cinnamon tea he’d replicated in the other, lifting it to his lips to take a careful sip. There were unfamiliar faces here as well, some he didn’t know at all, and some he knew only by reputation. Mei’konda: On that note, my husband sends his regaard, Captain Kells. He’s on assignment, commanding the Diligent just outside of the Par’tha Expanse. A moment later, he added to those he hadn’t yet greeted. Mei’konda: Captain Mei’konda Delano, USS Chin’toka. A pleasuure to meet all of you. The rest of my crew sends their regards. She had slipped in among the other guests, pausing in the doorway, partly to admire the beauty of the surroundings. Arboretums were one of her favourite places to visit aboard ships, and she was pleased that the ceremony would take place in the Thor’s. It was well cultivated, a wide variety of plants growing in clusters according to soil and environmental needs. Alora paused at one such cluster, inhaling the scent of the blossoms, their sweetness energizing and almost addictive. From that spot, she had paused, her eyes shifting from person to person. There were quite a few people gathered, not surprising considering Aron’s long history with the fleet. She had known him from the beginning of her own career - he had been her first captain. And yet the man she came to celebrate that day was not the same man she had met when she had come aboard the Mercury. That had been someone different, but when the real Aron Kells had shown up, when so many people had doubted, when suspicions had been raised, she could only think about how hard it must be. He had proven to be as kind as she knew he would be, and the two had forged a friendship that had turned into something of a kinship. Even when he had left Starfleet briefly, they had remained in touch - rather necessarily thanks to their mutual investment. Had it only been eight years? It felt like she’d known him almost her entire life - and she certainly couldn’t imagine a future without him in it somehow. There were others she’d known for just as long and when her eyes settled upon them, her expression brightened into her characteristic smile. Faces so familiar, and dear to her, though in a different way, mingled together. It had only been two years since she’d seen some of them - though it seemed like it had been far longer. Taking one last whiff of the flowers, Alora finally turned and aimed for the cluster of bodies, the gathering of people with whom she had, at one point in time, served with. DeVeau: Man, I’m getting hit hard with some déjà vu. Wil turned to look to see Alora, and froze. They had communicated via dreamscape only weeks earlier. He checked his hand to see if it had the right amount of fingers, ensuring he wasn’t dreaming lucidly again. He then looked again at Alora. Ukinix: ::Blinking eyes:: So am I. DeVeau: I almost feel like I’m back on the Veritas. Or the Invicta. She’d followed a couple from one ship to another. Some had been left behind while others had remained. After her classified assignment, she’d suddenly been placed on Starbase 118 and had only known one person there - thankfully, a friendly one. Now, faced with the ghosts of the past, she couldn’t stop the nostalgia from rolling over her. DeVeau: How are you? Each of you? Kells: (another grin) Persisting and thriving, I’d say. And all here, most importantly! Teller: Hale and hearty, Alora, just like that violet you gave me. Further back, a solitary figure lingered around the edges of the gathering crowds, watching the reunion of old friends. Clad in a pristine dress uniform, Rear Admiral's pips marking her rank, the scrawny, freckled hybrid kept her distance, not wanting to intrude. The only one Quinn Reynolds truly knew was Rahman—and while their interactions weren't the frosty poles of Andoria they'd once been, it was still awkward enough she thought it best to stay away. She didn't want her arrival to ruin the moment. That, and underneath it all, Quinn was still the chronically shy woman who'd fled from almost every party as an ensign. Instead, she contented herself with a stroll through the arboretum while the guests continued to arrive. The sex botanist delighted in the flora on offer; admiring the brilliant rainbow of colours in vibrant blossoms, breathing in the heady scents of exotic blooms, running her fingers across velvet petals and furred leaves. The professional engineer wondered how feasible it was to pilfer the arboretum design for the Gorkon, and whether it was an abuse of power to reconfigure the ship to have a nice garden. A very nice garden. She spared a smile and a nod for Saveron as they moved through the crowds, pleased to see him again. Perhaps later they'd have a chance to catch up, and she could let him know Amelia was thriving. But for now, her attention was drawn by another; the man she was here for, finally alone... at least for a few minutes. Reynolds: It barely seems like two minutes ago we were evacuating refugees from Romulus. ::She chuckled.:: If you'd told me then HQ would pin this much brass on either of us, I'd have laughed you off the ship. Aron was very happy to find himself alone for a moment with Quinn — Admiral Reynolds, now. He’d followed her career, of course, but it had been many long years since they’d served together, since he’d relied upon her counsel as the director of intelligence. She’d had a storied and successful career since she launched the Gorkon, but like Roshanara and Mei’konda, and equally like the officers there who weren’t (yet!) captains, he both relished their success and missed the good advice and endless assistance that had allowed them to progress in their careers. Kells: (with feeling) I’d have helped you! No doubt. She grinned at him, struck with both awe and a sense of ridiculousness at their situation and status. A pair of flag officers who’d caused no end of trouble and headaches for Starfleet HQ back in the day, helping the Romulans when the rest of the Federation had forsworn them. Many of those refugees still lived on Vulcan to this day, a community counted in the tens of thousands, thriving and seeding the beginnings of reconciliation. Reynolds: Valesha sends her congratulations, by the way. ::The Romulan scientist had been one of those refugees, and both Quinn and Aron had taken a special interest in her career.:: She's doing well. Kells: I’ve heard! Lieutenant already? I’m glad she’s done so well, and that she’s been with you for most of her career. Not that she needs one of us to keep an eye on her, but — you know. However, whatever else they might have said was truncated, as Geoff had obviously noticed Aron’s absence from the main group, and called for everyone to be seated. With the guests assembled the attention returned to Geoff, who nodded respectfully to his CO and then to Admiral Reynolds as he approached the small podium placed directly in front of the great tree. It seemed to Geoff a worthy backdrop for this rare, special ceremony. He waited patiently at the podium, not bothering to raise his voice and within moments, the room grew hushed on its own accord with a shared sense of anticipation. When the silence was complete, Geoff spoke in clipped, clear tones that carried across the room. Teller: Attention to Orders, Please. Attention to Orders. Fleet Captain Aron Kells, please step forward sir. Aron did so, with aplomb. Or as much aplomb as he thought he could handle, given the circumstances. Kells: Here and ready, Geoff. Teller: Thank you, sir. Rear Admiral Quinn Reynolds, would you step forward please ma..::Geoff barely caught himself in time.::...would you step forward please. Kells: (muttering) Good save. With an arched eyebrow and the hint of a smirk cast in the direction of both men, the Admiral stepped up to the podium as requested. Heart thrumming in her chest, she smiled through a deep breath. Over the years, she had learnt to keep the timorous tremor out of her voice, still the anxious fidgeting that wanted to erupt when dozens of eyes were upon her. But she was here for Aron, and the desire to honour and celebrate her friend made it easier to bury the nerves. Reynolds: I'd like to first thank you all for coming. There are a lot of familiar faces here, and I know how pleased Aron is to see you all. It speaks to how many lives he's touched, and how important he is to so many. Geoff stepped aside and retrieved the small decorative box which seemed unusually heavy in his hand. From here on out the attention of the entire room fixated on the two people standing front and center. Reynolds: Those of you who know me are already well aware that I loathe public speaking. For those of you who don't; it takes a very special event, or a very special person, to lure me to the front of a crowd. Today fulfils both requirements. As Quinn began to speak, Aron found that Del’s earlier save with Roshanara had been for naught, as he started to tear up anyway. He broke his gaze away from her and gazed out at his friends, but that was even worse. The people gathered in the arboretum represented decades upon decades of memories and experiences, and if he was looking for an escape, they were not it. Not that he was looking for an escape. It was just — after all he’d been through recently, from Calabrum and the Zet to nearly dying on New Bajor, he wasn’t sure if he’d thought a moment like this — not even the promotion, but where he was able to gather with so many of his friends — would ever happen again. Even by Caitian standards, the room had grown quiet but for Admiral Reynolds and the ever present subtle rush of a starship’s life support systems functioning around them. Mei’konda kept his ears angled toward the two standing together as Kells’ only superior officer in the room continued speaking, and Mei’konda stood silently with his fellow officers. It was one of those rare occasions that he’d come to savor in Starfleet - as much reward as he felt when he was able to promote or offer commendations to his own officers, there was something particularly special about being invited to witness one of his old Captains being recognized like this. Reynolds: I first served with Aron over ten years ago. He was a science officer under my command on the Drake, and we had a few... interesting adventures together. ::She grinned at him for a moment, a shared joke twinkling in her hazel eyes, and then continued.:: He was one of the finest scientists I've served with, and I valued his keen insight, quick wits and his ability to keep a clear head under pressure. They had shared just about every professional dynamic there was in Starfleet: subordinate, superior and peer. It had forged a respect and understanding few shared, and though—or perhaps because—there had been some bumps along the way, Aron’s friendship was one she treasured. Distance made it harder, but her fondness had not diminished with time. Reynolds: It was a few years later, when I served under his command aboard the Mercury—and later, the Garuda—when we became friends, and someone I still trust to this day to offer me sage advice when I need it. As well as my friend, he's been my teacher; I strive to emulate his diplomatic finesse in all situations, and his ability to cut to the heart of a problem. It is my firm belief he is one of the most exceptional officers in Starfleet, and I'm beyond honoured and pleased to be here today to recognise his ability, his compassion, his loyalty, and his dedication to all those he serves with. Quinn looked expectantly toward the red-haired Commander. Geoff lowered his voice and leaned in, waggling the Commodores pips. He couldn’t hold back a small smirk. Teller: Last chance to change your mind and pin these on me, Admiral. Reynolds: You shouldn't play with fire, Commander. ::Her eyebrows twitched upward as she responded just as quietly.:: You might get burned. Geoff stifled a laugh and opened the small box, profferring its contents to the Admiral, and she turned back toward Kells with pips in hand. For Teller, the challenge of the day had instantly been made worthwhile when he saw the look of profound gratitude and deep joy on his CO’s normally reserved face. Reynolds: Fleet Captain Aron Kells, it is my privilege to promote you to the rank of Commodore, with all the associated rights and responsibilities. ::Then, more softly,:: You’ve done us all proud, Aron. Kells: (quietly) Thank you. (more loudly) Truly, thank you. I can’t fully express how much it means to have you all here. And then came the moment. Quinn had the single-gold-pip-on-black of the commodore ready to go, and the moment itself — the pinning — was over in a moment. His new insignia gleaming under the arboretum lights, she dropped her hands onto his shoulders. Then, with an impish smile, she copied his favourite trick and rose up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to the new commodore’s cheek. Reynolds: Congratulations, Commodore Kells. Teller: Three cheers for Commodore Kells! HipHip! The quiet of the Arboretum was broken by the thunder of applause and the shouts of hurrah ringing from the walls. But then the applause. Oh, the applause! This time, Aron tried to return the room to its former quiet, and he locked eyes with everyone there as he gazed around. Kells: Without each of you, I wouldn’t be here. That you’re here to celebrate the continuation of what I love to do — it means so much. Maybe it’s inadequate to keep saying so, but: thank you. Teller: My sincerest thanks to all of our visiting guests, you’ll be receiving complimentary gift bags on your way back to the shuttlebay or transporter pads. Officers and Crew of the Thor...please assemble front and center. The Commodore isn’t the only one we’re celebrating today! Mei’konda couldn’t help a subtle flattening of his ears, this time. There was such noise, and his ears were sensitive. But he participated nonetheless, the broad smile on his short muzzle exposing his sharp teeth while he clapped in turn with the others. Later, he’d share time with the others, perhaps take a brief tour of the Thor considering that he’d never been aboard a Vesta class ship before, and catch a shuttle back to the Chin’toka late in the evening. Mei’konda: Congratulations, everyone - and thaank you for the invitation! Responses: ? END! =================================== Commodore Aron Kells Commanding Officer USS Thor V238208LV0 he/him/his (character & player) & Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor - NCC 82607 Commodore A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0 with special guests (in order of appearance) Commander Saveron First Officer USS Constitution-B R238802S10 Lieutenant Commander Chythar Skyfire, MD Medical Officer / Barista USS Chin’toka NCC-97187 O239002CS0 Lieutenant Commander Wil Ukinix Chief Engineer, Second Officer USS Veritas V239511WU0 Cmdr Sky Blake Executive Officer USS Veritas C238803SB0 Captain Roshanara Rahman Commanding Officer, USS Veritas I238705TZ0 Commander Addison MacKenzie, M.D., Ph.D., FASFS First Officer USS Resolution V239601AM0 Captain Mei’konda Delano Commanding Officer USS Chin’toka, NCC-97187 M239002M10 Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau First Officer Starbase 118 Ops alora@blar.net M239008AD0 Rear Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0
  15. These guys have worked incredibly hard on an extremely brilliant story about @Etan Iljor's folks and this JP with @Meidra Sirin is just the tip of the iceberg. But this is an awesome opener. Enjoy. ((Counselor Sirin's Office, Deck 2, USS Resolution)) The corridor- if you could call it that- that connected Meidra's office to the wider sickbay was short, almost to the point of being stubby. There was just enough room for a single person to wait for their appointment. There was a chair, but Iljor had chosen not to use it, feeling restless and anxious all at once. He paced it's nigh-non existent length back and forth, back and forth and felt the knot that had taken up residence in his stomach over the past few weeks tighten more than it had done up to that point. The only redoubt he had found from it was in his work on the Skarn Homeworld- the events there had forced a shift in his priorities- but in the days since their return to Deep Space 224, he had not been able to find a suitable distraction. Something in the back of his brain tickled, trying to push itself to the front. Each time he reached Meidra's door, it told him to push the button to alert the counselor to his presence. Each time he stopped himself from doing that, knot ever tightening. It wasn't rational and it certainly wasn't healthy, he knew that. In fact, he suspected his reluctance to talk to Meidra would be enough to fill half a dozen sessions with her. Meidra was in the middle of brewing some tea when she got the odd feeling that someone was outside her door. She frowned, not hearing anyone call to her, and she didn’t have any appointments lined up for the afternoon. Once she sensed it was Iljor, she waited for him to announce himself, but after a few minutes, he hadn’t tried. Staring at the door, she crossed her arms, almost willing him to enter. She’d wait until he was ready to talk, but curiosity was building. He had spent the last several months in denial. Deep in it, in fact. His decision to remain silent was born of a desire to keep the status quo as it was. He had come close to disclosing it to Genkos, but the fact was that unleashing what he had been told to anybody else would force him to confront the truth that Akhbett Jirall had provided him with. His parents had been party to a massacre. He could not stave off the reckoning any longer. It was time to rip off the band-aid, just as Genkos had suggested weeks earlier. He knew that he could not go through it alone. The CMO had told him that the crew would be there to pick up the pieces, but he needed their support to go through with it. He could think of no one more qualified- no one he trusted more- than Meidra. He reached the entrance to her office once more. Only this time, the doors opened and there stood the auburn-haired Vulcan/El-Aurian psychologist, peering at him with an expression somewhere between confusion and annoyance. Sirin: Iljor? Is there a reason you are haunting my waiting area? I can feel the waves of turmoil coming from you from inside my office. Come in, please. She moved off to one side to allow her friend and colleague entrance. Since his arrival on the Resolution, their friendship had grown into a cherished one, and the counselor was a bit overwhelmed by the strong conflicting emotions she felt coming from the usually cheerful science officer. It wasn’t like him to be so stressed, and a real concern started to grow within her. Sirin: I was just brewing some Spice tea for myself, but if that is not to your liking, you may use the replicator to procure a beverage. ::sits on her sofa, pouring a cup of tea for herself:: Tell me what is on your mind. Spice tea sounded like the tonic that Iljor needed. He made his way into her comfortable office, made himself a cup and took a seat on the same sofa that he had sat on the very first time that he had met her. It was still as soft as he had remembered. She waited patiently for him to sit down, and explain what had him so upset. She knew not to push too hard, Iljor always sorted through his thoughts in a quite logical way before speaking, and she knew this time would be no different. He saw no reason not to cut straight to the heart of the matter. Etan: Back when we were on Trill for Yogan's zhian'tara ::he began, slowly and deliberately as he organised his jumble of chaotic thoughts.:: I was approached by a Cardassian who claimed to have information on what amounts to a false flag operation on Bajor, one that my parents were drawn in to. ::he went to reach for the optolythic data rod that Akhbett had given him before her swift exit from the café. He didn't realise until he blinked that he was already holding it.:: The data rod had been gathering dust in his bedside table ever since they had returned from Trill. He had tried to forget about it as best as he could. He had ignored it for the most part, but after his conversation with Genkos and upon returning from the science symposium, he had finally decided to review its contents. What he had read had sickened him to his very core. Of all the things that he could have told her, this had not even registered as a possibility. Meidra took a sip of her tea, attempting to clear her thoughts, before putting the cup down to focus on her friend. Her voice softened, and she knew she had to tread carefully with this conversation. He was like a pi’sa-kai to her, a little brother, and she did not wish to cause him unneeded distress. Sirin: I see. And what exactly did this person tell you? Etan: She claimed that the old Central Command fed false intelligence to my parent's resistance cell that an Obsidian Order operation was about to take place. Their cell swiftly bombed the warehouse where they were sheltering and then 'picked off' the survivors one by one until none were left. Just repeating Jirall's claims made him want to be sick all over Meidra's office. He could feel the roiling of his agitated stomach, the knot there replaced temporarily by an ocean of anxiety. He took a sip of the spice tea with closed eyes, hoping it would calm him somewhat. Given that his hands were now beginning to tremble, it didn't seem to work. Meidra reached out and squeezed his hands in encouragement, her touch light. Sitting back again, she watched the emotions cross his face as he struggled to continue. She had never seen him so agitated. Her feelings for him as an older sister warred with her duties as counselor for a moment, and all she wanted to do was envelope him in a huge hug and let him cry it out. However, at this moment, they were counselor and patient. She took a moment to settle her own thoughts before continuing. Sirin: Take a breath, Iljor. Tell me more when you are ready. He drew strength from her gentle squeeze and he composed himself before elaborating. Etan: They weren't Obsidian Order operatives. ::he said in a small voice that took on a surprisingly guilty tone.:: They were religious believers. Civilians. Sirin: Refugees. Iljor nodded. Etan: Of a sort. ::beat:: They were members of an ancient Cardassian religion, known as the Oralian Way. After the establishment of the Central Command and the military dictatorship, religion was banned outright and members of The Way were hunted and persecuted publicly, for entertainment as much as a warning to others. The woman I spoke to said that the believers were being sheltered by the Vedek Assembly- which does tally with their actions during the Occupation. The Vedek Assembly had, in the decades since the end of the Occupation and the fall of Central Command, admitted to running an underground railroad of Oralian believers through Bajor, sheltering them until they get them off world and out of the murderous hands of Central Command and the Obsidian Order. It was their own act of rebellion against the oppressive Centeal Command. Iljor had thought them courageous and selfless, putting aside prejudice and hate to help those in dire need of rescuing. Sirin: And this woman said your parents were somehow involved. ::beat:: What else did she tell you? Etan: That was pretty much it. That there was a false flag operation, my parents' resistance cell was involved and religious refugees were massacred. ::he remembered a final detail.:: The Vedek Assembly covered it all up. ::he let out a sigh.:: I haven't corroborated any of the details. ::he held up the optometric rod again.:: I'm scared to. Sirin: What exactly do you fear, Iljor? Etan: That I don’t know my own parents- the people who raised me. This changes absolutely everything. I don’t know if I want to know the real them. Sirin: Perhaps not knowing is more harmful at this point. She poured them another cup of tea, watching his expression carefully. This was a huge revelation for him to deal with, and while determining the veracity of these claims was important, his emotional health was her first priority. Both as counselor, and as friend. Iljor considered Meidra’s view for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth as though he was reading something. His foot tapped on the carpet in agitation. Jirall’s evidence had more than just repercussions for him and his parents- the entire bedrock of Bajoran spirituality- the Vedek Assembly- could be shaken to its core. Etan: Something like this could rock the very foundations of Bajor. The Vedek Assembly engaged in a conspiracy to cover up the deaths of innocent Cardassian civilians. I know it was the Occupation and to almost everyone the only good Cardassian was a dead Cardassian. ::beat:: but I never believed that and I never will. He didn't remember getting to his feet and he didn't remember when he had risen his voice. Etan: For years I convinced myself that my parents were just messengers or they hid resistance members in their cellar away from the prying eyes of Dukat's patrols. ::beat:: I want to believe they’re innocent of what they stand accused of. They have to be. But in his heart, he knew the facts. Data on optolythic data rods was infallible and as best as he knew, nobody had ever successfully forged an entry. If Jirall had gotten the information then it was accurate. His entire world had been turned upside down. His parents were strangers, the leaders of his faith were party to a massacre and cover-up, everything he knew was a lie. She could see him spiraling into self doubt about what he had always felt was the truth about his family. He was agitated and she could feel his anxiety as if it were her own. Empathy was a fine talent to have until one felt as if one’s lunch was trying to escape. She took a deep breath and spoke a bit louder than usual to the young science officer. Sirin: Iljor. Look at me. Do you want to know what that rod contains? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences, no matter what they are? ::beat:: Have you considered speaking with your parents? There was something in Meidra's voice- a commanding tone- that snapped back to reality and out of his heightened emotional state. He blinked twice and looked at the counselor. The truth was that no- he was not prepared to deal with the information he had been given. That had been why he had buried it under a pile of clothes in his drawers and tried to pretend it did not exist. Yet, he knew he could not ignore it forever. He had known ever since Jirall had sat opposite him in the café on Trill that he would have to confront his parents with the information. He might not be prepared… but he would have to change that. He let out a long, sad sigh. Etan: No. No I'm not. ::he shook his head.:: But this is too important to bury my head in the sand and forget about. ::he paused for a second and flopped back on to the comfortable sofa, resigned to his duty.:: I don’t think that I could. He reached a decision. Etan: I have to speak to them. Sirin: I think that is the most logical course of action. It was not a conversation he wanted to have over subspace. He didn't want to have it at all- but he knew it had to be done. No, he needed to speak to them face to face. There was no way that they would leave the farm- not when the katterpod harvest was coming up. That only left one option. He needed to go home. Etan: I don't think I can do this alone. ::he said finally.:: I'm not strong enough. Meidra highly doubted that. Iljor had a strength that he might not recognize, but it was in everything he did, both as an officer and as a person. She would do what she could to reinforce that confidence until he truly believed it himself. But until then, she would do all she could for him when he needed her. Sirin: What do you need to make this easier for you? Etan: ::he looked at Meidra imploringly.:: Would you come with me? You're my best friend on Resolution and this is one of those times when you need a friend to support you. Meidra was quite touched. She felt the same way for the young Bajoran, and their weekly lunches had grown into a strong bond of friendship. She wondered how she had gotten so fortunate to serve with such incredibly talented and compassionate beings. Taking his hand once more in hers, she smiled warmly at her pi’sa-kai. Sirin: You never have to ask me for my support, Iljor. I wouldn’t want you to do this on your own. Speaking as a counselor, I would not advise you to go on your own anyway. Speaking as your best friend and big sister, I wouldn’t even let you consider it. He practically sagged with relief into the back of the sofa. Etan: Thank you. ::he said after several long moments that seemed never-ending.:: Sirin: We’re family now, pi’sa-kai. Your struggles are my own. We will get through this together, little brother. -- End Of Scene -- Lieutenant (J.G.) Etan Iljor Science Officer U.S.S. Resolution C239203TW0 & Lieutenant Meidra Sirin Ship’s Counselor U.S.S. Resolution R239707MS0 “Truth will ultimately prevail where there is pains to bring it to life.”
  16. I found this probably a little too funny...
  17. Did someone write something that you loved? That made you laugh out loud, or gasp? Please share it here, on this post.
  18. World building and scene building. So important. Sil you did a great job doing both to kick off this mission. I enjoyed the tension created by the situation and between characters. Nice work! === ((Ring, Unknown biodome, Away team main camp)) OOC: I haven't described the city deliberately, leaving it for anyone who wants to add details. I know I might have over-described the NPC's but I couldn't resist IC: Torlek frown, again. He looked around the temporary base set at the entrance of the abandoned city. They had set up a small temporary base near their beam in point. They were supposed to survey the surroundings. Torlek insisted they beamed enough resources to sustain the large away team of eighteen, for at least five days in the field. They started well, set up shop quickly, beginning to explore the city in groups of four or three. There were some difficulties, some areas looked shielded, others interfered with their scans. Communication with the Grace wasn’t stable. Still they managed to make some progress, signaling the buildings they entered and taking notes the old fashion way, by writing in PADDs their observations. Everything looked normal. That is usually when things go wrong. First they noticed Wyss and her team didn’t report in. As the hours passed and contact wasn’t made Torlek sent three teams in search of them. To no avail. He always found the redhead engineer quite the character, but she was also a fine officer and not one who would derelict her duty. But it was by the next day when he decided to send a larger detachment that things turned weird. Torlek lead the team, leaving only four of his team in camp, they tried to track the movements of the missing crew. As they embroiled themselves on the streets it was clear this was an almost worthless effort. The only sound was theirs, and they barely managed to clear a block of buildings. There was no sign of their missing shipmates. The matter worsened when they met at the designated checkpoint. Six more were missing. Torlek recalled the rest and returned to base camp. They now had lost half the away team. Nine crewmen were missing. And there he stood. Less than 30 hours since their arrival. He started walking to reach the crouched man, who was working on an improvised comm station. He put his hand on his shoulder. Smith: Take a break Mr. Clarkson. The Ensign looked up at him, but returned to work. Three tricorders were jury rigged to a PADD. They were trying to improvise a signal booster. Clarkson: Just a minute more Sir. Torlek squeezed his hand just slightly, just enough for Clarkson to know he was serious. Smith: I won't say it again. The man turned, his eyes darting red. As he stood, all the near two meters of height, he rose slowly like a wave. The Ensign was one of the engineers, but really didn't look the part. Torlek always wondered if he was able to crawl into a Jefferies tube with that size. The Ensign faced him in the eyes. Torlek stood his ground as he saw the man’s eyes water. Clarkson flitched first, as tears began to form and he wasn’t able to control one that streaked down his cheek. Torlek kept his gaze fixed at him, in a neutral tone he spoke again. Smith: Ask Doc for something to sleep, pass your work to Hammond and get in your tent. I don’t want to see you here in the next four hours. Now that is an order. Clarkson, composing himself, nodded. Clarkson: Understood Commander. Torlek let Clarkson walk a few steps in the direction of their camp, before walking to Hammond. Smith: I told Clarkson to get some rest, take his place if you please. The little Lieutenant nodded. Hammond: Yes sir, shall I try and hail the ship? Torlek shook his head. It's been hours since their last contact. Smith: Keep the channel open, but don't bother trying for now. I am sure the Captain is calling in the cavalry. Hammond nodded and turned, heading to the work bench. May was at eye reach, he nodded to Torlek, and so he stepped closer to him. Smith: Anything? May shook his head. With the phaser rifle resting in his arms, the security Ensign almost whispered his reply. May: Not a goddamn thing. No movement, no noise… Nothing. Torlek raised his hands and waved to the camp. Smith: Give me the rifle, I will take watch now. Get some rest and keep an eye on Clarkson, I don't want him to go and do something stupid. May handed the rifle and shook his head. May: That's why I don't agree with romance between crewmates. Stig, Clarkson's companion, was one of the missing. He was one of the quietest officers on the Grace. Torlek wasn't even sure if he ever talked to him. Torlek shrugged, he didn't see any trouble in relationships. Smith: No man is an island. Relationships are the cornerstone of society. May tapped Torlek's shoulder before moving on. May: Always the diplomat Commander. Torlek smiled at him, with a final nod, pointing at the camp. Smith: One tries. Now go and get some rest. No TAG/TBC Lt Cmd. Torlek Smith First Officer USS Grace Hopper as simmed by: Lt. J. G. Vitor S.Silveira Tactical Officer USS Juneau, NX-99801 O238907VS0
  19. You're gone, gone, gone away I watched you disappear All that's left is a ghost of you ~ Of Monsters And Men - Little Talks ((Memorial Hall, Holodeck 4, USS Constitution)) She had pushed it away, far away, past the reports and official talks, conversations with crew members but she knew she would have to come. The pictured displayed in this hall were of people, her people, her crew. She shouldn't let them wait for that long. They were important too, no matter if they were alive or dead. To honor them Jalana had dug out her dress uniform, they deserved at least that much. Though she had chosen a time when the memorial hall was not visited by many. In some cultures it was believed that their soul remained and watched over loved ones, in others the essence of people passed on into an afterlife, in again others it just ceased to exist. Jalana didn't know what she believed. As someone who carried the lifetime memories of six more people she carried the believes of them with her too. But she was aware it was not her own. She would have liked to think that a piece of them would remain with others, any maybe in a way they did. Remaining in memories and in the heart of those whose path they had crossed was like that in a way was it not? 'As long as we remember a person, they're not really gone. Their thoughts, their feelings, their memories, they become a part of us.' She had heard these words during her Academy time when holding a memorial for a cadet who had passed surprisingly. It was what she liked to believe. But she was aware it was not shared by everyone. and she respected that. The Trill had informed herself about different traditions for memorials like these, trying to honor each fallen crew member in a way they would honor their own. She had visited the memorial for Horm first and placed one of his prized possessions next to his picture. It was a small trophy, it was nothing special, nothing big. But one of the children had given it to him for helping him with mathematical issues and he had always treasured it. It did not feel appropriate for Jalana to howl to Sto'Vo'Kor for Q'Ren, as her family and closest friends. If anything the soul was in the afterlife already, feasting in the Hall of Warriors. Klingons did not care about the physical remains after the warrior spirit left. So Jalana has stood in silence, holding her gaze on the dark eyes of the woman on the picture. The picture of Syanir Kol looked peaceful and smiling, and she knew that someone would remember her and her memories when her symbiont found a new host. She was relieved that they had been able to determine that the symbiont was unharmed and found a QSD equipped ship to bring Kol to the homeworld. She visited every of the memorials mostly quiet contemplation, sometimes whispering conversation with Zilan, Kylie Willams, S'Ral, Dhelvad and Scrol Ar'el. And now she stood in front of the last one. Doctor Han Soo Mi looked at her with that infectious smile. She had been with her in her last moments and somehow that hit her more than the others, even though they were all equally important. The database had been informative about the customs Soo Mi's family would follow. So Jalana bowed her head and lowered herself to her knees. Placing her hands on the floor before her she bowed down before raising to her feet again. She repeated that two more times before she stood and bowed her head once more and then took one of the white flowers provided in a vase and placed it on the pile with the others already placed in front of the picture. Once she finished her round she stepped to the front of the room, looking from one to the other with a somber expression. Her green eyes meeting their picture's gazes once more. Rajel: You all served well, with honor, with passion and a high sense of duty. It was a pleasure and honor to serve with you. Your stories will be remembered. As of now your service ends and your time to rest has come. ::She swallowed, fighting with the tears welling up in her eyes before adding with a warm undertone.:: You are dismissed. ----- Commodore Jalana Rajel Commanding Officer USS Constitution B Image Team Co-Facilitator A238906JL0Con
  20. I figured instead of having a monthly thread, we could just keep a running thread of funny instances in our sims.
  21. OOC: I can always count on a Wyn post for a laugh! IC: ((Ballroom C-10, Starbase 118)) Wyn had his hair actually truly styled. A rare occasion for sure, but his conversation with Sheila Bailey had prompted Wyn to visit that irritating neurosurgeon Jos to take a look at his damaged antennae and after a long discussion on future treatment options – none of which he was excited about, but all of which he should consider. It had, at least, offered some pain moderation that allowed him to, among other things, get his rather terribly shaggy hair cut. Now it was sleek, fluffy, brushed to one side and wisping gently around his antennae. Distinguished almost. He had a high-necked white shirt, an asymmetric fitted silver vest and charcoal slacks that emphasized his wiry runner’s physique. Clearly he had gotten the memo as ogled the ballroom looking lost. Blackwell: Wyn, over here. Ah, a beacon. Nice. He pivoted and went towards the call. Yael: ::trying to smile genuinely as the Andorian joined them:: Wyn, good to see you. You look amazing. ::then, to Rue:: Both of you do. Pause. Both antennae and eyes gravitated towards Yael. There was something … off … about him. If he was being cavalier he would guess hangover. Foster: Thanks. So, what’s up? Blackwell: We were about to get some water - care to join us? His gaze went towards Rue. Her eyes slid to Ashley. Then the water. Then Ashley. Subtle. Ok, absolutely hangover. Foster: Sure, water sounds great. He sounded a little too happy about water. Sliding beside Ashley he fell into step. Yael: ::to Wyn:: I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten an invite. Glad you could attend. Blackwell: Why don’t I go grab the drinks, and you two can find us a place to people watch for a moment so we can get a lay of the land? Drinks. Well technically water was a drink. A pretty [...] poor drink if you asked Wyn. Nobody had asked Wyn. It was also not lost on him that Ashley ‘don’t you touch me’ Yael had linked arms with Prudence ‘touchy feely’ Blackwell. What kind of voodoo black magic was that? Yael: Have you gotten sight of any of the artifacts? They’re being quite secretive so far. Terribly curious what sort of items they have to justify such finery. Foster: Artifacts? ::Clearly he had not especially been listening.:: They were all pretty covered up. Saved by the Rue, who stuffed a glad of water in his hand. He sipped his own to cover up his [...] pas, watching Yael, doing backflips of mental doctor-calculations. Absolutely a hangover. Yael: ::sighing lightly in somewhat transparent relief:: Thank you. ::beat:: You had your hands full there. Blackwell: No worries at all. Balancing drinks is just one of my many skills. Foster: And you do it with grace. ::he smiled towards her.:: Blackwell/Yael: ? Eyes drifting between Rue and Ashley he gestured towards the tables. Foster: Maybe we should sit down? Find our names or something. Blackwell/Yael: ? Foster: You know, sit down before you fall down. He regretted it after he said it, looking at Ashley with a doctorly skepticism Blackwell/Yael: ? His expression softened and he tried to recover with a compassionate offer. Foster: If you ask nicely I have a medkit and I can administer hangover medicine. Which would also require Ashley to admit the hangover. Carrot. Stick. Check. Blackwell/Yael: ? He pulled back, looking a bit chagrined. Foster: In my boot. ::He pulled a perfectly fitted wallet-fold custom medkit from his polished boot.:: I always have at least one medkit on my person at all times. And he meant it. He usually had three, each set with a priority order of specific medical items. Blackwell/Yael: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  22. The level of drama, drag race references, emotion and worlbuilding in this sim is over the top. I'm here with my popcorn ready to see how this arc develops. Great work @Yalu & @Etan Iljor ❤️ (( Molly Malone’s Irish Pub, Deck 225/226, Deep Space 224 )) The hustle and bustle of the pub actually made Dwich feel more comfortable about saying what he wanted to say; he could speak and let his voice get lost in the din. Certainly no one beyond their table would be able to overhear him even if they wanted to. Hamsan: I know you’re Meidra’s best friend, but you’re the only other Bajoran I’ve gotten to know on Resolution. I was wondering if I could ask for your advice. Etan: Uh, of course… The delay in Iljor’s reply and the uncertainty in his tone of voice made Dwich pause, and he second guessed whether or not he should continue on with his question. After a moment of consideration, he pressed on. Hamsan: ::gestures to Iljor’s earring:: You’re… observant, right? You follow the way of the Prophets? Etan: Of course. It guides me in everything I do. I believe I am walking the Prophets have laid out for me. Dwich nodded. Bajorans had a reputation for being a spiritual people, and while some were less devout than others, one could generally trust the assumption that Bajorans believed in the Prophets. It made sense for them, more so than Humans or other species for whom religion existed. To Dwich’s knowledge, they were unique amongst believers in that their gods were actual, real beings, living just out of time but very much involved in the affairs of the people they watched over. Hamsan: I’ve been thinking a lot about my path. Meidra and I have talked about moving in together, and I think we both want to take that step. But I keep thinking about Yurba’s Second Prophecy. Etan: I’m not familiar with it. ::he said, trying to rack his brains for any recollection.:: Hamsan: Before I joined Starfleet, I was in training to join the religious order at the Kaiett Monastery in Dakhur Province. But that was a long time ago. ::beat:: In Yurba’s, there’s one verse I can’t get out of my head. “If thou cantst love thyself, how canst thou love somebody else?” It’s making me wonder if we’re doing the right thing. Etan: Reading prophecy is fundamental. It is part and parcel of our spiritual lives. But there comes a point when sometimes we have to follow our hearts. My grandmother spent some time as a young woman considering doing the same as you did: joining the clergy rder- but it never felt right. When she met my grandfather, she was torn about whether to give up the order and marry my grandfather or give up my grandfather and spend her life in silent seclusion at the Vandawan Monastery. Dwich remembered his last day at the monastery, when Prylar Ulan told him to pack up his things and follow another path. It hurt, and for months, even years after, Dwich had felt lost. The one thing he had wanted more than anything else in the world was not the life for him, or so he had been told. Hamsan: What did she do? Etan: She wasn’t able to have an orb experience to find the answer, but she did speak to Vedek Vehsajj who told her of a passage from Yalar’s New Insights which said “One must not be sabotaged by the saboteur from within”. My grandmother realised that she was stopping herself from being truly happy and she left the seminary. Dwich recalled the book to which Iljor referred, though he didn’t remember the specific passage. Over tens of thousands of years, the Prophets had revealed themselves to chosen messengers on Bajor many times, which resulted in a diverse canon of prophecies to which the faithful could turn for guidance. In the past few days, Dwich had done his own share of poring over some of his most beloved sacred texts, but he was left with no answers, only more questions. Hamsan: But how does one know? How did your grandmother know? I love Meidra, but I still dream about joining a religious order. I don’t know how to reconcile those two things. Dwich tried not to scooch to the edge of his seat in anticipation as Iljor stopped to take a sip of his drink. It wasn’t as though he had the magic answer to solve all of Dwich’s problems, but perhaps he could provide something thought provoking or shed a new angle of light on the situation. As Iljor set the glass down, Dwich tried to anticipate what he would say. Etan: My point is: ask yourself how you feel about Meidra. I think you’ll find the answer is that which makes you the happiest. Dwich thought about his own feelings for Meidra, and the way she reacted when he finally expressed them to her. If he were speaking in his own language, he would have used the word tem’en, “bright one.” And he wanted to be her ja’ital, her “light,” in return. He knew she felt the same way about him, but Dwich felt that there was something in the way. Something within each of them that complicated their relationship and prevented them from becoming as close as their feelings might wish. Hamsan: I wonder if she would still want to be with me if I–– ::beat:: if I left Starfleet after my four years are up and joined the clergy. ::begins thinking out loud:: Not in a contemplative or cloistered order, one where she could come with me, maybe teaching or caring for the poor. With my medical training, I could do a lot of good in one of the cities. Ashalla, maybe. Or Tamulna. Etan: response Dwich realised he was getting ahead of himself. He had discussed his vocational aspirations with Meidra a few times in the past, but he had always framed it as a part of his past. He’d not previously let on that he still thought about it every day of his life. Hamsan: I guess sharing quarters is such a big step, that it’s caused me to rethink everything about my life. I didn’t realise when I asked her that all this would come up. Etan: response Hamsan: But I don’t think I’m the only one. Dwich looked over at his unpalatable, nearly full beer. It was likely warm and flat by now, rendering it even more unpleasant. Even so, he grabbed it and took a draught, pulling a face as he set down the glass and forced himself to swallow the mouthful of acrid beverage. Hamsan: I think she’s hiding something from me. Something that she thinks would change the way I feel about her if I found out. Etan: response Hamsan: I don’t know. ::beat, suddenly realises:: And this isn’t me trying to prise it out of you, Iljor. Honestly, I would never want to exploit the confidence between friends. I just wish she believed that nothing could change the way I feel about her, and even if the Prophets don’t intend for us to walk the same path forever, she can at least be herself with me in the here and now. Dwich realised that his own words could just as easily be spoken in the reverse about him. It was as though each of them had brought a third one with them into their relationship, a secret or a longing, that threatened to derail what they had together. Etan: response (( OOC: The musical accompaniment for today’s sim is Between performed by Vienna Teng. )) Tag / TBC PNPC Crewman 2nd Class Hamsan Dwich Emergency Medical Technician USS Resolution NCC-78145 simmed by Lieutenant Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145 Justin D238804DS0 As you liberate yourself in metaphor, think of others, those who have lost the right to speak. — Mahmoud Darwish
  23. Really great work @ElandraDAR and @Geoffrey Teller. This JP turned out AWESOME. Love the back and forth, and the slow build up. I'm so interested to what's coming next!!!
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