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  1. Pure poetry from our esteemed captain @Kali Nicholotti. The combination of rich metaphors and the character's personal history woven effortlessly into the narrative made this delightful to read. Cheers, Cap'n! ((Bridge, USS Resolution)) Nicholotti: Engage thrusters, and make for the stars. The stars. In the root of all of her dreams, the stars had been central. No matter what collar she wore, or what role she filled, the dark Cimmerian shade of an endless night, accentuated by the pin[...]s of immolation, were the resounding voices that called to her. They were the hands that pulled her towards the future. And in the long, unending days in which she followed, she found herself ever more drawn into the infinite maw. All while finding herself more and more alone. Yalu: Aye, Captain. Taking her up. Liftoff in five. The voice of David Cody resonated in her head. 'It was lonely in the center chair, but Kay, you are never, ever alone.' There was a warmth there that she had not felt for a long time, and in his absence, she might have moved on. Yet, like with all of the others who had called her friend, lover, sister, daughter...she never had been able to fully let go. Words echoed through the annuls of history, leaving her with memories and an ache deep within that never quite went away. Nicholotti: Steady speed, prepare for transition to the nebula. All of the proper words spilled out of the mouth of a seasoned commanding officer. There were steps to take and things to do and she would execute without flaw. The state of her inner thoughts and the hole that the losses she bore over the years would never make themselves known to the outside. Perhaps it was a good thing that those who knew were long gone. MacKenzie: Any abnormal readings? Yellir: Scanners functioning normally, sir. Etan: response Two pools of crystalline blue locked on to the images on the screen, never betraying the churning thoughts within. Yellir: Shall we brace for impact? Just in case? Yalu: ::gasps in theatrical, mock offence:: How very dare you. MacKenzie: Oh, I’m sure we’ll be just fine… Kali smiled one of her typical grins, a slight bit impish, as Makal had once described it. Etan: response Nicholotti: I don't think our helmsman would crash us twice in one day. Her eyes moved from the screen just as the swirling nebula rose to meet them at the edge of the planet's atmosphere and settled on the Trill at the helm. Pilot to pilot, he had the makings of something great. Sierra Hotel, as her grandfather might have once said. It was what she'd aspired to as a teen behind the controls of the antique jet that she'd inherited upon his death. Yalu: We’re clearing the planet’s atmosphere, Captain. I’m plotting a course out of the Briar Patch at one-third impulse. They were on their way, and Kali turned her attention back to the screen. There were only a few stars that could be seen between the ever coalescing and dispersing colors of the nebula just outside. Yellir: I’m certain we’ll arrive by then in one piece. MacKenzie: There’s that positive thinking! Lieutenant Sherlock, status of the shields? Sherlock: Shields are currently at one hundred percent and holding. MacKenzie: Power levels look stable, Captain… I think we’re good to fire up the engines whenever Mr. Yalu feels comfortable… Everything still stood on a razors edge. At a half impulse, it was going to take some time to get out of the nebula, but she had faith in the little ship that could. Nicholotti: Whenever you're ready, Mister Yalu. Yalu: I’d be delighted, Captain. Bringing the coolant modifications online and increasing speed to one-half impulse. We’ll clear the Patch in just under twenty minutes. After that, warp seven. After that, stars. The sounds of an active bridge were almost music to her ears as they moved further and further from the world that had almost become their grave. Sherlock: Shields holding steady. Nicholotti: Very well, continue our path. MacKenzie: response Yalu: At this rate, we’ll be back in familiar territory by this time tomorrow. ::beat, smirks:: I think that means someone owes me some sapphire wine, but I can’t remember who. Kali smirked towards the back of his head. Apparently she wasn't the only one who wanted to buy him a drink after the hotshot flying he'd done. Sherlock: response Yalu: I’m afraid I will have to insist on collecting it in person. Nicholotti: I am certain you'll have plenty of time to do just that when we are back at 224. MacKenzie / Any: response Yalu: As soon as we’re back in normal space, I’ll contact Deep Space 224 and send them a list of the survivors. Who knows where Starfleet will reassign Hanno’s crew, but I’m sure the Romulans will want to be repatriated as soon as possible. The whole thing was going to be a sticky situation. From her words with the Senator, she knew that there would be little for this group back where they once called home, save for the debris left behind by a sun-gone-nova and the burnt remains of what was their lives. Nicholotti: I am sure the Senator will assist, but their future is likely unknown. We can hope the Federation will help. Any: response Kali nodded. History had a funny way of dictating much of what came after. It echoed in the ears of those who had lived it long enough to make decisions and build whatever kind of future to avoid the trials of the past. She could only hope that the Federation had an eye and the feelings of humanity, even for those who once were enemies. For those who once were not to be trusted. As for her own history, there were walls which kept the tears well hidden behind an ocean of memories never reflected in the crystalline blues. A blanket of calm coolness and a commanding stature that came from having lived, and died, at the hands of time governed her motions, her moves. No matter how much she wanted that to change, time seemed to simply burn hotter. As it was said, time was the fire in which they all burned. Kali's fire burned endlessly, fueled by the severed connections with so many she had loved and lost. Hope, the fighter of such flames, dwindled as she learned of deaths and the continued missing, and as those she had once been close to had faded into their new lives on another side of the galaxy. Time was no friend to her, at least not here and now. Chatter around her continued, and the minutes ticked by until finally, with little fanfare, the swirling colors of the Briar Patch started to thin. As they faded, the points of light shone brighter against an inky blackness that reflected the darker parts of her soul. MacKenzie/Any: Response? Nicholotti: Set course for 224, best speed. Let's go home. Yalu/Any: Responses? ((OOC - With this, we can assume arrival to 224 and the start of some well deserved shore leave!) TAG/TBC -- Fleet Captain Kalianna Nicholotti Commanding Officer USS Resolution R238605KN0
  2. There really are no words to describe just how moving and beautifully written this piece is. @Genkos Adea is one of my favourite writers in this fleet and this is why! -- ((The Surface, Briar Patch Planet of the Skarn)) Gabbro observed the curious, elderly Romulan walk towards them. They’d heard some of the flow in the odd uniforms talk about the man as a “Romulan”. They assumed that this was the man’s flow’s name, in the same way Gabbro’s flow was called the Skarn. They could feel the elder’s mind feeling at peace, and in response, they dropped all the rocks from their lightball form in preparation to receive the newest member of their flow. Ferzdy: Let’s go, Gabbro. Gabbro: ~ Of course, Ferzdy. ~ They continued on together, Ferzdy seemed hesitant in some way, although Gabbro could tell they weren’t looking back. However, he volunteered his thoughts without the need for Gabbro to read them. Ferzdy: I wish I could help them get their ship back in the sky. Gabbro was silent for a moment, considering the desire. There might be a way for Ferzdy to help, to boost the Skarn’s natural abilities. They’d done it a few times before with a dying creature from the southern hemisphere, a great sandworm that devoured huge chunks of rock. When it was dying, they had brought much of its consciousness into the Skarn, or so the legend went. Gabbro knew of it, but had no idea if it would work. Gabbro: ~ You might be able to join us. It is a ritual that has been done in the past, I believe. ~ Ferzdy: Yes, I will, if you can show me how. Ferzdy set the survival kit down on the dusty ground. Gabbro opened their mind and flew into the body of Ferzdy. They combined into a single entity for a few moments, filled with joy and wonder. Gabbro could feel the physical sensations of having a body, of having fingers, of smell and of touch. It was curious, but not unpleasant. They weren’t sure if it was Gabbro or Ferzdy who smiled, but radiant pink-and-orange light shone out in all directions from the footprints where Ferzdy taken his last physical steps. Then, after a moment, the three separated - Ferzdy’s body disappeared, the matter transformed into energy, and now there were two Skarn. Gabbro and FerzBall. FerzBall: ~Let’s go home.~ Gabbro wished for a moment that they still had access to the Romulan’s body, and that they could smile one last time, such joy did they feel. Gabbro: ~ We are ~ Fin ----------------------- Gabbro a Skarn As simmed by Lieutenant Commander Genkos Adea MD Second Officer & Chief Medical Officer USS Resolution G239502GS0
  3. Utterly stunning and captivating, this is the culmination of an incredibly well written and moving arc! -- (( Boarding Ramp, Deck 8, USS Resolution )) One hundred and eighty some-odd years, dozens of covert operations, decades of training and education, none of it could prepare the old man for the steps he was now about to take. It was nice of the Starfleet people to prepare him a pack with some supplies. Extra rations and thermal blankets were thoughtful, but somehow, Ferzdy didn’t think he’d need them. There were crews working like bees all around him, mostly Federation but a few Romulans as well. It seemed as though this ship would survive, lift off, and get back into space, perhaps with the assistance of the kindly group of Skarn who allowed Ferzdy to stay behind. A few had paused their work to see him off, which Ferzdy found most kind. He clutched the strap of the Starfleet kit and turned around to face the small farewell party. Ferzdy: I suppose I shall take my leave of you now. R’mor: response Ferzdy: Talar, principled and courageous leader. I know you will see these survivors to the end of their journey. R’mor: response Ferzdy: Thank you, my friend. Farewell. The old man took a few more steps toward the ramp. With his feet on the threshold of the inclined surface, he turned back around and addressed the aliens of the group. Ferzdy: You all, Humans, Vulcans, Bajorans. It is a shame that we did not realize how much we had in common until so recently. I would have been proud to call any of you my ally decades ago, if only I had known. Any Starfleet person: response (if desired) Ferzdy looked down at his hands, tangled within his twisted fingers was a textile record of this entire experience, a knot for each person, place, and thing he had encountered. He tied a final knot at the end, then slipped the entire piece of artwork off his hand, letting it fall to the deck by his feet. Ferzdy: So long, friends. As he descended the ramp, Ferzdy was never more certain that he was doing the right thing: to live amongst the Skarn for as long as he had left. Many of them had experienced turmoil and loss under their former leader; Ferzdy knew these experiences well. Perhaps there was something he could teach them, in exchange for their kind hospitality. At the end of the ramp, waiting for him, was Gabbro in their true form, unadorned by rocks. Ferzdy’s feet touched down on the uneven earth, and he continued walking without looking back. Ferzdy: Let’s go, Gabbro. Gabbro: ~response~ They continued on together, Ferzdy uncertain of the distance, as he had no knots to tie to keep track. Ferzdy: I wish I could help them get their ship back in the sky. Gabbro: ~response~ Ferzdy: Yes, I will, if you can show me how. Ferzdy set the survival kit down on the dusty ground. He knew he wouldn’t be needing it after all. He closed his eyes and let the energy surround him, the sensations of touch and sound and sight and thought combining, creating an awareness that was not dependent upon a corporeal form. He smiled, or rather, felt like smiling, and radiant pink-and-orange light shone out in all directions from the footprints where he’d taken his last physical steps. FerzBall: ~Let’s go home.~ Tag / TBC MSPNPC Ferdzy Romulan old timer / Skarn ball of light simmed by Lieutenant Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145
  4. The writing talent on display here is on a whole other level. Beautifully written and emotionally affecting. @Meidra Sirin, you've really outdone yourself here! 😍 -- ((Meidra’s quarters, Deck Four, USS Resolution)) Meidra and Mya did not say much as they walked through the corridors to her office. The ship seemed quiet even with the people rushing around doing their tasks. Occasionally, the girl would hum one of the melodies Meidra recognized from Carolyn’s music file, but she didn't speak. Meidra remembered being a bit lost when her father disappeared, and wouldn’t push for conversation, but she’d make sure she stayed observant when the child wanted to talk. Thankfully, the door to her quarters slid open easily now that power was restored. Meidra let Mya walk in first and explore the room, watching the girl wander. Mya noticed two beds and gave Meidra a look of confusion. Mya: Do you have people stay in your room a lot? Meidra gave a soft smile as she sat down on her bed, patting a spot next to her. Sirin: No, I had a roommate, but she is off traveling for a while. So I’m alone. ::wishes Roc was on board for Mya to cuddle:: I’ll most likely be assigned someone in the future, but for now, my room is my own. ::picks up a stuffed Vulcan teddy bear off her pillow:: This is Geretaya, but you can call him Gerry if you’d like. Mya: He looks like my Verlyn. I slept with him every night before we came here. At Meidra’s confused look, the little girl smiled. Mya: He’s kind of like your Gerry, but with two rows of teeth. My mom bought him at a toy store just before we got on the Hanno. ::strokes the toy’s fur thoughtfully:: After we crashed, I guess I lost him. ::looks at Meidra:: Maybe my mom found him. She probably has him, I hope she doesn’t get mad that I lost him. Sirin: Mya, do you remember anything about the crash? Where were you when it happened? The little Kerelian held the bear close to her while she tried to remember. Everything had been normal until they got the warning that the ship was having trouble. Her mom had told her and Sam to stay in the cabin while she went to find out what was happening. Mya didn’t like the ship, it was taking them away from home and she was glad that it was having problems. Maybe they could go back home and forget this stupid tour Momma was going to do. She looked up at Meidra and tilted her head to the side as she thought about the crash landing. Part of her was happy that the ship didn’t survive the accident. Now Momma could just forget about this trip and things could go back to the way things were. But part of her was sad that people were hurt from the crash. Mya: I don’t remember. Sirin: Did you ask your mother why you were going with her? Were there no relatives you could have stayed with at home? Mya: No. Nobody. Dad is off working on a mine and doesn’t want us. ::yawns:: I want my mom, Meidra. Meidra sighed and got up to pull out her meditation mat. The girl watched as she spread it out and lit some light incense. She beckoned the child to her, and they sat down side by side on the mat. Sirin: When I am having a day where things are confusing, I find that it helps to meditate. If you want to try it, it will help you sleep as well. Are you willing to try? Mya: How do you do it? Meidra showed her the beginning pose and explained how to close her eyes to watch her thoughts swim around her mind. In beginning Vulcan meditation, one did not try to block these thoughts, merely to observe them. In this way, Vulcan children built up their memory. She explained this as they closed their eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of Vulcan spices. Sirin: When you have a memory, or a thought - don’t block yourself. Just say it out loud and give it a voice. Don’t force the memory. Just breathe in and out, and let your thoughts guide you. Mya took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She was tired, but she wanted to remember. Mya: Momma didn’t come back. Sam told me to stay in the cabin, but I didn’t. I ran down the hall and there was smoke everywhere. People were shouting, and someone threw me into some kind of pod thing. When we crashed the door opened and I tried finding Momma. Sirin: And you found her? Mya closed her eyes and bit her lip trying to remember everything. Sam had tried following her but the door had gotten stuck and Mya hadn’t had the strength to open it. So she had to find her mother anyway. The screams of people grew louder in her head and she pushed the memories away. Grown ups were always loud when they got lost. ((Flashback, Hanno, the crash)) Mya opened her eyes and somehow was on the Hanno. She looked around and saw people shouting and running around. Suddenly there was a jolt that ran through the ship and they were falling, she just knew it. Someone threw her into an escape pod and slammed the door shut. The screams outside grew louder and the girl felt the impact as the ship crashed. She bumped her head as she fell, but in the enclosed space, did not hurt herself much. The door fell open and Mya crawled out over bodies that weren’t moving. She didn’t have time to worry about that because she had to find her mother. She crawled over people that she vaguely recognized. At one point someone grabbed her leg and she looked back to see a half burned face staring at her, trying to speak. Mya screamed and kicked the person in the face. They didn’t open their eyes and Mya kept going. Then - she finally saw her mother. Mya: She was leaning on a wall. She saw me and went to open up her arms and then just - fell? Then she was on the floor sleeping and bleeding. I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t open her eyes. She must have been tired. Then Sam was there and we were rushed out of the ship. I couldn’t go back to get Verlyn. ::pause as her eyes flew open:: My mom told me Verlyn would be my friend until I met new ones on the tour. Now I don’t have my friends at home, I don’t have Verlyn. My mom is taking a nap, and I don’t want to be here! ::voice rising:: Why did we have to leave our home and get on that stupid ship? She wasn’t moving, Meidra. She wasn’t moving and Sam pulled me away and she wasn’t breathing and she’s not going to wake up, is she? I wanted that ship to crash and now my momma is dead. Sirin: You are not to blame for this Mya. None of it is your fault. Your mother loved you very much and you loved her. I can hear it in your voice. ::holds Mya as she cries:: You’re not to blame, do you understand that? You and Sam are alive, and you both can honor your mother every day of your lives by remembering her. Mya: I don’t want to remember, Meidra! I want my mother! The little girl sobbed into Meidra’s arms, and the counselor started singing one of Carolyn’s songs softly. After a moment of shock, Mya joined in, and the small room was filled with a sweet Kerelian lullaby that had both of them falling asleep on the floor within minutes. End scene for Meidra Lt Meidra Sirin Counseling Officer USS Resolution R239707MS0
  5. OOC: I was trying to figure out which quotes were my favourite and realised I just love this entire sim. Wyn is hilarious and cute. My favourite miniature Andorian doctor! IC: ((Virixis IV)) He was laying in a hammock. He liked hammocks. His dad had a hammock back in Pepperel, which he had expressly told Wyn to not ‘play around in’ and therefore it was exactly Wyn’s favorite thing to play around in. They were also tremendously comfy. He was sitting there, half drowsing, half awake, just enjoying the calm of the day and petting Triberius, because of course he could get a pet sitter for all of his tribbles, but this stupid little monster snuck into his bag. Besides, it was a strange little hybrid and he didn’t trust anyone else to tend it. So here the tribblecat was. He was purring contentedly in the sunlight, proof positive that he could be an angel at times as much as he could be a monster, like any good feline creature. Generally those times coincided with when he was asleep. He had pushed Wyn to a near sleep state, but Wyn’s ever empty stomach was keeping him awake. He should go get dinner, but he was comfortable here and Triberius was purring. It was a terrible conundrum… DeVeau: =/\=Wyn?=/\= He recognized the voice on the other end. Alora. And her tone was wavering, filled with pain. He shot up from his hammock as if jolted with electricity. Triberius protested loudly. Foster: =/\= Alora, what’s wrong? =/\= Immediate doctor mode engaged. He was on his feet and Triberius was being hauled back into to his very cushy habitat. Of course how could he have a habitat if he snuck into Wyn’s things? It might have been a planned sneaking. An allowed sneaking even. Not important right now if someone was in pain. His antennae curled forward listening for more clues. DeVeau: =/\=Can you come? Please?=/\= Foster: =/\= what’s wrong? =/\= Immediately searching for more information as he grabbed a medkit. Triberius made his dismay known by farting noxiously in Wyn’s direction before fluffing a new bed with a haughty huff. DeVeau: ::Swallowing.:: =/\=It’s...it’s classfied. Please...come?=/\= Oh no. Not that. That was the thing she contacted his Dad about. Crap. He started to gather his things, stuffed them in a bag and hustled. Foster: =/\= I’ll be right there. =/\= He located her from her commsignal and rushed out of his room, hair mussed, white button down and jeans – hardly decent doctor’s attire, but it would have to do. With any luck there would not be any blood, but whenever was he lucky? Out of the resort proper and into the pathways that led to the cabins. He was quick on his feet from too many nights of running to forget his nightmares. And running because he liked it. And running because it was good exercise. There were many reason to run. This was one of them. He wasn’t even out of breath when he came to the darkened, cabin. His antennae twitched. Popcorn. Popcorn? French fries? He almost was suspicious. Almost. He was trying oh so very hard to train himself to not be paranoid. He was not paranoid. He was a little paranoid. Still, he opened the door, medical bag slung across his shoulders and let his antennae do the sensing. Oh no, something was up. Foster: … Alora? He called out halfway between a fully innocent lamb that had totally and completely fallen for it and a paranoid grumpy twit who was starting to suspect something was up. The lights came on and he instinctively took a step back, shielding his eyes. But they were mercifully dim as they popped on but didn’t flare. Rue must have hinted at his light sensitivity. DeVeau: HAPPY BIRTHDAY WYN! Blackwell: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WYN! ::She said in time with Alora:: Yael: ? His jaw dropped and he just stopped, frozen for a moment as a deep shade of navy colored his cheeks. Was running away a viable option? No, idiot, it was not. This was a nice thing. An embarrassing nice thing. Was hiding a viable option? No, idiot, it was not. This was a nice thing. So maybe standing frozen was a viable option. Ok, that was a compromise, it would do until some words dribbled out. Foster: … thank you? ::No, don’t make it sound like a question, idiot.:: Thank you! ::That’s better. Next time don’t smile like your lips are being stretched, but you’re getting there.:: I didn’t expect… Now that was the honest truth. DeVeau: You don’t think we would forget, would you? Blackwell: He probably forgot himself ::And winked gently to the Andorian:: But Happy Birthday Wyn Yael: ? He was recovering now and he had adopted that roguish, somewhat jaded, kinda charming mask. It was a comfortable persona, it worked for him. Foster: Gotta admit, Rue, it’s easy to forget your own birthday when you Dad threw a dart at a calendar and said ‘yep that’s the day we’re celebrating’ because no one kept records on a primitive iceball… This was true. His eyes adjusted and he dared a step in. Rue waved her hands as if she was a game show hostess and revealed a table full of… Food. Ok, food. He was coming to terms with this. This was a nice surprise party for him, which had certainly surprised him, he was totally embarrassed but also very hungry and these were friends, so he couldn’t be mad (well, maybe just a little mad) and he had to remind himself to be happy and Shut up and eat, Wyn. Everything will be happier and less maddening if you eat. His stomach growled an agreement. Blackwell: We have sweets, fruit, healthy treats, not so healthy treats...and of course drinks. Just a quiet night, with friends. Foster: Ok, I like that. ::he said in a soft voice, almost like a child.:: Yael/DeVeau: ? Foster: Of course I’m hungry. I’m always hungry. Well, maybe not always, but most times. With an overactive metabolism, it wasn’t hard to devour three meals per day and still be seeking snacks. And he was past supper. Oh yes, he was hungry. Foster: ::Looking to Rue as he neared the snack table.:: You did this for me? Blackwell::She walked up and was the first to offer a friendly hand towards Wyn, putting an arm around his shoulder, and smiled reassuringly:: Yup - we did this...for you. He leaned into the touch and took in a long deep breath. Foster: Thank you. This time with 110 percent fewer weird smiles. Improvement! Yael/DeVeau: ? Blackwell: Well first….why don’t we have some drinks ::a quick waggle of brows:: and enjoy ourselves! Foster: I can get down with that. ::He nodded stuffing a slice of apple in his mouth.:: Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? Foster: No, I ran here! Triberius was quite cross. ::He shook his head:: He was keeping me hostage in the hammock. Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? Foster: Of course I brought him. I left the tribbles back home… But he comes everywhere. He’s special… like a rash, you know. I can’t get rid of him. Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? More food was grabbed and munched while the others were talking. Foster: I mean as long as we don’t play pin the tail on the birthday kid, I’m pretty OK with whatever. Maybe one of those terrible movies Rue loves? Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  6. The title alone deserves to be here @Wes Greaves Jokes aside, Wes never disappoints in creating well rounded characters, full of personality and giving us an excellent perspective of what's going on either with his PC or with his amazing PNPCs. Brilliant work. ((Main Shuttlebay, Deck 7, USS Thor)) Rodriguez: Get yours hands outa your damn pockets Cooland and help get those tools moved! Sarah didn't even wait for the reply, she just pasted a deep scowl on her face and placed her hands on her hips. The Marine in question opened his mouth but thought better of it and raced to the corner of the shuttlebay where several tool racks were still standing. Reports from the surface weren't looking good. The Klingon's attack had arrived early and shifted everyone's timetable, including everyone's on the ship. Greaves had set up the work assignments for everyone before he left and Sarah's platoon was split to the four corners of the ship, helping pretty much everywhere. There were advantages to having her Det Commander also be Chief of Security, namely much closer integration for work like this. Sarah wasn't sure if it all had been intentional or if Greaves had just been forced into it due to lack of planning time, but for all intents and purposes, it was working out. A deafening series of metallic clunks and clangs reverberated throughout the shuttlebay and Sarah spun on heR heel to find Lance Corporal Cooland perilously keeping a shelf full of tools from falling over while a fallen wrench bounced along the deck plating. Rodriguez: Cooland! Some of that crap ain't easy to replicate! Get your head on straight! (turning to another group) Crewman Jones! Go help Cooland. The man gave Sarah a sideways glance, not wanting to meet her gaze, and then scurried over to help steady the tool case. Sarah had worked with Starfleet Security off and on throughout her career. Moreso since transferring to the Thor but she'd never been in charge of security personnel before. The dozen Marines and Security personnel in the shuttle bay today were under her direction, however and the woman could tell those in gold weren't exactly thrilled by her leadership style. Sarah mentally shrugged at the thought. She was a Marine, and a Marine leader at that. She wasn't going to change things up just because a few non-Marines weren't used to getting shouted out. The woman glanced at her padd looking for a status update and frowned more severly at the news. Rodriguez: (Loud, clear, command voice) Okay, grunts, listen up. Ops has started bringing aboard some of the civilians from downstairs. It's only a matter of time before some of the Klingons are brought aboard, and THIS PLACE STILL ISN'T READY. She paused and stared down everyone across the bay as her voice echoed against the walls of the nearly empty room. All of the shuttles and fighters had already launched. All that was left to do was move all the tools, carts, and cargo containers so they could use the space to secure the Klingon's. Rodriguez: You've got five minutes to get this all done. FIVE MINUTES. Got me? The Marines in the room muttered out a rushed aye-aye, while most of the security personnel offered nods of acknowledgment before turning back to work. They were running out of time to prep the ship. With a final look at everyone from near the door Sarah grabbed a hovercart and started helping to clear the room. ========================= Staff Sergeant Sarah Rodriguez Marine Platoon Sergeant USS Thor - NCC 82607 E239702WG0 =========================
  7. This has such mid-credits sequence energy and I kinda adore it. @Meidra Sirin has done a magnificent job. Just don't tell her I said that. ((Deep water under Cave of Retribution)) The explosion had rocked the large cave, sending Skarn and invaders alike from its depths. All was smoke and chunks of stone as the guards fell apart and their lights extinguished by the force of the blast. Below, in the swirling depths of the underground pool, the sea creature had swallowed something strange thrown from up above. They did not understand the up above, only knowing that things were occasionally thrown to them by the rocks. These things usually tasted good, but this latest thing did not taste good. It tasted like pain. Now the rocks were falling into the pool, and Baab did not want to eat them either. The thing he’d swallowed was burning through his body at a rapid pace. Within moments, bits of the sea creature was strewn against the walls of the pit, his death screams filling the chamber. Floating in the wreckage of Baab’s corpse, a flickering blue light trembled. They had been betrayed. They had been thrown to be eaten by Baab. They had not been listened to when the order to die was given. This was most rude. Baab’s large eye floated past. Arbelo tried to rise up and gather the stones to them once again, but could not. They were too weak. They glanced at bits of Baab, and growled. What kind of monster killed an innocent creature like Baab? And now Gabbro was with them, most likely celebrating. Arbelo would rest. And plot. A thought occurred. The Stone! Where was the Stone? Diving into the cold water, they searched for the piece of rock that held their fragile sanity together. Was that it? Arbelo raced deeper into the pool and was swept up into a riptide. They tried to pull back but was still too weak. As they flew mercilessly into the great ocean beyond, they had but one thought. Gabbro had to die first. TBC Arbelo the soaking wet nightlight as simmed by Lt Meidra Sirin Counseling Officer USS Resolution R239707MS0
  8. @Etan Iljor is a master of the language. The narrative is so wonderfully descriptive and fully presents the character's point of view in three dimensions. It's always a joy to read your writing, friend! ((Deck 2, U.S.S. Resolution)) As a scientist, Iljor was used to the official terms and designations for things and found the concept of nonclematures to be wildly inaccurate albeit a necessity. He was prone to getting swept up in scientific tangents and to his somewhat mild embarrassment, he would often forget that not everybody learned or understood things in the way that he did. He found himself in one such moment walking down the primary corridor of Deck 2, following Doctor Adea in search of the missing crew of the probably ill-fated S.S. Hanno. Sherlock: I heard you mention that before, what is it? The ‘that’ to which the security officer was referring to was ‘non-baryonic matter’. To Iljor it was simply non-baryonic matter, something that did not interact with an electromagnetic field and did not reflect or absorb such radiation- which made its detection extremely difficult, even by the advanced technologies employed throughout the Federation. It had another designation, derived from humans who tended to label anything they could not see or interact with as something ominous. In truth, there was nothing ominous about non-baryonic matter but Iljor had decided not let the predilection for dramatics get to him. With a smirk, he looked at Aine. Etan: I think the layman’s term for it is: dark matter. Sirin: That binds galaxies together so they don’t just ::shrugs:: spin off into space. If the planet has some connection to it, the gravitational fields would be strong enough to pull in passing ships. Iljor nodded at his best friend’s summation of the topic. Broadly speaking, she was correct and while her definition lacked nuance and scientific oversight- that was by the by. The presence of non-baryonic matter on the planet would certain explain the variable gravity as well as the strange force that hurled hundreds of thousands of rocks at the Resolution and drawn it down into it’s well. Given that it happened quickly and just as the ship begun its approach, Iljor could not help but wonder if there was intelligence at work. He considered the possibility once more, suppressing a shiver that wanted to run from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. An intelligence that could access and manipulate non-baryonic matter would undoubtedly be powerful- and dangerous. Fortunately, such musings were interrupted by Aine’s welcome change of topic. Sherlock: We need to get to Deck 8, ramp’s there. We can grab whatever supplies we need on the way there. Only problem is, I’m not sure the turbolifts will work. Anyone know the Jeffries Tubes well enough to get us there? Adea: Straight down the next one on the left. Should take us right there. In that moment, Iljor was grateful for the Chief Medical Officer’s intimate knowledge of the diminutive Nova-class ship. While he had built up a working knowledge of the ship’s interior layout, it did not extend to its crawlspaces and maintenance tubes. Sirin: I have been in one, but if we need assistance I’m certain Gnaxac could guide us. Sherlock: Great. Doctor, I recommend we take just medical supplies and phaser rifles. The nearest duranium scan was only a few clicks west of here. Aine made it sound like it just over a ridge, but in reality- it would be a trek over a nigh-inhospitable planet that seemed determined to keep its secret. Iljor harboured no illusion that the journey would be easy. On the contrary, he was expecting to be arduous. Adea: Sounds eminently sensible. Sirin: I suppose we are as prepared as we can be. Still, I have an odd feeling about this place. Sherlock: Response. Etan: Given what we’ve experienced so far, I’m inclined to feel the same as Meid- uh, Counselor Sirin. He chastised himself, remembering that while he and Meidra had formed a close bond in the months since his assignment to Resolution- she was still the ship’s counselor and outranked him. He had been cautioned that it was not unusual for junior officers to befriend those who held seniority- but that they had to remember that fact at all times. Adea: I’m not surprised; how often is a ship literally knocked out of the sky by hundreds of thousands of rocks? What do they have down here? A plethora of catapults? The thought made Iljor snort out a chuckle despite the seriousness of their current predicament. He had come to value the Doctor’s ability to defuse a difficult or grave situation with a humorous comment. Sherlock/Sirin: Response. The Jeffries Tubes beckoned, in all its dark and gloomy majesty. They made their way down it in relative silence, Iljor concentrating on landing on each rung of the ladder cleanly. The last thing he wanted was to misstep and send his friends and colleagues plummeting down the tube to their certain deaths. Given how small the Resolution was, the descent through the tubes to Deck 8 was relatively brief. Iljor stepped off the final rung and onto the decking and went to collect his equipment; a phaser (something he was loathe to use unless he absolutely had to), a palm held flashlight, a visual recording device that fitted across the top of his unruly mop of hair like a band and felt comfortable against his right temple and a tricorder. He checked that the phaser and tricorder were fully charged (they were) and then activated the recording device by pressing a small button behind the small high definition camera. Adea: Right, shall we be off then? Etan: Begin recording, Lieutenant Etan Iljor, Science Officer, U.S.S. Resolution. Location: uncharted planet near outer boundaries of the Briar Patch. ::he looked to Doctor Adea.:: Given the apparent unreliability of the sensors here, I thought this might be a good idea. ::he pointed to the device.:: Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. Iljor holstered his phaser and tricorder, tugged the bottom of his uniform jacket and marshalled his wits about him as the outer airlock opened. As the ramp descended to the ground, they got their first look at the strange new world that lay before them. Underneath a thick blanket of black clouds lay a barren wasteland of rocky spires of dark brown stone. In the near darkness, they looked intimidating and imposing. Iljor activated the flashlight and stepped down the ramp carefully and deliberately. Stepping onto the wasteland he felt a crunching beneath his feet and he looked down, brittle looking plants snaked in vines across the ground that exuded a strange warmth. Etan: Plants. ::he said, a trace of amazement bled into his voice.:: The ground is also warm. Might be geothermal in nature. That would certainly make sense, geothermal and volcanic activity on a sunless world could lead to an atmosphere conducive to life, even if it was not intelligent. Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. Taking a few more steps- and making an effort not to crush any more of the plants- Iljor looked about the stygian vista. Steep cliffs of stone rose on either side of them, towering at least a kilometer or more above them. Resolution had apparently come down in a wide, but unmistakable gorge that was probably ten of millions of years old. He unclipped his tricorder and set about scanning the nearest rocky spire. Unsurprisingly, the tricorder did not want to cooperate, the effects of the Patch obfuscating the readings a great deal. Etan: Readings are patchy but I think this is composed of calcite and aragonite- and it’s natural. ::he turned to look at his colleagues.:: Not crafted. Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. Etan: I wonder if we are the first people to visit this area of the planet. ::the idea took his breath for a moment.:: This is quite something. ::he whispered.:: Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. -- tag/tbc -- Lieutenant (J.G.) Etan Iljor Science Officer U.S.S. Resolution C239203TW0
  9. The level of technobabble, the fine set of the situation and the ability to be clear about a very complex scene/setting from many points of view of @Sirok always amazes me. Magnificent work. ((USS Thor, Main Engineering)) It had been a grueling few days, even for a Vulcan's physiology. The work for Sirok and all the people under his command had been extensive and had only just begun. On the one hand, the engineers readjusted the life support system in order to extend as much as possible the number of people that the Thor could accommodate. On the other hand, the operations crew, along with the ship's security team, prepared every available space to accommodate as many people as possible. With an added difficulty, a significant number of them would be considered enemies, so they would almost have to be treated as prisoners. To this end, the areas where they would be had been equipped with more force fields and anesthezin prepared to use in their ventilation ducts. Given the number of people to be accommodated, even the shuttles and runaboats were outside the ship to add a few more people to the total and make maximum use of the hangar. Still it would be impossible to accommodate everyone, there were no miracles possible to accommodate 5000 people plus the Klingon army, when the Thor even pushing the limits and using the auxiliary ships could accommodate just under 4000 people. And the Thor already had 745 crew members. Another team of engineers worked with several scientists to set up a system that could help temporarily contain or accelerate the pressure in the tectonic plates and thus regulate the timing of the explosion. Unfortunately, it had to be placed inside the volcano itself, which was tremendously dangerous at the time. They had also worked on designing the plan to remove the wreckage of the Excalibur and the Klingon ship. The Excalibur was apparently in one piece, but to get it out they would have to lower the Thor to a tremendously dangerous altitude for a starship, which is not designed for atmospheric flight and take it out of the planet with the tractor beam. They would also have to configure the tractor beam not only to pull it out but to break it apart in the process,because due to the humidity and being in the planet's atmosphere most of the structure was totally rusted. The Klingon ship, impacted in a more distant area of the planet and was in much worse shape, the good thing is that a couple of runaboats would be enough to remove the wreckage of considerable size. A much larger impact than the Excalibur would explain why the Klingon survivors did not use more advanced technology, simply because they could not recover it. At that time Sirok was in main engineering viewing the data projected by the holographic table that was relatively close to the warp core. On the one hand he had a view of the area of the Calabrum fortress, where he could see the movement of the troops of both armies. But his interest was to control when the transporter enhancers were activated. Without them they could transport people but at a much slower pace due to the problems caused by the ash from the volcano. The screen also noted the position of the Loki, with Commanders Rouiancet and Brodie, who were going to place the device in the volcano. If they succeeded in their mission it would give them more time to do everything else and blow up the volcano when they were done. To review their activity and give more data to the commanders he had tasked Ensign Katsim. Sirok: Ensign, Have you found a safe landing zone for the Loki? The commanders might have good data while they were in the shuttle, but it would not be the same once they started moving forward on foot.. Katsim: response He had left the last piece of the holographic projection to check the tractor beam and the position of the Thor in relation to the Excalibur. It would be the last thing they would have to do once they had transported as many people as possible from Calabrum. Kells: =/\= This is the captain to Sirok and Katsim. =/\= Sirok: =/\= Sirok here, Capitán. =/\= Katsim: =/\= Responses =/\= Kells: =/\= How are the preparations going? Or have you begun beaming refugees aboard? =/\= Sirok: =/\=No, Captain, unless you order otherwise. The ash from the volcano advises against transporting large groups of people, at least until the pattern enhancers are connected. =/\= The engineer checked again the numbers of how many people they could accommodate on the Thor and its auxiliary ships. Sirok: =/\= Captain, I have rechecked and after adjusting the systems we cannot accommodate more than 3205 people, including the crew of the Thor 3243 if we can count on the Loki once she completes her mission. Under no circumstances can we count on the wreckage of the ships on the planet, their condition makes them totally unfit to transport anyone. We have to select who we transport. My recommendation, taking into account the prime directive in the long term, is to transport anyone with non-autochthonous DNA and the others should be randomly selected.=/\= His voice was monotone as always, with the same tone he used to report the status of the ship's plasma conduits. Katsim/Kells: =/\= Responses =/\= Tag/TBC
  10. @Geoffrey Teller 's giving it his all to start Act 3 of our mission and hits all the right notes: humor, epic, references to legends, novels and classic books and a great setting to kick off the final fanfare of our epic/fantasy crossover. Incredible work! ((Outside the city walls, Calabrum)) There was simply no eloquent way to put it. No deft turn of phrase to encapsulate his thoughts. However he turned it over in his head, Geoff Teller's thoughts kept coming back to one thing, and one thing only. His [...] hurt. He'd spent the better part of the last two days in a mad dash around the planets surface, largely traveling by the local equivalent of horseback, and he was miserably saddlesore. It may not have been the most modern means of transportation and the smell was truly appalling but it was far more discreet than the transporters or a shuttle and the crew was already bending the Prime Directive nearly in half to help these people. They were interfering, yes, but with the larger goal of removing mass scale cultural contamination which Starfleet had, however inadvertently, caused. At least, that's what Geoff kept telling himself when he imagined the forthcoming board of inquiry after this mission. Whatever happened there was going to be a lot of paddwork. For now, neither Geoff's sore backside or his forthcoming court martial were really the issue. They were running out of time. Geoff drew his mount to a halt roughly a hundred meters from the next group of refugees they'd try to get into the city, or off to the ruins of the Excalibur. A crashed starship turned ark...Geoff shook his head. At least the court martial would be entertaining. The remainder of his team halted their mounts alongside his and Geoff looked over his small order of knights. Captain Greaves had somehow found for himself a green gambeson suitable for a Marine and wore it and the heavy metal armor with apparent ease. To his right, Ensign Dar was brilliant in crimson, wearing the colors the knights of Calabrum themselves wore. It suited her, much like the armor. Doctor Quen, at least to Geoff's eye, did not appear quite as comfortable in her azure regalia, explicitly set aside specifically for those dedicated to healing or the wizardry of science. Geoff looked down at his own golden tunic and felt an odd pang of sentimentality. For almost half of his career he'd worn gold as an engineer and somehow it felt good to be wearing it again just now. Geoff raised a hand to his group and pointed towards the refugees. Teller: That makes...four hundred twenty seven we've helped move so far and that group looks like it could bring us to an even four fifty. Captain Greaves, Ensign Dar, how're we doing on transport enhancers? Greaves/Dar: Response Teller: Good, but let me know before we're down to the last set. I'd like to keep one in reserve, just in case. Greaves/Dar: Response Geoff chuckled. Teller: When has plan A ever worked for us, Captain Greaves? Greaves: Response Teller: Lt. Quen, how're your medical supplies holding out? Think you've got enough left if these folks have injured? Quen: Response Teller: Alright, use whatever's left. We might have enough time to make a resupply run back to the city but those drums are getting awfully loud and ::Geoff turned his head and shouted in the general direction of the oncoming klingon hoarde:: extremely annoying! The drums were unimpressed. Quen/Dar/Greaves: Response From behind Geoff heard the galloping of an animal approaching and turned to see the Queen herself, resplendent in shining golden armor, mounted on something that looked like a horse wearing half a tree as a sideways hat. Geoff would later learn that this animal is called an elk and that he was not, in fact, born to be a poet. He nodded respectfully as she approached. Teller: Your Highnessness. We were just about to head to that next group. How are the preparations going? Du Pendragon: Response Quen/Dar/Greaves: Response Tags/TBC =============================== Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor - NCC 82607 Commodore A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0 --
  11. @Sirok & @Geoffrey Teller have given us the best of them to make a perfect crossover of Star trek and high fantasy, klingons and orcs, so i only can love everything in this JP, from the title to the song. Great job guys! --------------------------------------------------------- ((Gre’thors Latrine, Klingon encampment on the outskirts of Calabrum)) Kaaj came out of the tent of his warboss, whom the pitiful weakling peasants called Modrawt, with a savage smile that was as large as it was toothy.. He had not seen the ancient warrior so excited in years but when he handed him that arrow-shaped trinket, everyone knew their long awaited destiny was finally at hand. Finally they would finish what their fathers and grandfathers had started. Finally they would crush the hated humans and their stone city. Finally they would reclaim their lost honor and rise, as the stories told, to hunt once again among the stars themselves. The camp had two clearly differentiated areas. The Klingon officers had their tents haphazardly arranged on a promontory, although the way they were positioned meant that one protected the other. Like a pack of wolves, the solitary klingons formed groups like this for only two reasons. Mutual protection, or when hunting large and dangerous quarry. Occasionally, laughter and the clash of metal blades or a ringing expletive could be heard. Their peasant levies did not dare approach for fear of becoming a source of brief and painful amusement for the increasingly frenzied warriors. In the lower camp and in perfect orderly ranks were the ramshackle tents of the slave soldiers. There, several Klingon officers shouted training orders with sharp, guttural barks to a huge company of malnourished and terrified peasants. Those that failed to follow orders perfectly were beaten savagely the first time. Those that failed a second time became practice dummies for the spearmen or small snacks for the perpetually voracious wartargs. It was a cruel but effective training technique. It was what had allowed Modrawt to rampage across the country, to gather more resources and equipment, and to finally lay siege to Calabrum. Almost as soon as his scouts reported sighting the city, the great Kri'stak Volcano began to rumble and belch flame. Like a powerful omen from the ancient songs brought to life, the sulfurous fumes and searing heat had lit a fire in the hearts of the warriors. The young Klingon made his way to one of the tents outside the camp, where the beast guards were stationed. Kaaj: Good news, brother. We've made it. We've found the ones mother and father were talking about. Our enemies from the stars. He held out his hand showing the trophy of his defeat, a damaged combadge with the symbol of his ancestral enemy, perhaps the only sweet defeat he would ever have in his life. In his fairly short life, Gron had come to love only two things with great fervor. The rancid taste of stinging Blood Mead sloshing down his gullet was by a wide margin the first. The second were the great wartargs, for whom he had cared all his life. So far the work had added scars to his skin and subtracted years from his life, but Gron didn’t care. The wartargs were the brothers and sisters he headed into battle with and it was his pride that they were nearly uncontrollably vicious. Now the pack was starved, having not been fed for several days so their appetite was at a peak when they reached the battle. Gron looked at the golden amulet, and the shattered mountain belching deadly fire against the backdrop of a reddening sky, and smiled. Gron: Today is a good day….to ride. Gron rattled his trashing stick against the cage bars behind him, eliciting a cacophony of savage yips and snarls. As soon as Kaaj finished, he patted him firmly on the back. Kaaj: That's right old friend, at last a rival worthy of a legend. Behind Gron the targs howled and snarled in apparent agreement. Gron: and a meal worthy of legend... The conversation was interrupted by a rhythmic murmur coming from the rest of the camp. As they left the tent they understood that the murmur was a song, a song sung in unison by the entire camp.Both Klingons saw all the warriors and soldiers looking at their leader's tent, who was at the door and had the bat'leth over his head. Despite hearing everyone singing the voice of their leader stood out above. *Qoy qeylIs puqloD. Qoy puqbe'pu'. yoHbogh matlhbogh je SuvwI' Say'moHchu' may' 'Iw. maSuv manong 'ej maHoHchu'. nI'be' yInmaj 'ach wovqu'. batlh maHeghbej 'ej yo' qIjDaq vavpu'ma' DImuv. pa' reH maSuvtaHqu'. mamevQo'. maSuvtaH. ma'ov. Both warriors joined their voice to the song. Today they would finally secure their places in Sto’vo’kor. Shouted orders and a stampede of running feet brought the army into marching formation soon after. The sky darkened and the ground shook as they began the final journey towards Calabrum...and destiny. [End] ========================== Kaaj of the Klings E239702S10 & Gron of the Klings V239509GT0 ======================= *Hear! Sons of Kahless. Hear! Daughters too. The blood of battle washes clean The Warrior brave and true. We fight, we love, and then we kill. Our lives burn short and bright, Then we die with honor and join our fathers in the Black Fleet where we battle forever, battling on through the Eternal fight. =========================
  12. When shoreleave turns into a summer action movie... ((Vrixis VI)) Maybe it was due to the fact that he'd just come back from an incredibly dangerous impromptu rescue mission on Qo'nos of all places, but Isaiah was feeling particularly...adventurous. Compared to dodging security beams and fighting angry cultists, whatever happened here on Vrixis VI was going to be trivial. Besides, they *were* supposed to be having fun, weren't they? Andrews: Well, whaddya think, doc? You in or out? Better decide before one of the resort staff sees us and chases us off of the equipment. Ayala: I’m not sure if I should reprimand you or compliment you. Taisa crossed her arms, shaking her head. Iz was already climbing into the driver's seat and looking over the console to get a feel for what was what. He glanced up and over at Dr. Ayala. Andrews: You can do both on the way. C'mon Doc, the fun train is boarding at the station. Choo-choo. Ayala: All right, all right, I’m coming. Isaiah grinned as she hurried over and swung up into the passenger seat, stowing her bag. The we're-gonna-get-in-trouble look that he read on her face and body language only amused him all the more. He reached down for the ignition, then paused and looked her way, wearing his smirkiest of smirks. Andrews: Hey Doc, you wanna take the reins on this horse? Not every day you get to drive a stole-, excuse me, *borrowed* vehicle. Ayala: Oh no, your idea, you drive. And you take all the blame. If we get caught and in trouble, you kidnapped me and that’s the truth. Andrews: Wow, just gonna throw me under the autotransport like that. I see how it is. ::Shaking his head.:: Some of us just trying to make life interesting for everyone else, and this is the thanks we get. So be it. As Dr. Ayala buckled her seatbelt (chicken!), Iz turned the ignition and the electric dynos of the rover hummed to life. He pressed the accelerator and the vehicle lurched forward jerkily, sending Iz almost out of his seat, and the straw hat flying off of his head and onto the hood of the rover. Andrews: Oof! What in the..? Oh… ::He pulled a lever release:: Parking brake. Of course. After leaning over the dashboard and stretching out to retrieve his hat, Iz decided maybe he'd put his seatbelt on and buckled it once he was seated again. Then shooting his passenger a grin, he hit the accelerator again and they were off trundling down the sandy path, throwing up a wonderful roostertail of silt behind as the three sets of spinning wheels took their purchase on the terrain. The drive to the dining facility was actually rather nice...ocean breeze, swaying palms, shimmering ocean as a backdrop. A few times, Iz had to put his hand down over the top of his hat to keep it from being stolen by the wind. He looked over to Dr. Ayala, his expression like that of a kid rolling down the hill in a wagon with no helmet. The dining hall was not far, and it was directly adjacent to another building, which they took to be the storehouse for all of the foods that got prepared for resort guests. Given the size of the facility, it seemed like a good bet that this was actual meat and produce, as opposed to replicated renditions thereof. Iz leaned on the steering wheel and glanced over at the Doctor. Andrews: So, if I give you a shopping list, how about you just saunter on in and load up a cart, bring it back out here. I'll keep the motor running. Ayala: Oh no, this is your idea. You do all the talking. I’m here against my will, remember? At her response, he snapped his fingers in an "Aww shucks" motion. Andrews: Can't blame a man for trying. All right, let's try a different approach than the most direct one. Isaiah started the rover again, and they started driving around the perimeter of the facility. Ayala: ? Andrews: What, don't you trust me? Ayala: ? Andrews: Fair enough! I just wanna do a little reconnaissance here, see if we can see a path of least resistance to slip in and out with the goods. Iz parked the rover behind a dune and killed the power. Undoing his seatbelt, he slipped out of the seat and jumped down to the ground, removing his hat and placing it on the seat. He gestured for Ayala to follow him and started moving closer to the storage facility. There was a convenient palm grove near the side entrance, and he pointed to it as a good cover point. Once at the palms, he crouched down and peered out. Ayala: ? Andrews: ::Whispering and pointing:: Look there. I just saw an employee go in that door, and they were wearing regular clothes. But I saw one come *out* wearing the resort uniform. Ayala: ? Andrews: Yep! We're gonna get disguises! Isn't this fun? I think you ought to hum some spy music. Do you know any spy music? Ayala: ? Andrews: You know, something like *dunt-duh-dunt-duh-dunt-dunt..* Ayala: ? Andrews: Of course I'm serious. ::Grinning:: Okay, don't worry about the music. Just follow my lead! Iz waited until there was a break in any in or out traffic, and there were no individuals in sight. Then he stepped out from behind the palm grove and walked, casually, towards the door. He was banking on the fact that this was an isolated resort with very little need for security. If he was picked up on cameras, so be it. But why would they need to worry about guests wandering into the employee dressing rooms? He got to the door to the storehouse and tried it. It slid right open and he grinned broadly, gesturing for Ayala to follow as he slipped inside. Ayala: ? -- Ensign Isaiah Andrews Security Officer StarBase 118 Ops M239010MC0
  13. Awesome job with this one! @Anton Richards! [[Inside the burned-out library, Calabrum, Unknown Planetoid]] Richards: It looks like Christmas has come early. Alieth sighed. He couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. Alieth: Ensign, what did I say about remarks about elves?? Anton’s impulses already had another joke already loaded into his verbal slingshot, but with his eyes finally reaching normal levels of light reception, he decided against it. Richards: You didn’t tell me there were going to be consequences for my actions! ::Rubbing his head again:: Alieth observed Anton with her typical Vulcan concern. This comforted and concerned Anton both at the same time. He preferred to pretend things like these didn’t happen. Alieth: Are you sure you have no symptoms that could be concerning? I would be interested to check you, what you have done a minute ago… At that moment, voices were heard closer and closer, in the direction in which the children had fled, followed by the guards. They were running out of time. Alieth: Pick up everything you have found useful and that you can hide in your clothes, ensign, and let us go, we cannot be discovered here. Anton shook his head once more, finally starting to feel half-human again. Richards: Yes sir! Anton looked around at the nothing he had found and just began gathering anything that looked like it could be salvageable. These items included, his vendor advertisement, a golden chain with markings Anton didn’t recognize, and a half burnt book titled “How to write explosive endings… in which the last half of the book was lost to the fire. Just before leaving Anton bent down and picked up the feather that had fallen from Alieth, he tucked it away and made a mental note to ask about it later. Alieth had gathered what looked like a collection of tombs before heading towards the exit, Anton shortly joined her, Alieth gathered one last piece of evidence, and they headed to find the rest of their team. [[A few minutes and a lot of wandering later, Fountain at Guilds Square, Calabrum, Unknown Planetoid]] When they finally made it to the guild square, Katsim and De Scheppes were already waiting for them there, as well as a new member of the group, a tiny Coffee Drake sleeping on the scientist's shoulder. Alieth: ::As a greeting, gesturing at the purple creature:: Why do you have that on your shoulder? Anton chuckled childishly, he liked this little drake, he pointed out one finger and curled it playful towards the drake. Richards: Is he friendly? Katsim /De Scheppes: Response The Vulcan's unslanted eyebrows furrowed deeply. Alieth: :Take that back to... "our home" is both highly irregular, and perhaps hazardous, I cannot allow it :: Alieth noticed the look in the two women's faces and, at this stage, she decided to leave the subject for later, focusing on what was most relevant::: What have you found so far? Anything you can tell us about these Guilds? Anton looked over at Alieth with an exaggerated open mouth, and began talking to the drake in a child like tone. Richards: Oh, don’t listen to the mean lady. You're the cutest. He then playful placed his finger on the drakes nose, the drake bit him without hesitation. A faint image of a steaming cup of hot liquid shot into his brain. It was relaxing for a moment… Then he took a step back and felt an itch in his eyebrow. His face twitched and wrinkled, it was like an itch somewhere between his skin and his eye socket. It couldn’t be scratched. Katsim /De Scheppes/ Alieth: Response? Richards: I think I’m fine. I’m just…. Itchy. Anton relentlessly waved his arms around trying to scratch a part of his back in which he apparently could not reach. His eye still twitched with a slight but very annoying discomfort. Katsim /De Scheppes/ Alieth: [[Tags! & TBC]] __________ Ensign Anton Richards Security Officer USS Thor T239802AR1
  14. Just a bit of wonderful character development... ((USS Narendra, Crew Quarters, Deck 9) It had been a long day, and a stressful one. Talas had slumped into his temporary quarters aboard the Narendra. One of the benefits of being a support vessel is less people onboard, which meant he did not have to double up with anyone, he had some small quarters to himself which was always a welcome relief. The recent mission had once again, like the Borg did, shown Talas how close they come to losing their lives in Starfleet. One mistake, one surprise by the enemy, one system failure could doom a lot of people. It was this thought that kept bringing Talas back to his family, his mother was king and caring and genuinely wanted what was best for Talas even if she didn’t agree with his choices. His Father was different, his Father despised him and his choices and wasn’t afraid of making that clear. Talas knew he did not want to leave this life without having at least attempted to reconnect with his Father. Their last conversation had ended quickly, he knew his Father was angry and had never really got a chance to vent at Talas, in truth Talas could not put up with it. Grabbing his pad, he opened a blank letter and started to write. Father, Before you disregard this letter, I implore you to read it through and take time to consider my request. I know you’re angry and I have never truly given you the time or space to tell me about your frustrations, and for you to hear mine. I want us to have that time. I’ve recently had some quite frightening experiences, I expect most the details are classified but they’ve involved the Borg and as you may have seen on the Federation News Service, the Klingons. The ship that was involved in a battle over Qo’nos was the ship I am currently on, I was at the helm for the battle, it was a truly scary experience. It has made be re-evaluate a lot of things, including my relationship with you and Mother. Putting my thoughts down in writing, I hope, will serve as a platform for us to reconnect. We would just get angry at each other speaking in person, whereas writing gives both of us time to think about over points of view, and understand the others point of view, they key to a good debate is both sides understanding the view of the other, why they hold those views. I want to assure you that I understand your viewpoint, the Cardassians committed horrific atrocities to you, our people and our planet and I don’t doubt that many Bajoran’s would happily see the Cardassian population wiped out. However we have to understand that the occupation is over, to continue to punish and not attempt to build connections to create a stronger bond that will stop things like the occupation happening again is key. Hoarding resentment at something that has a viable solution is illogical. I understand why that’s difficult and why you find it hard to move on from what the Cardassian’s did to you I know you did not approve of my relationship with Gilana, but she was right for me, and that’s all that should matter. Neither Gilana and I were born when the occupation finished, she, nor I can be punished for the actions of her people. I think Cardassia received enough punishment at the hands of the Dominion. Gilana died several months ago, in an shuttle accident, it’s a shame you never got to meet and understand that she was a good person, she wasn’t a Cardassian officer in the occupation, she was a normal citizen. There is a planetary controller’s conference at Starbase 118 in a few months, where I posted, in a few months. I’d like to invite you and Mother to come and visit, it could be part of your work. I’d be proud to show my parents around the base. Please consider the request, I know it’s a long flight from Bajor to this side of Federation space, but I hope it’s worth it. Beck -- Ensign Talas Beck Helm Starbase 118 O239707TB0
  15. We.... we need to love @Geoffrey Teller just like this. Don't change ((City of Calabrum, Training Yard.)) McKittrick: Oh, there's time enough for questions later friends! A quick test of mettle. Dar Frowned a little confused. Dar: A match…:: She shot Teller a glance. :: Geoff nodded and the two of them stepped a short distance away from the knights to speak privately. L'ancelot: Look for suitable protective clothing, it's a friendly contest. Jorann's doublet may be useful. Across the courtyard Tomas laughed in apparent delight as Geoff stood ready, thought he wasn't entirely sure for what yet. The other knight had stepped away, searching out something on a nearby equipment rack. McKittrick: The same Jorann whom, though I hold him dear as a brother, has soiled his armor each and every time he has worn it? L'ancelot: I know his hygiene is not the highest in these places, but it's nothing that can't be fixed later with a few cleanings. Tomas strolled off to find the equipment while Geoff scowled. Even with his limited capacity as a diplomat, he knew refusal wasn't really an option. The specifics may have been unique but the idea of getting sized up by the locals through a contest of some sort happened so often it was nearly Starfleet tradition at this point. If Teller was lucky and put on a good enough show of it, he might even get the information he was looking for. From somewhere nearby Tomas called out. McKittrick: Good fortune sir, everything appears to be dry! Teller stepped into the arena and faced off against his opponent without much hesitation. Dar: Commander, Ummm good luck. Dar gave him a look that strongly suggested he was going to need it, and Geoff agreed. This was almost definitely going to hurt. Teller: Ready when you are. His opponent seemed surprised but moved past it quickly. L'ancelot: I was preparing for your companion but if you want it you will have it. McKittrick I think Wong's gambeson will fit Master Teller better, even if it has to be adjusted with some webbing. Don't forget to get him a helmet. Tomas returned and began helping him into a set of equipment that while foul smelling did seem to broadly fit his less than broad torso. It took several minutes but soon Geoff was wearing what felt like an entire plasma manifold worth of metal. Teller rolled his arms, trying to find his range of movement in the cumbersome equipment. He missed his skants immediately. Apparently L'ancelot saw the look on his face and empathised. L'ancelot: with more time we would have found them more suitable equipment, I just hope it is enough. Dar: Oh I’m sure these will do just fine, right Commander? Geoff's pants clanked. Teller: Oh yeah, definitely one of my best ideas yet. McKittrick: Worry not friend, it has been some time since L'ancelot maimed anyone in practice, thou perhaps that means he's due? The young man readjusted his helmet while Teller put on his protective gear. Geoff found the pommel of a sword in his hand and thanked the youth who'd passed it to him before taking a few tentative swings of the heavy blunted blade. L'ancelot: I'm sorry it's cumbersome, Master Teller, but even with no edge or point, a sword like this could easily break a bone. And soon we will need every available hand. Either to get away from that damn volcano or to make our way through the klings and their minions. Dar: Your planning on attacking them? As if in response the training yard rattled a bit, a small tremor running through the ground. Their frequency was increasing noticeably. Tomas looked pained. McKittrick: Simply, We are too few and they...are many. Their peasant levies, conscripted to serve Modrawts will or die, number in the thousands now. To attack directly would be certain death and though none among us fear it, there is no cause to throw away life so casually. Our Queen thought to contact Modrawt and broker some compromise that would stem the bloodshed, but our envoys never returned. Teller listened intently as Tomas laid out more useful tactical information then they had discovered in days until L'ancelot politely cleared his throat. L'ancelot: ready? Geoff wrapped his gloved hands around the pommel and brought it into position with a wobble. He felt off balance, his helmet limited his field of view to a fairly narrow slit, and he was starting to understand why Jorann, whoever they were, peed in this getup. Teller: Yep, ready. As a child of some seven years of age, Geoff had once managed to drag a large round metal refuse canister to the top of a tall hill near his family home. For no particular reason he climbed in, tilted the bin over and rolled down the rocky hillside so fast he blacked out. As an adult he had little memory of why he'd done it or even what had happened afterwards, but he did remember the sound all those rocks made as the stuck the outside of a fast moving metal can tumbling downhill. The ringing of L'ancelot's blade against his helmet, shoulder, chest and somehow helmet again was a perfect replica. Geoff put his sword up in a blind effort to deflect blows and was rewarded with a shock up his arms as L'ancelot deftly knocked the blade aside before ringing his bell a third time. From somewhere far ahead Dar was shouting. Dar: COMMANDER…UMMM BLOCK….GET HIM OFF BALANCE! Geoff considered this nuanced and complex tactical advice while L'ancelot continued raining blows on him with apparent ease. Teller felt like he was moving around on a planet where the gravity was too high and somehow L'ancelot hadn't even broke a sweat yet. He moved around in his armor like it was made of silk. McKittrick: Careful Sir L'ancelot, I think Master Teller intends to let you exhaust yourself! Why else would he allow you to attack unchallenged for so long? Geoff shifted his shoulders at the last second and successfully avoided one of L'ancelot's strikes, but his joy was short lived as the man deftly pivoted and fired another shot into Teller's ribs. Geoff saw an opportunity and wrapped his arm around the sword, trapping it and drawing both men together in close proximity. Geoff panted with exertion as L'ancelot fought to free himself. Teller: Had enough yet? For once, Geoff's low center of gravity gave him the advantage and he pivoted all his weight, sending the armored knight crashing down to the courtyards flagstones with a thunderous ringing of metal. Geoff stepped back and opened his visor, grinning like an absolute idiot. It had been a fluke victory but he'd take it. Geoff reached his hand out to the prone L'ancelot. Teller: Best two out of three? L’ancelot: Response She could feel the excitement inside her growing, her own heartbeat a mile a minute as she moved to follow the Combat that was now breaking out in the arena. McKittrick: By the Stars he's a feisty little imp. It is a rare thing to see L'ancelot grounded so and quite exciting. Tomas watched the man named Teller move and fight with rapt attention. He was clearly untrained and possibly a buffoon, but he fought with surprising bravery and spirit. Great knights had been born of far less. Dar: I think exciting is an understatement…you clearly:: She nodded in L’ancelots direction. :: Get a lot of training it. Tomas nodded gravely, not taking his eyes off the two men as they returned to the ready position. McKittrick: It is our duty to defend the people but we cannot do that if we cannot defend ourselves. As you've seen, monsters prowl these lands. Faith and a strong sword arm are often your best allies. Is it not so for you? Have you not trained in the sword and the spear since you were old enough to lift either? Dar: I can handle long-ranged and short-range melee attacks easily enough, I trained with Kl…:: She paused. :: Killing blows. In the yard Geoff had moved back to the center but he'd kept his sword low for a moment. It had nothing to do with the amount of panting and sweating he was doing inside the armor at the moment. Teller: If you give me a few minutes I can turn the armor plates around and you can bang out all the dents you just made. L’ancelot: Response Teller: Stalling? ::Geoff took a long moment to raise his sword and close his visor.:: Absolutely not. Ready as I've ever been. L’ancelot: Response This time Geoff went on the offensive immediately, swinging the blade down and across where L’ancelot had been a fraction of a second earlier. Geoff looked down in confusion as his blade impacted the cobbles before his helmet rang once again with a particularly hard strike. Geoff turned and raised his blade to block and successfully intercepted the blade before it could find its target. It was as much guesswork and luck, but Geoff was gradually reducing the number of blows his armor absorbed. Dar: WATCH OUT! TURN! Dar's warning carried across the courtyard and Geoff moved without thinking, a whistling blade passing centimeters from the tip of his helmet. Teller: Whoa hey maybe we should try negiogat... Geoff hurried back but L'ancelot pressed his attack relentlessly and eventually, Teller was all but chopped down and left panting like a turtle on its back. Teller: Ungh..ok...I think you got me that time. So do you think we're worth trusting yet, or do you need to knock me around a little more to be sure? Whatever L’ancelot decided Geoff was content to lay on the flagstones and look at the sky for a bit. He hoped the ringing in his ears would fade soon. McKittrick: Perhaps Master Teller is right, L'ancelot, and time is nearly as short as he is. They must know how desperate things are. Dar/L’ancelot: Response Teller: Well, I appreciate that. A surprising amount of my work results in head trauma. You get used to it. Geoff clanked on his own helmet with an armored fist like he was knocking on a door. Dar/L’ancelot: Response Tag/TBC =============================== Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor - NCC 82607 Commodore A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0
  16. OOC: This JP between @Prudence "Rue" Blackwell and @Ashley Yael gives us more of Jafarr and his craziness, not to mention some very realistic reactions on the part of those he's accosting. Just loving this! ((Starbase 118 Ops - Sickbay)) PRIORITY MESSAGE: MANDATORY LEAVE To: StarBase 118 Ops Senior Staff From: Commodore Sal Taybrim As we return to StarBase 118, I want to let you all know that we are celebrating a most successful mission. Thank you all for your tremendous work. We have not only strengthened our alliance with the Klingon Empire but done an incredible service to all our neighbors which will help ensure peaceful relations moving forward. This news has reached the Federation newslines. Starfleet Intel has confirmed that StarBase 118 will very soon be crawling with FNS reporters, all looking for a scoop. To this end Admiral Hauke and I both believe that the crew that worked so hard to bring this change about does not need the added stress of being hounded by often hostile new personalities. We will dock at StarBase 118 at 0100 base time and you will have four hours to gather everything you need for a two week vacation and report back to the Narendra. We will be quietly staying at an all-inclusive private resort reserved for situations just like this. I have messaged officers involved in this ongoing mission who stayed on StarBase 118 to join us on the Narendra when we dock. This vacation is meant to be relaxing in the utmost while Starfleet Diplomatic Corps takes the heat from the media buzz. If you have any questions, please let me know. ~Commodore Sal Taybrim Commanding Officer, StarBase 118 ~~~~~~~~ Rue had taken time to change into something far more comfortable - a pair of black slacks and a light sweater. Along the way back, she got a message regarding their orders for shore leave, and read them along the way. As she got into the room, she smiled faintly to Yael. Blackwell: Looks like we have our orders for rest and relaxation ::Noting that he was reading the same orders she’d just reviewed:: Yael: Well… that does sound *nice.* ::meaning the message as he finished reading the order that Sheila had mentioned:: We should get our things and high tail it to the Narendra. He slid his feet to the floor and then paused, glancing down at himself. His symptoms were slightly less obtrusive now, but he wasn’t going anywhere fast, especially barefoot and in sickbay patient PJ’s. Rue watched and chuckled faintly as he looked at his current clothing. Yael: I should definitely change first. Blackwell: Very likely. ::And she turned, giving him a bit of privacy. Meanwhile, she was considering what she needed to bring, making a mental list. She was looking forward to a vacation herself. A breather. Time to think through the last few weeks, and perhaps actually just consider a few side projects.:: He was still a bit unsteady, but moved to pull the privacy partition back so he could dress. He had a fresh uniform folded on the table next to him… politely provided in preparation for his departure. He pulled off the medical pajama top, noting he was almost completely free of bruising, save some lightly remaining discolorations where it must have been the worst… he *knew* he’d been thrown around quite badly… and he tried not to think too deeply about how much attention he’d required while unconscious. It was his *head* he was concerned about most as he pulled on his uniform and closed the collar, securing what dignity he had left. He was still a bit dizzy, colors seemed almost obnoxiously bright, and there was a dull, endless ache behind his eyes. He really could use that vacation. As he came back around, she turned and smiled a bit Yael: Got to get my sea legs back. ::beat:: I just need to grab my personal computer from my quarters. Did you need to stop by yours? Blackwell: No, I’m all right. I’ll just come along with you. Everything I need I’ll either buy, replicate, or have shipped.::She smiled and moved to the door to open it for them, a soft swoosh sound as she touched the panel, stepping out from sickbay with Ashley:: The walk was pleasant, if slow, as they walked. She kept her pace nice and easy, and off and on paused to tap at her PADD to have something sent to her quarters on the Nandrendra. She paused as she heard some sort of brujahjah ahead of them, lifting her eyes as she viewed the scene. The pair walked as a somewhat slow pace… the Denobulan hybrid was none too quick at the moment, though he was getting steadier on his feet as he moved a bit more… he had his computer and a couple small things in the smallest of travel satchels slung over his chest diagonally. They were making their way down the corridor when there was a bit of a commotion behind them past the intersection. Ashley turned, about to ask what the fuss was about, when a quartet of persons in a coordinated group appeared at the interchange. A Trill, a Human, a Bajoran, and a Bolian, all equipped with rather professional looking gear that included headphones and microphone headsets. Their eyes landed on Ashley and Rue, and he felt something of a pit growing in his stomach as the group *rushed* down the hallway toward them. He almost tried to move toward the wall slightly, because he thought they would rush *past* them. Nope. The quartet of slightly winded journalists stopped and hovered far too close to the pair, essentially trapping them on the wall of the corridor. The Bolian spoke first, and *fast,* clearly the ring leader to this dog and pony show. He weaseled next to Ashley, tucking in close… *too* close, making the Denobulan flinch at the proximity. The reporters reminded Rue intensely of a group of carrion eaters, swooping down on a desiccated corpse on the side of the road. She grabbed Ashley’s shoulders, steadying him and attempting to protect him, pushing herself between Jafarr and the Denobulan hybrid. Jafarr: ::looking into the camera carried by the Trill:: This is Jafarr Symote, and I’m with Lieutenants Blackwell and Yael of Starbase One-Eighteen! ::he turned and dark blue-black eyes zeroed in on Rue:: Ladies first, am I right? So, what part did you play in this whole Klingon cult business? Nasty stuff, the Cult of Molar. Blackwell: My role was transport, communications and intervention - we simply were doing what was needed for the good of the Federation, the Klingon Empire, and the safety of all. ::It was practiced, succinct and exact:: Jafarr: ::hardly letting her finish:: Did you see any hand-to-hand combat? Get any kills? Bring home a bat’leth? Blackwell: Thank you, no more questions ::She tried to move past once more, unsuccessfully:: Jafarr: ::almost interrupting again:: That’s a new hair style, it’s very bold. It’s a Power Cut, if I do say so myself, and I *do* say so. New relationship, new look, amIright? She wanted to take a breath but she put on a well practiced smile on her face, aware of the cameras on her The Bolian gave Yael a strangely knowledgeable look and nudged the weirded out Denobulan in the ribcage with his elbow, making him flinch slightly yet again at the undesirable contact. The Bolian promptly forgot about Rue in a singular moment and his eyes zeroed in on Ashley, who likely looked like a trapped cat. It was remarkable that she kept the smile on her face, as when he elbowed Ashley, she had the distinct want to show him how good at hand to hand she really was. Jafarr: So, tell our viewers what a *counselor* and a *pacifist* is doing leading a secret Strike Team behind enemy lines? You’re kind of *small* to be leading Marines into combat, aren’t you? Ashley was too surprised at the bold and very knowledgeable question to respond properly in the short second the Bolian stopped talking. Jafarr: You were injured. Struck by Klingon pain sticks, OUCH, am I right? They didn’t stick you anywhere *sensitive* did they? ::beat:: Is it true you rode thirteen wild targ down the corridor of the Klingon High Council? As Rue attempted to carefully and gracefully separate Yael and the reporter, she caught the questions and wondered what form of chemical fumes he had inhaled before coming to entrap them. Yael: ::finally finding his shocked voice:: What? No! Jafarr: No, hmm? Shame, that. Missed opportunity you’ll regret. ::barely pausing between sentences:: Do you think it’s a good idea for Star Fleet to be sending unprepared non-combatants into combat operations? Yael: I’ve- Jafarr: ::interrupting again:: Especially someone with a history of psychological instability and substance abuse issues? How *do* you get such rave reviews from your crewmates when you can’t even control your *own* addictions? She narrowed her eyes at that. She couldn’t help it, she was getting impatient, angry and most of all, protective. If Ashley wasn’t shocked into silence he would have bristled at the incredibly hostile question. His embarrassment was written in his expression, but before he could speak the Bolian turned to Rue again at warp speed. He had seemed to note her shift in mood and intended to capitalize on her for the cameras. Jafarr: Lieutenant Blackwell, what’s the nature of your relationship with Lieutenant Yael? You’re gorgeous. ::turning to Yael shortly:: Isn’t she gorgeous? ::turning back to Rue again:: With his eyes and ridges, and your *WHISTLES* ::he motioned crudely to ALL of her::, your illegitimate, unmarried love babies will be *beautiful,* amIRIGHT? Blackwell: Yael - do not respond ::She said, her voice was impeccably calm despite the heat rising in her veins. She looked to Jafarr quietly:: Yael: ::flustered, trying to formulate something intelligent:: This is *incredibly* inappro- Jafarr: The ladies in the audience want to know, Lieutenant Yael, do the ridges go ALL the way down? The protest inside him was frozen, and Ashley stiffened visibly, flushing hard as he glanced at the camera. Good gods, this wasn’t *live*, was it?! Blackwell: :She stepped forward:: Mr….Symote was it? ::She gently pushed Yael behind her:: I understand you are all - very- eager for a story, and I know that you have a lot of questions ::And directly to the camera:: Which is reasonable as citizens do need to know what is being done to protect the galaxy, uphold the values of the Federation, and of course, keep people safe :And she smiled:: however, I happen to recall Mr. Symote that your specialty in reporting is more…..::She paused:: Jafarr: ::butting in again with a feisty smile:: You’re right! I get the meat! I tell people what they want to know. ::his smile turned slightly:: Seems you’re the *man* of the pair. So *protective*. How admirable! He was baiting her again, that smile ever on his face. Blackwell::She raised both brows to that:: Are you always so ….::she considered:: quaintly antiquated, Mr. Symote? ::She looked amused now, and looked brightly to the reporter:: Jafarr: Oh, I married my yoga instructor. Then divorced her three months later, HA! ::he didn’t seem torn up over the loss:: She wasn’t nearly as modern as you. Blackwell: Oh, I’m not modern. I’m practical, when I need to be ::She shook her head and looked to the reporter:: So if you are really curious into what is the meat of the situation, why don’t you ask about …::And then she was caught off guard:: Jafarr: So this isn’t the first individual you’ve dated with ::And he said with a mock low whisper:: Difficult emotional situation. How about your ex-fiance…. Blackwell::And then it was her turn to cut him off:: Please Mr. Symote - that’s very old news. ::She shook her head:: If that is the best you have… Jafarr::And then he gave a devious grin, and leaned into the woman, practically looming over her:: And what about the investigation into the Salters? Now it was her turn to be caught entirely off guard. Rue’s face stayed perfectly calm, but her eyes were brighter, as nerves and anger started to make her heart beat far too rapidly. Jafarr:: It’s all so -intriguing and interesting- ::The Reporter pressed, smelling blood now:: Scientists who developed cutting edge technology, known for their brilliance, innovative focus, tragically killed in a seemingly mindless accident. What would have prompted you to get curious about that? ::He pressed the microphone closer to her mouth, and she felt herself lean back against Ashley:: The Denobulan hybrid had cringed at every touch, but now felt something sterner growing inside him as Rue leaned back into him. They needed to *end* this encounter. His shock at the verbal assault had worn off, even if just slightly, and he boldly reached to grasp her wrist tightly… and with as hard a shove as he dared, he shoved his way past the Bolian and the team members with Rue at a brisk jog. Jafarr: Hey! Lieutenants! *Lieutenants!!* Ashley kept up the speedy pace until they hit a turbolift and the doors slid shut behind them, at which point he finally released Rue’s wrist and pressed himself against the turbolifts wall, looking somewhat panicked, and a bit shocked at his own behavior. Amethyst eyes looked downward at nothing for a moment, then flicked up at her. He also gripped his hand where he’d held her, holding his own hand as if it had offended him somehow. The feeling of crawling beneath his skin was starting, but it was a short contact… he could manage it. But the sudden activity had sent his head spinning a bit, and he wasn’t very steady for a moment. Rue was almost numb to sensation as she was pulled, trying to work out precisely where those questions had come from, how he could have known to ask, and mostly, what it meant. When she was tugged, it was easy - Yael went and so did she, lead like a cut right into the turbolift. As Yael released her, she moved against the wall and breathed hard, and slapped her hand against the panel to close the door. Yael: Sorry for grabbing you. That wasn’t an interview… it was an *assault.* Blackwell: ::her voice wavering a bit:: He was rather….rabid wasn’t he? ::She cleared her throat and straightened, and furrowed her brow:: ...Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you did he? Yael: ::laughing lightly, but it was forced:: Just my pride. You? Blackwell: No, it’s...nothing ::She shook her head and folded her arms:: We should get you looked at though - just to make sure ::Quickly focusing the conversation on him:: When we get on the ship, lets call Wyn. Yael: I’m okay. Really. He released his hand, grasping the fingers into a fist a couple times before forcing himself to let it hang normally, despite the creeping feeling sliding into his wrist. He *could* control it. He *would.* Blackwell:...Okay, I just want to make sure you are okay - that ….::her fist clenched:: that reporter ….I wish I could have slugged him. Yael: You know, the same thought crossed my mind. But that would have made *great* material for his viewers… I can see the headline now… “popular shock jock punched by pacifist.” Blackwell:An exhale:: No, that would not have helped anything - made things worse really. Yael: Ah… reorienting, and realizing they hadn’t given the turbolift a command:: Take us to the deck where the Narendra is docked. The computer calculated the command and the lights began to slide past as they were taken to the proper deck. The turbolift doors opened, and thankfully there were no journalists waiting to maul them in the corridor. Yael: ::moving into the corridor:: How did he even *know* all that… There were numerous things the Bolian had said that he shouldn’t have known about. Not just information about the mission to Qo’nos, but *private* information… *medical* information. Blackwell: I really don’t know either …..:::she frowned:: But I will find out. Yael: Maybe we should report the encounter to security. There’s no way he could legitimately have known all that… The Denobulan hybrid fell somewhat silent as they walked. He was *not* going to ask what the “Salters” investigation was about… Rue had had a palpable reaction to that statement. But he also felt a bit awkward, and embarrassed… he’d had several things exposed in rapid fire that he’d have preferred *hadn’t* been. Blackwell:::While he was awkward, she was angry...but she was focused on keeping that anger controlled, and held from the sensitive denobulan:: So...lets think through this. How could he have logically gotten information like that. Yael: That would require his source to have access to the information. Someone with a high security clearance. ::pausing, then more quietly:: Who would *do* that? Anyone in Starfleet should know better… unless he offered them a bribe they couldn’t refuse? Blackwell: Bribe….or something else ::She glanced to him:: Yael: Or he could have something on them, and in order to keep their own secrets on the down low, they feed him private information about others… not much better that way though. Blackwell: Then there’s a mole. ::She exhaled slowly, and put her hand up, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple to ease the ache:: Well, we are not going to fix it right now. We escape on shore leave, report the incident...and hope to relax somehow. Yael: True… ::not liking the lack of certainty:: What do we do now, then? Blackwell: Only thing I can think of...right now….::She then exhaled and quipped:: Besides you know, taking a ship and disappearing to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Yael: Right. ::smiling lightly:: We probably shouldn’t hunt him down and steal all his equipment. Blackwell::A slight smile:: I suppose not. The pair made their way the rest of the way to the Narendra, boarding with plenty of time for take-off. ~*~ Jafarr Symote Propaganda Artist & Journalist Written by Ashley Yael C238211TZ0 Lieutenant JG Ashley Yael Counselor Starbase 118 Ops C238211TZ0 Lt. Prudence Blackwell Comms/Ops Starbase 118 G239308PB0
  17. OOC: @Ashley Yael introduced this phenomenal sensationalist journalist and it's just priceless. ((Starbase 118 – Marine Headquarters – Corridor 7A)) Jafarr: ::perpetually interrupting:: Have you ever fantasized about *eating* your crewmates, Major? You’ve got the *chompers* for it! Do we need to be worried? Kelemkor didn't knock that instinct loose while he was in there, did he? The Bolian was trying to get a reaction, and he got one for sure. Tatash: Erect a security forcefield around this deck section immediately. The cameras kept rolling as the field came up, securing the area around them, and the Trill with the camera spun it to get it on film. Jafarr: Ooooh, big man with a forcefield. ::taunting:: What’s the matter, Major? Too big and slow to chase us? Tatash: =/\= Tatash to Andrews, I need a security team to Corridor 7A urgently in Marine HQ. I have a group here I need taken to the brig for immediate investigation. Andrews: =/\= Affirmative, Major, team is enroute immediately. =/\= Jafarr: You can’t stop the free press, Major. Journalists have rights! Tatash kept the line open as he looked at Jafarr. Tatash: =/\= You are under arrest for suspected espionage and the distribution of classified information, you are also under arrest for trespassing in a secure military facility. Your camera equipment will be confiscated, immediately. Jafarr: You don’t want to do that. Tatash: Should have checked who run the joint before wandering into a Marine base. Jafarr: You don’t seem to realize that- Tatash leant in, letting out a low rumbling growl. Tatash: Please, I beg you, resist arrest. Nothing would make me happier. Now, the Security Officers, myself and the head of Intelligence are going to have a nice long chat about just how you came by all that information. The Gorn leaning over him and growling that out actually stopped the paparazzi from speaking for a short moment, which was a miraculous feat in and of itself. Jafarr: ::stuttering slightly, searching for the right trigger:: That would be an abuse of power!! And… aren’t you supposed to be on leave? Tatash grinned as the Bolian squirmed. Tatash: My friend, this -is- my idea of shore leave. The shimmering of blue lights filled the room, as figures began to materialize. Isaiah and two other security personnel, a man and a woman, arrived and quickly stepped forward to accost Jafarr and his team. Iz directed the other two towards the camera crew while he addressed the blue-skinned Bolian. Andrews: Jafarr Symote, you and your team are subsequently under arrest for trespassing a secure facility. In addition, you are subject to questioning and investigation for possible espionage. I am going to have to ask you to come with us. Jafarr: ::finding his voice now that security was there between him and the Gorn:: Those charges are ridiculous! They’ll never stick. ::turning to his team:: Don’t worry, they’re bluffing. ::back to the security detail:: Trumped up charges meant to scare the free press out of doing our job! Tatash: ? Andrews: We have to follow procedures Mr. Symote. There's a reason that these areas are restricted. If you're innocent of espionage as you claim, we'll find out soon enough. Meanwhile Wilgun and Royden were relieving the crew of equipment. Wilgus: Please hand over any and all recording equipment, including portable and hidden units. Royden waved a scanner at the Trill, and it emitted a chirp. Royden: Portable and concealed units as well. Jafarr: I’ll have you know, there is an automatic uplink for all our footage! Even if you destroy our equipment, it won’t matter! We’ll still get to the truth! ::stammering as his team handed the items over:: But you better not break anything! This is expensive gear! I’ll *sue* you if there’s so much as a scratch! ::turning back to his team:: My lawyer’s on speed-comm, don’t worry. Tatash: ? Andrews: Your objections are noted and recorded and will be part of the report. As of right now, though, you and your team will be detained immediately, end of story. ::He looked to Major Tatash:: Sorry about the trouble, Major. ::Tapping his comm:: =/\= Requesting transport to minimum security detainment facilities =/\= Tatash: ? Isaiah gave a nod and a thumbs up to Major Tatash as he, the other security officers, and the trespassers were engulfed in the transport beam. (( Starbase 118 Ops - Detainment Area )) Isaiah gave his most professional smile to Jafarr Symote through the bars of the cell that the Bolian and his team had been confined to. Andrews: Just so you are perfectly clear, you are being detained for trespassing in restricted areas. In addition, you will be subject to questioning for suspected espionage as a matter of precaution. Jafarr: ::clearly annoyed at being imprisoned:: I don’t have to answer your questions! My sources have the right to anonymity! Where is my equipment?! Iz had to keep from smirking. Served the guy right. It wasn't like Jafarr didn't know exactly what he'd been doing, harassing a Starfleet officer for gossip rag stuff. Andrews: All of your equipment is currently secured in our holding facility, and you will be able to obtain it upon your release, provided you are cleared of more serious charges. Jafarr: I have the right to comm my lawyer. Andrews: Yes, of course you will be permitted access to your legal team. And if you have an official complaint you'd like to lodge, we will of course provide you a channel for this. Jafarr: I’ll sue you for this! This is false imprisonment! The silencing of the press is the mark of a dictatorship! Andrews: Duly noted, Mr. Symote. In the meantime, please enjoy your stay in our facilities. Iz departed, leaving Jafarr and his crew to simmer with shared concern and frustration over their arrest. The reality was, Jafarr had been through this before several times, and was almost sure he’d be released soon. The only charge that had ever stuck to him before was trespassing, and that was such a minor offense it almost never meant a consequence. He’d be free again, and he’d find a new target! He needed more material for his show, after all. The Gorn getting aggressive was intimidating, but it would make great television! Jafarr: ::musing to himself:: Maybe I should have goaded him more. Out-of-control Gorn attack! Now *that* would have been a headline. ~*~ Jafarr Symote Propaganda Artist & Journalist Written by Ashley Yael C238211TZ0
  18. I just love a good bad guy sim ❤️ ((High Orbit. Qo'Nos.)) Hatfield: Open fire! Idiots! Buffons! Morons! The trap had been sprung upon the Narendra far too soon by overeager commanders of third-rate Cult vessels. Her opening shot smashed into the Federation vessesls shields. And then the Narendra vanished. Actually vanished like smoke into mist. Hatfield: Where did she go!? Find the Narendra! Federation vessels didn't have cloaking devices as standard, and especially not clapped out old buckets like an Ambassador-class. Suddenly, the minefield began to move, swarming after an unseen target. It had to be the Narendra and Hatfield slammed an angry fist into the arm of the command throne. An instant later she was out of her seat, a heavy blow landing upon the shoulder of her helmsman. Hatfield: Follow them, you fool! She hissed in anger as the wildly flowing stream of mines detonated in a ripple of explosions that inflicted crippling damage upon the Cult vessels shields. The Narendra flickered into view, smashing a torpedo into the exposed belly of one vessel. There were more explosions as the ship began to break apart, it's death throes ensaring and dragging down it's companion. The main viewscreen brightened then, as the Vakh'Tol powered up and heaved to. Her eye darted around the viewscreen as the rapid series of events were processed, watching still as other Klingon vessels scrambled to get clear of the disintegrating Bird of Prey and the seemingly wild torpedo volleys. Hatfield: Get the Narendra back on screen. Now! The view snapped instantly to the Narendra, and she was bearing down upon them rapidly. There was the flash of a torpedo launch and Hatfield barely had time to open her mouth to bark an order at her stunned-looking helmsman. The torpedo missing them, but only just. The shockwave from it's detonation shook the Chang-Vor'ch like a toy in the bath, shattering screens and causing consoles to explode outwards. The main viewer was reduced to scrolling static, and Hatfield was slammed sideways against her throne. Pain blossomed in her side and face, with her spitting blood onto the deck. Her bridge crew and bodyguards were scattered as leaves on the wind, being banged about just as much as her. And Malle Zistra, her Betazoid navigator was the worst off laying face down in a spreading pool of her own blood. Hatfield: Get us out of here! The green-collared helmsman looked at her dumbfounded, his face bloody mask from the slice across his cheek. Hatfield: Now damn you! In the end, it was her chief weapons officer Lieutenant Danzuc that got behind the helm controls and put them into a rapid about turn. The hefty Klingon punched the engines, getting them well clear of Qo'nos before sending the ship streaking away at warp. Spitting another gobbet of blood onto the deck, Hatfield stalked to the lift at the rear of the bridge. She clicked her fingers at her guards and they hauled the helmsman to his feet, dragging him between them as they followed her from the bridge. They dragged him along the ships main corridor, stopped beside their commader beside an airlock door. Hatfield jabbed the button and they hefted him. Suddenly realising what was happening, he began to kick and scream and plead. The guards simply tossed him in and Hatfield sealed the door. Silently through the glass he screamed and pounded at the door. Hatfield: You failed me today. And one failure is one too many times. Goodbye, Mr Fredericksen. She pressed a key, ejecting the former Marine from a ship that was travelling only a little under warp eight. -fin.- Commander Vivienne Hatfield. Former OC, USS Valeria. Former FL, House Kravzo'ch. Simmed by; Lieutenant-Commander Arturo Maxwell. Chief Tactical Officer / Second Officer. Starbase 118 Operations. O239311AM0.
  19. so I ALWAYS look forward to any interactions with @Randal Shayne and @Alvarez and this latest one on our Shore Leave had me rolling. For a little context, Maria had just discovered an ancient bootleg still in one of the many compartments of the Arrow (which is filled with knick-knacks from the previous "lost" crew) and she brought it to Shayne for inspection. What follows is the scene afterward: ((USS Arrow, Deck 1 - Captain's Ready Room)) Ding. Shayne didn’t react for a moment; it was not uncommon for him to be lost in space, but it was patently unusual for him to reflect on events so recent. The conversation with Rodan had… shaken loose something inside him, and though he wasn’t certain how to manifest the change, he knew one was needed. Not a permanent one, mind you- a momentary dabble, a dip into possibilities. Now, though, he was needed. He shut off the feed to the bridge- no need for people to think he was quite so paranoid- and turned his attention to the door. Shayne: Come on in. He regretted the informality of address as the one person he could not imagine would still be on the ship strolled in. Alvarez, the sort of person Risa was simply built for, had to know that they’d not be staying in orbit forever. What was she doing here, now? Alvarez: Evenin', cap. But if her presence alone was a mystery, the thing she carried under her arm was easily twice as curious. It looked like it had been pulled straight out of the S.S. Anachronism; bits and pieces that belayed an age less than two decades hung from it limply, like it was a reluctant child in Momma’s hands. Shayne’s face immediately turned stoney. Shayne: So help me, if that is part of the computer core... Alvarez: :: She grinned. :: Well, that's one way to greet your favorite bridge-duty ops officer. The commander’s face, already foul, turned properly villainous. There was time aplenty for Alvarez’s ridiculous games. This was his shore leave too! Couldn’t she just… behave? For five minutes? Alvarez: Found this on deck five. In that closet we could never open. Shayne squinted, and leaned in. Now that he was looking at it without fearing it would explode as some moxie-toxic prank of the ensign, he was fit to realize that it was definitely a jury-rig of some sort- a mess of EPS taps, an ionic coupler here, a distributor module there… and all of it looked to be from a time before Shayne was scurrying underfoot in an engineering department. Shayne: Well… what the hell is it? There was nothing quite so frightening to an otherwise calm Shayne as a smile from Maria Alvarez. Alvarez: I thought you'd have recognized a proper piece of tech back from your good old days! Shayne: They were either old or good. Now he stood, attempting to inspect it for something he recognized personally. When it arrived, he understood where he’d seen it before instantly; on his cadet tour, aboard a Miranda class that was easily 85 years his senior. Shayne: Ensign, I’m not a fossil. Yet. Alvarez: :: She raised a hand in surrender, with a toothy smile. :: My mistake! :: She repressed a chuckle, paused, then explained. :: Anyway, it's a stil. Circa 2322 - older than any Saber by twenty years. Figured you should know I found it, since I'm supposed to be on good behavior and all that... The PADD slid toward him was filled with more information than was available to the naked eye. He looked at it ruefully, but if he was being honest, the designation of “stil” was all he needed to make a decision. Shayne: Good thinking. Go ahead and scrap it before the crew gets any ideas. The stress on the word “crew” made it clear that he was attempting to mention Maria without mentioning Maria; while a couple of others aboard might try to actually make use of the stuff, one of them was working against an alcohol addiction, and the others were not so blessed with free time or means to enjoy whatever ill-conceived [...]tail this [...]ameme contraption could craft. Alvarez: You sure you don't want to keep it? Would be nice to honor the previous crew, and it could go a ways to lift the crew's spirits. Pun aside- and it was a good pun- Alvarez had, perhaps unintentionally, hit the nail on the head. When Arrow was first discovered, there was very little data connecting what had happened to her original crew to the ship’s dilapidated, damaged state. The Saber class vessel had never quite recovered from the wounds she’d sustained during whatever painful, abandon-worthy events had led to her situation. Even Starfleet Command had remained tight-lipped, though Shayne had it on good authority that it was because they were as in the dark as he himself was. Either way, any piece of evidence would be helpful. Shayne: Alright. Take some scans of it. If it makes you feel better, download the schematics. But I want this to not get to the rest of the crew. Alvarez: Oh, come on! We can't chuck it without at least sampling what it can do first, can we? There's a good liter of stuff left over from last time it was used. Scans clean. Apparently, Alvarez was possessed of more pockets than Shayne, because, as smooth as could be, she pulled out a clear bottle of something from behind her. Shayne: Oh, now wait a minute- if you intend to put whatever dregs are left into that… Alvarez: Please? It's not some ancient alien gateway or god-molecule needing destructing. Surely it would be nice to rescue some old tech? At least toast it before sending it off to a museum. We're off duty. I'll go first, if you're scared. The commander had worked very, very hard to suppress his darker side. Few knew of it beyond the occasional irascible condemnation or biting comment. But the effort was real, and present. Among these efforts was a generalized abstention from alcohol- it made everything more difficult, and it simply wasn’t worth it. Another facet was his emotions; despite having achieved much from an objective perspective, there was a… wrath within the man that could only be derived from feeling as though he had not proved himself, now or ever before. He tamed it, did not let it rule his decisions, but it required constant attention. Now, with shore leave, an oncoming inquiry, and a smirking ensign that was challenging his courage, the commander had simply had enough. Shayne: Fill the bottle. The man watched as Alvarez maneuvered the remaining fluid from the still into the bottle. It looked slightly meaner than conventional alcohol, though that was not something that was given much attention in the commander’s mind. He was singly focused on one thing alone. About three quarters of the liquid was left in the still as the pour neared the top. Alvarez: Response Before the bottle could be properly topped off, Shayne snatched with the reflexes that years of desk duty had started to dull, and without hesitation, sat back to chug. Even the smell was enough to peel the flesh of his chubby face from bone. The first taste, though, was torture. He was a sensitive man, and in his fury, he had forgotten this fact. Fire would be preferable, he decided, as the first swallow lashed at his throat. Again he swallowed, his mouth ablaze. Tears had already started to form at his eyes, and mucus began to flow freely from his nose, and still he drank. Somewhere between his mouth and his esophagus, the liquid became white-hot daggers, driving into the flesh of his gullet, each inch a new, self-induced agony. Veins began to splay outward as the lack of oxygen joined the conspiracy, but finally, with eyes reddened with sclera, the bottle was empty. Refusing the urge to throw the container away, he instead demanded control of his body once more, and slowly placed the bottle back onto the table. He gazed at Alvarez, not minding the suddenly frazzled appearance he’d given himself. Shayne: Oh my. Alvarez: Response Tag/TBC…
  20. I was rereading this JP this morning while updating the Thor's mission summary, and man, this is just so elegantly written. I LOVE the sheer amount of lore and build up that is done in this two parter. @Alieth and @Brutus did such and amazing job with developing the kingdom of Calabrum in such few words. The stink of @Geoffrey Teller is all over this thing too. And that ending... I missed it the first time around, but way to tie everything back to the Thor at the end. I consistently stand in awe at the writers around me. Bravo you two.
  21. I thought this was a wonderfully written fight scene and I love the tidbits of Tatash we see in here. There is a warning below, however. Still, a great fight scene, even if it's quite violent. ((OOC: Putting a strong Content Warning: Violence on this. It is quite bloody. Also sorry for the confusion earlier I posted an unfinished article whoops)) ((The Waiting Room)) Crunch. That was the sensation Tatash felt as he was thrown back against the wall by the almost impossibly sized Klingon. Whatever it was that just snapped in his back would have to wait as he forced himself to stand back on his feet, looking at the lumbering giant across from him. He was monstrous even for the renowned strength of a Klingon in their prime, his muscles bulging under his leather jerkin so much that Tatash could identify just about every muscle group. Tatash: Impressive. Whatever this lumbering hulk was, he had Tatash locked with his full attention. Good, the brawl with Kelemkor at least would have two against one, even if one of them was now spinning a painstick around like the galaxy's most awful marching band leader. Athaw: You shall not pass. Tatash: Then I’ll go through you. A brief moment passed between them as they sized up the distance between them and just how hard the opening volley would need to be, the last moment of calm before the beast came charging towards him with a bloodcurdling warrior cry. Something stirred in the Gorn as he did, letting his own roaring shriek out before charging forward to meet his powerful aggressor. It was an even match, probably the first even match he’d ever really experienced. It was exhilarating, pain being pushed aside by sheer bloodlust as for once the Gorn allowed himself the luxury of indulging something that he had been keeping buried deep inside for years. The spirit of a warrior clashing with the beast that he was finally allowing after so long to push through to the surface. Athaw barely responded to the blows the Gorn was dishing out, those standard punches that were the product of years of fighting lesser opponents and they were doing nothing to stop the massive pile of flesh as the Gorn found himself pressed back against a wall and smacked hard in his rib cage. Something gave way leaving a sharpness in his chest adding the sensation that breathing was starting to get a little more difficult, more laboured with each half inflation of a damaged lung. But wounds were something that occurred when the adrenaline faded, when he was allowed and permitted to feel pain. They were something to be doted over in a sickbay or hospital bed, they were not for the here and now in life and death. He grappled back, that thin veneer that was civilised behaviour starting to crack as Tatash relearned through pain what he was at his base level. What lurked under the training like a vile shape under a churning sea, the well drilled protocols, the rules of engagement one by one were falling apart as it was made clear this was an encounter that could have one definite ending. -I- will win. Tatash thought, rage bubbling up inside him, stacking like precarious mental bricks on top of each other building a terrible wall of force. -I- am Gorn. He lunged himself forward and clenched his jaw around Athaw’s shoulder and bit down, the full force of those terrible predatory teeth bearing down and pushing through the fabric and into the flesh beyond. Warmth flooded his mouth, metallic, running out over his chin. Athaw: ? Another series of punches came at him, but he was lost to himself, each one registering as a dull thud no doubt battering him but shrouded behind the insanity of brutal gratuitous combat, only letting go of Athaw to let out another fearsome roar, a shrieking hissing sound from a wide open mouth with stained teeth dripping crimson. He circled around him, waiting for Athaw to make another dash towards him. Athaw: ? And dash he did, the sheer force of the boot shoving against his chest sent the Gorn reeling backwards against a row of cabinets, Klingon documents spilling out like confetti as he impacted them sending their carefully catalogued shelves flying out across the room. His uniform tore, revealing the scarred scales underneath as it caught on the corners that were digging hard into him. Tatash: You’ll… never… win Tatash lunged forward again, propelling himself forward with his hand open, fingers curled up as he swiped down with his claws fully exposed, those talons ready to take the Klingon’s sight as he aimed to rend those sockets clean. Athaw: ? That terrible warmth of an inflicted wound washed over the Gorns hand, Athaw’s hand coming up out of reflex to cover his face as the dark talons carried out their grisly task, the base instinct to protect vision was a powerful one in any lifeform with eyes, that rarely could be overcome. But still the Klingon stood, swinging his mighty fist blindly towards the Gorn and connecting hard with his snout, the sound of something hitting the ground as he managed to shatter a couple of the Gorns terrible teeth, the remains of them clattering onto the ground. Tatash: Why… won’t… you… stop Each of those words was delivered with another swing of his own tensed mechanical fist, the artificial limb whining, before suddenly stopping as Athaw gripped it in his hand. Tatash pushed, the Klingon pushed back causing the appendage to start whining under the duress. No matter how hard Tatash struggled against it, the fist would not budge, before finally with a dull cracking sound the servomotors failed and his limb decoupled itself with a spectacular spray of sparks, hanging limply by the Gorns side. Athaw: ? The sheer predatory feeling to finish the task bubbled up without any particular thought. It was a primal, surging need. A need to survive regardless of the cost. A need to survive and protect the data that was hidden in that smoking, ruined arm. Turning his long snout to the side Tatash heaved himself forward and wrapped his jaw firmly around the Klingon’s neck, sinking his teeth into that delicate, unprotected flesh, gripping firmly, before wrenching his head back with a sickening tearing sound. The confusion on Athaw’s stained face was obvious as Tatash discarded the contents of his mouth onto the ground, the gurgling strained sound coming from his opponent echoed as he staggered backwards blinded and dazed, before slipping on his own essence that was pooling on the floor under him in a rapidly growing circle, collapsing backwards. No more roars, no more triumphant cries or bold strikes. Clutching his throat desperately to stem the flow of blood the Klingon was down but at least alive. Whether he would remain that way would depend on how quickly the other battle in the room could be resolved, whether or not Kelemkor would see reason, or continue this reckless course. He turned his gaze towards the other group, fixing his grisly visage upon Kelemkor with his pain stick. He didn’t move towards them, just outstretched his arms with his clawed fingers spread and opened his mouth once towards the telepath, hissing loudly. He wanted Kelemkor to peer into his head, he yearned for it, he -wanted- him to experience every emotion running through him. The rage, the anger, the primordial satisfaction of his ancestors from downing such a powerful beast. The pride, the sheer and point blank savagery. Because then Kelemkor would know he would be next. Kelemkor/Taybrim/DeVeau: ? --- Major Tatash Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company) Starbase 118 Ops C239108T10
  22. I couldn't help but cackle like a harpy when I saw the use of a certain word. Amazingly done, Genkos! ----- ((Maintenance Area, Cardassian Prison)) They had managed to get across the gaping chasm in the middle of the corridor with what could be called style and panache, but only by the partially sighted. Apart from Tan; he’d landed and ‘Kos had been tempted to hold up a PADD that read 9.4 on it. If he’d had a PADD that is. Or the time. Suddenly, however, and without warning, Shades jumped right on top of TNT, and bundled him to the floor. Repressing the brief urge to jump in, ‘Kos watched as she managed to slip off the knots holding him to the anchor, which, he now noticed, had just plummeted over the edge. There was a horrendous crashing sound as metal married more metal, and possibly had a lot more metal babies. It had pulled the rope taut, but didn’t seem in immediate danger in pulling TNT over edge. Reynolds: One second, we'll get you loose. Marshall/Tan: Response Sim: Here, use my - ‘Kos was stopped as the last knot slipped free and whipped past them, catching his crutch and sending him crashing bodily to the floor. He caught himself on his elbow which sent a shockwave straight up and into his jaw. As Shades saw to TNT, he got back onto his feet quite unsteadily, his heart pounding in his chest. Reynolds: You all right? Marshall/Tan: Response Reynolds: This place just keeps getting weirder and weirder. ::As was becoming a habitual tic, she crossed her arms again.:: I swear nothing makes sense in here. ‘Kos nodded once, agreeing with her. It was almost like a dream, such was the unreality of the situation, but not even in his worst nightmares did he have to exert himself so physically. Compared to this, his nightmares were a walk in the park. Sim: The only thing that makes sense is that this consistently doesn’t make sense. Marshall/Tan: Response Reynolds: We should— ‘Kos followed Shades’ gaze as whatever she saw interrupted her. Lumbering down the corridor was a sight both familiar and horrifying at the same time, and ‘Kos felt his bloody turn Andorian in the splittiest of split seconds. Reynolds: —go! Sim: Oh good… another undead. Marshall/Tan: Response And it was, somehow, a corpse reanimated as if by some day-go liquid, some of which poured like ichor from the creature’s mouth. At least that’s what it looked like. But ‘Kos didn’t take any of that in; he had pivoted on his heel and was limping as quickly as he could in the opposite direction. The groans of the creature echoed after them, and ‘Kos tried to block out these wordless cries. Sim: ::breathlessly:: Why… did… it… have… to… be… zombies? Marshall/Tan/Reynolds: Response They reached a T-junction, and neither was an exciting prospect. To the left, there appeared to be a large grate covering the entire corridor a few hundred yards down. Illuminated in the dull red bulbs seemed to be more of the shambling corpses, all Romulans, and all wearing the remains of fairly ragged clothes. Each one was covered in a symphony of bruises, as if they’d been beaten to within an inch of their life before being thrown into the corridor. Upon seeing their merry band of travellers, the Romulundead turned and ran at the grate. Thankfully it held, but they kept jumping at it, and it was deeply unpleasant. A sinking feeling in ‘Kos’ stomach told him eventually they’d break through. Whilst to the right, there was a completely darkened corridor. Sim: This way has to be better, right? … Right?! Marshall/Tan/Reynolds: Response --------------- Genkos “Wheels” Sim Doctor Skarbek G239502GS0
  23. The way that @Oddas Aria wrote this sim really made me feel what Captain Oddas was feeling. All the little mannerisms of anxiety and anger. The weight and responsibility of what it really means to be a Captain in a really tricky scenario. Really had me connecting to Aria a lot in the moment. I've been thinking about it for a good hour or two now, honestly. So I thought it warranted an appreciation. It was well done. --- ((Bekanar’Klan’s Office, Jem’Hadar Colony, Aturn VII)) Oddas: =/\= Can you confirm that? =/\= The map with purported mining veins and traps set took a secondary position in her list of things to do for the moment. The thought that her crew members were captured and being subjugated to Prophets knew what caused the tension headache she had been experiencing back with a vengeance. The last thing she wanted was to lose crew, not only did it come along with the job she wasn't as aloof as others saw her. She didn't care to sacrifice life ever. Iovianus: =/\= Response =/\= Any: Response Dekas: This is all very odd. Bekanar’Klan: Odd? How so? Dekas: Do we know what they’re looking for? Or what they’re guarding? Han: Response Oddas: Regardless, taking hostages is a surefire way to make sure I believe them less. She gave the Jem'Hadar pair a sideways glance - she knew she had just obliquely said she trusted the Jem'Hadar more. In a way, she realized it was true. The Jem'Hadar were fighting their nature in order for a better life. It seemed Kaybay was leaning into his own worse pah'wraith in order to further his very typical goals. One took heroic effort, the other took practically none. Her narrowed eyes betrayed some of her discomfort at the idea and tension with the idea her crew were hostages. Han: Response As the Marine spoke she realized the tension was layering on top of something else - anger. Anger was something she was familiar with, anger at her family, anger at some of her instructors, anger with others, anger with aliens taking her crew. It didn't even matter what the Major was saying she kept thinking about the failure she could become. By the time Bekanar'Klan responded she was struggling to keep it at bay. Bekanar’Klan: Then, perhaps we should mount a foray into the mines while we wait on Strapek to arrive? I have more than enough soldiers here, along with your own people Captain. It was a plan, a solid plan, and one that might give them answers. She paused to count the Major and Minor Vedeks to be sure she wasn't reacting out of anger. Her fingers clinched more tightly, digging her artificial nails into her upper arm where she had crossed her arms. Osasad’Mon: We should attack the DaiMon's ship at the same time use the element of surprise! The words had come out as a snarl, the Second was obviously itching to do something. Looking at the Jem'Hadar's face she saw the hardened battle ready face of a brutal warrior staring back. Aria had seen the same face on militia fighters back home - including her mother. She had even seen it more recently on the face of a Starfleet Marine that had been the source of consternation for her. Oddas: If we attack Kaybay could simply decide to kill the hostages. ::she paused and considered:: We'll give the Juneau a chance to rescue the hostages, if that doesn't work we can resort to ::feeling her nails dig deeper:: other measures. Han/Dekas: Response Bekanar’Klan: I can have a tactical unit ready in 5 minutes, Captain. And I will accompany you. And since the Second seems eager for a fight, he can come along as well. She looked at the map and back towards the others. Bekanar'Klan's statement brought up an unfortunate reality - she tended not to go into battle. Aria could fire a phaser, hit most things she aimed at, if the object wasn't moving too quickly and precision wasn't required. As if sensing her discomfort the Second perked up in that happy disappointment of a tone she had heard on bullies before. Osasad’Mon: If you feel your team is up for it, of course. Oddas: We're up for it. Major Han, prepare a team, recall anyone you need from the Juneau. I want us to be ready to transport to that location 5 minutes. She pointed to the map and a location where it seemed the traps were most concentrated - directly around the entrance of the tunnel the Away Team had disappeared from. Han/Dekas: Response Oddas: That's how long the Juneau has to get our people free peacefully. The snort of derision from the direction of the Second was enough indication of what he thought of the plan. Bekanar’Klan: Response Oddas: We have experience with that too. We'll all beam over together. Han/Dekas/All: Response Suddenly the weight of the phaser on her belt - long forgotten since the beam down - made itself known. She knew some people felt the weight of a weapon as power, for Aria it meant she had done something wrong, missed a way out, missed the path that didn't require violence. The feeling added to the anger that was welling up in her. Before long the nails would be drawing blood from the pressure she was pushing into them. Any: Response TAG, TBC Captain Oddas Aria Commanding Officer USS Juneau, NX-99801 E239305OA0
  24. Very interesting and compelling end to one of our antagonists - bravo Mr. Davis! ((Theseus, Bridge)) Kurin: You mean surrender? Chax: What! And risk getting stuck in a penal colony again? Last time I was there I was roomed with this Starfleet brat that wouldn’t stop talking about “blue jeans,” “television,” and “gasoline powered cars.” It was insufferable. Fuse: What it comes down to, is the choice between life and death! ::he raised his voice slightly:: Do we wish to die, cowering in a pool of our own excrement? Or do we do what we can to survive? Live to fight another day. I refuse to believe this is the end of the line. ::He looked each crewmember in the face.:: The Captain may be gone, but we are still a crew. Kurin: I’m with Fuse. Chax: But we can still get away. Invert the polarity on the hull plating, make a low-level subspace field, anything! Chax became increasingly angry as Fuse negotiated. He tried to listen, but his mind flooded with all the memories. Memories he didn’t want, memories he had long suppressed. What was his name? Nicolas? No. Bobby? No, but it was a boring human name. A son of an Admiral, too. He sulked around the penal colony. It was insulting. Though it was a prison of sorts, Chax had never lived somewhere so… nice. Which made him hate the Federation even more. The audacity to place someone in a prison nicer than their own home was an insult. And this Admiral’s son, whining and complaining all the time, had no idea what life was like outside of the Federation, the penal colony, or even the Sol system. The sheer privilege of it all made his second stomach churn, and his gizzard clench. There was no way he could go back there. (( OOC: Condensing a bit since there were no open tags.)) Rajel: =/\= As you can see we are backing away. You may want to die, but my crew has a strong will and instinct to survive. Within the next 30 seconds we will be out of transporter range. This is your last chance. Contact us before it is too late. Constitution out. =/\= The channel closed and silence fell over the bridge, broken up by the occasional ping of flexing metal. Fuse: =/\= Bridge to all hands. I won’t make the decision for you, but i’m sure you can all tell that we have found ourselves in a precarious position. The hull is buckling and we only have…::He looked at the data again.:: Two minutes to make a decision. Do we go with the Federation or stay and go down with the ship? All who wish to live report to the galley and prepare for transport. =/\= Fuse: I suppose you have the bridge Chax. Chax: And I suppose you can go to hell. I hope you rot in that penal colony, rot from the inside. Kurin: ? Fuse: ::Shaking his head:: However you may feel about it, some of us want to live. No matter the cost. Chax: Funny that you call prison living. I intend to thrive. Kurin: ? Fuse turned and left the bridge, and Chax started barking orders from his console. He had no time to waste. Chax: Invert the polarity of the hull plating. Can we create a low-level subspace field around us? The bridge was a flurry of activity, every station doing what they could to try and save the ship enough to escape. Yet everything they tried couldn’t stop hull from breaking and heating. Whatever that dust was, it was deadly. Fuse: =/\= Theseus to Constitution. You win. Five souls ready for transport. =/\= Chax cursed under his breath at the cowards as he continued to work. Hull integrity continued to fall at a precipitous rate, as the temperate continued to climb. Bridge Pirate: Chax! The dust is interacting with the gravimetric distortions from the anomalous cluster of stars. If we can isolate ourselves from those distortions, we should be fine. Chax understood some of those words. Avoid the gravity, save the ship. Gravity comes from mass. Warp drive creates a bubble that makes the ship mass-less. At least, that’s what he thought he knew. Chax: =/\=Engineering, we need a warp bubble, now!=/\= Engineering: =/\=Wha- no, impossible between the nebula and the gra-=/\= Chax: Make it possible, or we’ll definitely be dead. The line simply clicked off. Hull integrity dropped below 20%, with atmosphere venting alarms starting to show across the ship. Nothing they couldn’t fix, if they could get away. A message popped up on his display: Engineering requests all possible power, including structural integrity fields. So this is how it had to be, huh? One shot. He was no stranger to life-or-death situations. He approved, and immediately the power levels dropped drastically across ship system as engineering overcharged the warp core, trying to brute-force a warp bubble. Alarms and klaxons wailed, declaring imminent failure. A situational button appeared on his panel: engage warp bubble. It appears Engineering wanted to give him the honors. Chax: To our freedom. Chax pressed the button with cool determination, and he heard the coils charge; faster and to a far greater capacity that he’d ever seen before. More alarms and klaxons, this time because the nacelles were under incredible stress. His held his breath, and clenched all his fists. He began to wonder if he should have transported over. And at the last moment, the charge was released, creating a single, large pulse to establish a warp bubble. In the picoseconds that the bubble formed and propagating outward from the nacelles, the hull atomized into a cloud of plasma. With appropriate temporal resolution, it would be possible to trace the propagation of the warp bubble across the hull, as the sudden and drastic change in the local effects of gravity ripped the hull apart at the molecular level. As it raced across the hull, ejecting superheated plasma in every direction, it ignited the atmosphere in the ship. The plasma conduits routed through the hull were ripped open, too, sending electrified plasma arcing everywhere. Had this occurred over a timespan that Chax could appreciate, it would have been quite a show. But sadly; as the hull surrounding the bridge atomized and the atmosphere ignited, it also blew out into open space, along with Chax. Behind him, the ship exploded outwards as the damaged warp core’s antimatter pods were compromised and began to annihilate into pure energy. But not only was he on fire in the burning atmosphere, he was pushed into the field of superheated plasma. As his body intersected with it, it too atomized. The molecular makeup of his body was far less able to withstand heat than the hull material. But fortunately it did not occur over a time period he, or anyone else on the ship, could experience. The nerves in their bodies didn’t even have enough time to signal “pain.” All Chax or anyone else still on the Theseus knew was existence, followed by non-existence. And the Theseus herself, similarly paradoxically lost. All that she was still existed, but the atoms were all messed about and scattered. Some turned into pure energy. She had lost her identity entirely. (( Elsewhere )) An old man, sick from both radiation and an overdose of anti-radiation medicine, kicked open the cockpit of a warp-capable escape sled with his last bit on energy. Rich Orion air. Soon, hands were all over him, lifting him up and out. - fin - —— MSNPC Chax Captain of the Theseus (Very briefly) as simmed by Lieutenant Lazarus Davis Chief Science Officer USS Constitution-B Podcast Team Facilitator IDIC team member ASDB team member C239510LD0 (he/him, character) (he/they, writer) “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” – Dylan Thomas
  25. The mix of humour, action and guiding the scene towards an open cliffhanger-like closure is spectacular. The mix of the Starfleet officer Teller at the end of the scene with Teller being.... well "Teller" at the beginning and the subtle transition from one to the other is magnificent. Spectacular work @Geoffrey Teller! ((Volcanic grotto, planet surface)) Brodie: =/\= They’re going to find her... =/\= Geoff risked a glance and cursed as he ducked back down. Teller: =/\= Dar, draw a bead on the lead rider. Alex, get the one on the right. I've got the one on the left. This goes sideways we lay down fire, get Peri and beam out. Standby. =/\= While a targ as big as a workbee sniffed at Peri like a potential snack the poor Ensign was knocked to her back in surprise. Geoff's hand tightened around the grip of his phaser as the lead Klingon shouted out in something which sounded more recognizably Klingon. Betlak: There are intruders! Brodie: ::Quietly:: Oh hell… Teller: =/\= Everyone stay calm, no sudden movements. Peri, you may want to apologize to the giant targ. It looks grumpy. =/\= Katsim: Uh…um...sorry. Peri scrabbled away from the dripping jaws and flaring nostrils of the beast. For the moment, the rider seemed more amused than alarmed. Geoff wondered if that would be the case if these Klingons discovered they were Starfleet. Geoff offered silent praise for Alex's choice of non-descript mission clothing, it might give them a chance to talk their way out of this. More importantly, it might keep them from becoming targ chow. Betlak: I can’t help but wonder, little worm, what you are doing here. Sent to spy on his? The language was a brutal collision of Klingon and some [...]ized shorthand. Geoff managed to catch about every third word with confidence, but it was enough to get an idea. It seems they'd run across some kind of patrol, or perhaps perimeter guards. The question of what they might be guarding had rocketed to the top of Teller's mind. Teller: =/\= If there's something here worth spying on, we're in the right place. =/\= Katsim: I’m sorry...I don’t...I don’t understand. Betlak: If there is one of so little size, she must not be alone. Spread out and search. The lead rider was clearly losing patience and drew a sturdy but roughhewn looking spear, leveling it at Peri's chest. Geoff nearly gave the order to fire but Peri must've remembered some Academy Klingon. Katsim: jup jIH! jup jIH! Friend! I’m a friend! Everyone present froze as the troop leader evaluated Peri very closely, but he did not move to strike. His expression became suspicious. Betlak: Who are you? Brodie: ::Quietly:: =/\= So they do understand… =/\= Teller: =/\= Keep your head down, remember you're our plan B if this goes badly. =/\= Betlak: We will find your companions. You certainly are not capable of getting here on your own. Geoff shifted himself out of cover and used the totality of his skill in camouflage and stealth to effectively cover less than a meter before he was spotted. As it turned out, even ash covered pale white skin tended to contrast against black volcanic stone. Betlak: As I thought. Grenvor! Stoft! Staring down the suddenly very upset looking Klingon, Geoff decided to shift tactics. Teller: Hi There! Lovely day for a ride in the lava flats, isn't it? Geoff closed the distance to the lead rider voluntarily, walking forward slowly but casually. Behind him he could hear rocks shifting and the bark of other klingon voices. It seemed at least one of his teammates had been uncovered. Geoff made a mental note that all of them were due for a refresher course in Starfleet survival and evasion when this mission was over. Brodie: ::Nodding to the spear:: DaHjaj jay' 'e' DaHar'a'? ((Do you really think that today is a good day to die?)) Geoff sighed to himself slightly, wondering if perhaps the Counselor could've used another notable Klingon expression that didn't summon to mind the image of glorious death. Or quoted some Shakespeare, which some Klingons rather inexplicably loved. Geoff trod as close to the giant targ as he dared and stared up at it's rider and his rather sharp looking spear as if he didn't have a care in the world. As the expression went, bluff big. Teller: Lovely creature, what this big fellas name? Is it Fluffy? Looks like a Fluffy to me. Fluffy snapped at Geoff's hand and very nearly took it off. The Klingon rider roared in laughter. The UT had finally hashed through enough of the updated Klingon dialect to start providing a serviceable, if not perfect, translation. Geoff hoped that was true from the Klingon perspective as well. Teller: It seems my companions and I have gotten lost here and we much appreciate your assistance. Could you point us towards the nearest town or road, we should be on our way? The spearpoint waivered slightly, the rider becoming more and more uncertain of their quarry. Geoff knew Klingon patience would not last and he pressed on with his most sincere expression. Teller: Very fine spear you have there my friend...don't suppose you have any of those for trade? As you can see, my companions and I do not carry weapons like this. Peri, why don't you stand yourself up and come over here, check out the craftsmanship of this fine spear! Fluffy here is very friendly. Geoff felt ever so slightly bad for stretching the truth as the weight of his phaser pressed against his hip, concealed under his ash covered poncho. They still had one other ace in the hole in the form of the still concealed Ensign Dar. Geoff updated his mental note - she could skip the refresher class. At this rate, she'd be the one teaching it. Katsim/Dar: Response Behind him a few meters Alex stepped out of his ineffective concealment with open arms, slowly approaching him and Peri with the juvenile klingon following close behind. To Geoff, the warrior looked jumpy and nervous, as if he'd never experienced anything like this before. Brodie: There…now we can talk. Tell me, who do I have the honour of addressing? The Klingons eyes narrowed, his suspicions deepening. Betlak: Response Brodie: 'ej qaStaHvIS ram, joHwI', batlhlIj. ((Honour to you, and to your house)) He switched things back to normal for the benefit of all. Brodie: I am Alexander…of Clan Brodie. Geoff smiled appreciatively at Brodie's discretion, which reenforced his bluff wonderfully. Teller: And as long as we're making proper introductions I'm Geoff of the Clan Teller. And we're...::Geoff very quickly considered his options::...scholars. Well, he'd said it. Scholars. He could make this work. Maybe. Katsim/Dar: Responses Betlak: Response Brodie: We don't want a conflict, Betlak. Geoff could feel the mood souring. He only hoped Dar was paying attention. Behind his back and out of the Klingons line of sight Geoff fanned his fingers out in a message to Dar and hopefully to Alex. Five. Teller: Indeed, in fact we were just about to head out. We'll just collect our gear and... A thrown spear landed at Teller's feet and dug into the ground several centimeters, a clear warning not to move. Betlak himself dismounted and hit the ground with a pronounced thud. Between the armor and the simply massive bulk of the klingon himself, Geoff suspected about one hundred and fifty kilos of angry were bearing down on him. He curled another finger. Four. Brodie/Katsim/Dar: Responses Betlak closed to within spitting distance, towering over Geoff and flexing heavily armored hands in menacing anticipation. Betlak: Response Three. Teller: Well there's no need for that, I told you - we're simply scholars who got a bit lost! An armored fist clamped around Teller's neck and lifted him bodily into the air. Geoff croaked for breath and curled another finger. Two. Teller:...would...you...have...believed...merchants? One. The burning eyes and deep growl suggested he would not. Geoff curled his last finger and a moment later all hell broke loose. The sound of a phaser piercing the air. Guttural shouts in Klingon. Geoff felt himself tumbling to the ground and rolled to avoid being devoured by a furious but spooked targ. Brodie/Katsim/Dar: Responses Geoff managed to wrestle his phaser out of its holster and rolled to his feet, firing repeatedly to discourage the onrushing targs. The fact that all his shots hit had everything to do with the sheer size of the beasts. Geoff shouted and hoped to be heard over the din. Teller: Fall back to Dar's position, keep laying down covering fire. Brodie/Katsim/Dar: Responses Geoff ducked behind one of the odd hexagonal columns, barely dodging the business end of a whistling blade. Teller: =/\= Teller to Thor, get us out of.... Betlak: Response Something struck Geoff on the back of his head and he staggered, his vision going red and blurry. Shapes became indistinct and he fell to the ground, only capable of dragging himself forward with his arms. He didn't get far before something heavy landed on his back and began pressing down. Geoff could already feel his spine creaking but somehow it seemed far away. Brodie/Katsim/Dar: Responses Under the crushing weight of Betlak's boot Geoff couldn't breath and his already blurry vision darkened to a point of light. As he struggled vainly and slipped into unconsciousness Geoff's last lucid thought was the desperate hope his team had gotten away. Brodie/Katsim/Dar: Responses Tags/End Act 1 for Teller! =============================== Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor - NCC 82607 Commodore A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0
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