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  1. OOC: The next installment in the Path of the Prophets series by Arys. ((En-route to Trovek Aaron’s Home, Bajor)) When Arys stepped outside Unity Temple, the Bajor’s sun had already almost set, and unfolding beyond its golden dome was a veritable symphony of color. Shades of scarlet and apricot warmed the sky while the gentle arpeggios of amethyst contrasted with the silvery light of the awakening stars and moons. Arys had never appreciated Bajor’s beauty before, and it came as a surprise that she developed an awareness for it at this very moment. The tears shed over Geleth and Ferri’s disappearance had dried up, and both guilt and fear had dissipated, leaving the Arys emotionally drained and her very soul contrite and broken. It was perhaps the first time in her life that she admitted that she didn’t know what to do or where to go. And yet she was moving with purpose, past the closed-down market and towards the nearest transporter pad. There was no reasonable explanation as to why Arys chose to act against Lukin’s wishes for her to stay behind and wait for his return, or why that locked door in her older brother’s house suddenly held such relevance. There was no logical reason to hope to find Geleth and Ferri there when the girl’s badge had been located somewhere else, but Arys’ thoughts returned to that door again and again, intruding on what was rational, no matter how much she tried to focus on the hundreds of questions that awaited answer. ‌It certainly wasn’t like her to surrender control to something she couldn’t see or explain. But more important than her own pride and self-sufficiency was to get her family back, and she focussed on that very thought when she materialised on the transporter pad halfway across Bajor, and belonging to the tranquil village that lay closest to Aaron’s residence. Lights within the small huts and houses shone invitingly, illuminating the gardens and paths that surrendered them. But Arys was headed in the opposite direction. It was odd how she, who after a year still regularly got lost on her way from Coranum District to sickbay, had somehow managed to memorise the path away from the charming little village, and past fields and woods towards the house Aaron had invited her into. The crisp air was filled with the song of birds Arys couldn’t name, though she was sure that she had heard them before. More than once Arys turned around, alarmed by the spongy crunch of dead foliage underfoot. Was someone following her? Or was her brain simply trying to make sense of the foreign sounds around her, imagining whispers where the wind rustled through the leaves, and footsteps where branches cracked in the distance? Despite Arys’s familiarity with the trail and her inexplicable trust to find the right way, she grew tense the longer she was walking, and the feeling didn’t settle as she found herself in front of the small farmhouse that belonged to Aaron. ‌She briefly reminisced on how she had been surprised to find Aaron leading such a humble life, and on how Hilja had greeted her upon her arrival. It was fair to say that Arys had been charmed by Aarons unconventional family, but now it seemed that its glamour had died with the last rays of sunlight. The house lay abandoned and quiet at the end of the footpath that led to it, and as Arys once more knocked at the door, she received no answer. ‌Trovek: Aaron? ::She called out, unsure if she was expecting a response:: Hilja? It’s Arys! ‌On her way here, Arys hadn’t known what she had expected, but nothing had prepared her for finding Aaron’s family home abandoned. She hammered against the door, called out again, and tried her best to ignore the panic that slowly began wrapping around her chest. ‌Around Arys, the calling of birds and the chattering within the trees had died down, the wind carried over the sound of hushed conversation, and Arys’ heart sank as she realized how precarious her situation was. She was alone, unarmed, an hour on foot away from the nearest village, and no one knew where she was. Arys had been so convinced that her mother Sileah had taken Geleth and Ferri and she had dismissed the thought that there was a chance the women had nothing to do with it, and that Lukin had only recently made a new enemy. She took a calming breath, deciding that this wasn’t the time to give into panic and forget her years of Starfleet training. First, get help. Tell people where you are. Arys tapped her badge and the short sequence of electronic tones indicated its activation. Trovek: =/\= Doctor Trovek to Narendra. =/\= Narendra: =/\= Go ahead, Doctor. =/\= Trovek: =/\= I… was looking to visit my brother, but I believe I am being followed. The next transport pad is an hour away. =/\= ‌Narendra =/\= Do you need to be beamed up? =/\= It was the intelligent thing to do, but Arys hesitated and looked back at the door, placing her hand against it, feeling the spongy moss beneath her skin. Despite the potential severity of the situation, her reason for coming here hadn’t changed. Trovek: =/\= Not yet… I… ::she sighed:: It’s probably nothing. Trovek out. =/\= Arys cast a last glance into the direction of whispers she believed to have heard, then nodded to herself, and stepped away from the door. She knew that there was a garden behind the residence, and perhaps one of the windows would allow her to look inside. ‌ She walked around the farmhouse, climbing over flower beds and dew-drenched grass and the rotting remains of moba-tree. The garden itself lay quiet and unkept before her, and she could just about make out the bench where she had first met Jeni, but if any of the children’s toys in the grass still remained, she couldn’t make them out in the darkness. Her gaze followed the gravel-path that snaked around the grass and vegetable plots and towards the house itself, once more dark and still. Arys was about to turn around as she noticed a warm flicker of light in the rooms. Was someone home after all? If so, why hadn’t they opened her? Jeni: But it’s odd that a prayer room should be locked, isn’t it? Why do you think that is? Trovek: I… suppose it’s to keep people from going inside? Jeni: That is one out of two options. Jeni. The woman who had kept putting ideas into Arys’ head, and who Arys trusted without having any reason to do so. Careful to be as quietly as possible, Arys made her way through the garden and towards the door leading to it. Now in closer proximity, she would see that the light came from a nearly burned-out candle by the window, growing weaker with each desperate flicker. There was a good chance that Aaron’s family had forgotten it when they had vacated the property, and they had likely been lucky that it hadn’t burned their house down. Arys would have called out again, but considering that she believed that she was being followed by someone, she opted to remain silent. Once she had reached the door leading from the garden to the living area, her fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the doorknob as she twisted and turned it. And just like that, the door opened with a loud creak that would certainly alarm anyone inside and outside the property. Arys bit her lip and quickly made her way into the house, closing and locking the door behind her, but if she had expected to feel safe, she was quickly disappointed. Only a few days ago the living area was bright and warm and full of life, decorated with more or less artistic pictures drawn by Aaron’s offspring. Children played on pillows and blankets in the corner, and the scent of homemade food had wafted through the rooms. Even if Aaron and his family were out for the evening it didn’t explain why the paintings and toys and decorations had all been removed. Trovek: ::whispering to herself:: No one lives here. The realisation caused Arys to stop in her tracks, and for a moment she simply stood there, unsure how to comprehend what was happening. If Aaron hadn’t been truthful about his humble lifestyle and family, what else had he lied about? ‌ Whatever mysterious assurance of her path Arys had followed, now she felt none of it. She had been fooled, led away from her family, and into the middle of nowhere. Obsessed with a door to a prayer room rather than with finding the child she had sworn to love and protect like her own. Trusting a person she hadn’t seen for decades, entrusting her with her hopes and dreams. ‌Arys hissed and did the only reasonable thing. She reached for an empty vase on the dining table and threw it against the wall, watching it shatter in hundreds of pieces. The sound was accompanied by several swear words in several different languages, all of them wishing Aaron the worst fate imaginable, screamed against the quietude of the house. It was only when she caught her breath that Arys realised she wasn’t the only one filling the silence. Arys. She blinked, taking a calming breath to ground herself. Someone had said her name, she was sure of it. Arys. ‌There it was again, a weak, hoarse voice calling her from one of the rooms upstairs. Arys moved towards the stairs, once more listening for the voice that had called her name, and then froze. This wasn’t Ferri’s voice, neither was it Geleth's. ‌ TBC…. ***************** Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4
  2. ((Bajor, Raijalla Valley, Unity Temple)) Ferri and Geleth had been taken, and instead of waiting at home as Lukin had told her to, Arys had cleaned her face from tears and left the hotel they were currently staying in. Shutting the door behind her had been freeing and given her the sense of actively doing something, even if it defied Lukin’s wishes. With Jeni by her side, she had left the building and followed the same way Ferri and Geleth had taken. They had wanted to go to the temple, and Arys had the same destination. As the sun slowly began to set, the market on the plaza was in the process of being closed for the day. Wares were removed from their displays and booths were shut down, but the smell of yeasty baked bread, local spices and musty fabric lingered. Arys would have liked to visit the bazaar with Geleth, had she known that there was a market so close by. Had Arys agreed to take Geleth to the temple, even if only once, she would have seen it. Had Arys agreed to take Geleth to the temple, just today, the girls wouldn’t have disappeared. But Arys hadn’t wanted to, and when the little girl had begged, she had asked Ferri to take her there. And now they were both gone. ‌Arys blinked away a few tears as she felt Jeni’s hand on her shoulder. Jeni: Let’s keep going. ‌Trovek: Yeah... ‌Arys sighed defeatedly and followed the path leading through the centre of the market and towards the temple. Unity Temple’s central dome was distinctly Bajoran and glistened in the last rays of sunlight, but most other architectural elements belonged to other cultures. Eight spires flanked right and left, and Arys knew Lukin would appreciate the nod towards Cardassian architecture. In contrast to that, the wide, squared archways reminded of Klingon or perhaps Terran influences. Behind the dome-shaped structure was a lower building, perhaps a place for the Vedeks and other religious devotees to remain during their pilgrimage, and a squared building with large windows likely served as a visitor centre or museum. ‌Arys knew that one of the buildings held the Orb of Wisdom in a protected chamber, and while she hadn’t asked Jeni where exactly they were going, she could only assume that the artefact would hold the answers she was looking for, and once they had entered the temple she remained blind to the beauty around her. Despite the fact that the festivities had come to a close a few days ago, the temple was visited by worshippers and tourists alike. The latter kept to the main part of the temple, where paintings and sculptures and similar that had been taken and sold during the Occupation, were displayed. Arys knew that they had made their way home to Bajor over the past decade, but didn’t care much about art and architecture. She cared about very little else than Ferri and Geleth’s return. At least that’s what she liked to tell herself, but the truth was that Arys noticed her thoughts again and again returning to her mother instead. The woman Arys blamed for everything that went wrong in her life, and of whom she was convinced to have something to do with what had happened. And yet, Jeni’s words had given her pause, and now resulted in almost intrusive thoughts. ‌What if it wasn’t her? What if I got it all wrong? ‌She moved away from the tourists and followed the pilgrims towards the direction of the prayer rooms, and from there, steered into the direction of the orb. She knew that people experienced visions and guidance, and if she was looking for either, surely the orb was the right place to start. The only problem was that Arys evidently wasn’t the only one in need of an encounter with the Orb of Wisdom - people queued patiently, and the entrance was guarded by two temple workers in beige uniforms. Arys looked over her shoulder where Jeni gave her an encouraging nod, and approached the two guards. Trovek: We… would like to… ::beat:: I don’t know. ‌She only vaguely motioned into the direction of the door, which seemed to be enough. Guard#1: You and that… creature? Trovek: No, me and …. Arys looked over her shoulder again, expecting Jeni to be standing right behind her. But the woman had disappeared, and Arys turned her gaze once more to the temple worker, and then slowly looked down at Geleth’s Hornicorn. A sudden thickness in her throat signalled the onset of tears. Trovek: It’s just me. Just her. Without Lukin, without Geleth, without her mother, father, grandfather and brother.‌ Just her. Without Ferri, Foster and Tito and Aine.‌ Just her. Without uniform, pips, fancy position and office. ‌Just some half-Bajoran woman holding a children’s toy in her hands. ‌The guard sighed in annoyance - probably not at Arys in specific, but it was likely that this wasn’t the first time today that someone asked for an exception and an opportunity to skip the queue of waiting individuals. Guard#1: I understand that, and I can can only tell you the same I am telling everyone else. You will have to wait. ::pause:: Like everyone else. Trovek: Wait? But I need to-… I… ‌The other guard shook her head. Guard#2: I am sorry, but there is just no way. ‌Trovek: My daughter is missing! Her voice was shrill and her plea desperate, but neither the temple workers nor the people around her seemed impressed by it. ‌Guard#1: Quiet it down. Please. Reflecting on this encounter a few weeks later, Arys would understand that she wasn’t the only one with a tragic story and a need for guidance. But at there and then, Arys was about to simply push past the guards when of of the Vedeks approached. The elderly woman seemed to have been attracted by the noise, and her bright eyes settled on Arys. Pekrile: What is going on? ‌Finally someone willing to listen to her. Arys took a calming breath, trying desperately to regain her composure before she spoke. ‌Trovek: My child is missing, that’s what! Everyone always says the Prophets have answers, and I am here now, but those people won’t let me GO to the orb to GET the answers. Pekrile: How about… how about we go over here and just… talk. The woman motioned towards a corridor, and gently took Arys’ hand at the same time. Arys didn’t want to ‘go there’, but followed regardless. She realised that she had been making a scene - Lukin would have hated that - and people were looking at her with a mixture of pity and annoyance. Or maybe it was compassion, and Arys imagined the rest. Arys vaguely noticed that the prayer she led to was in the back of the temple, and perhaps even private to the Vedeks, Prylar and Ranjen monks who travelled here. It was quiet, comfortable, and the elderly woman lead Arys to one of the cushioned areas. Pekrile: My name is Vedek Pekrile, what’s your name, child? ‌Child… ‌Arys knew that it was the usual way for a Vedek to refer to basically anyone, but part of Arys wanted to protest at this description. Then again, she was close to tears and hugging a Hornicorn. So maybe the ‘child’ was more accurate than she cared to admit. Trovek: Arys. Pekrile: Arys. ::she smiled:: You said that your daughter is missing? ‌Trovek: Yes… she… she and a friend of mine disappeared. My partner is looking for them, and I was supposed to stay at home but… I guess I was convinced to come here. Pekrile: Convinced? ‌Trovek: A friend came by. She is more into… this… than I am. She said I would get answers here. She was… evidently she was wrong. ‌The woman remained silent, giving Arys a chance to sort through her feelings. Trovek: You must get sick and tired of people turning to the Prophets when they want something. Vedek Pekrile gave a gentle smile. Pekrile: It is something very normal, Arys. ::pause:: Children often run ahead, believing themselves all grown-up. And then they fall and return to their parents for comfort. That was true. Geleth often did the same. She was all brave and Cardassian until something spooked her and she held onto Lukin’s hand for the rest of the day. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, there was the pitter-patter of tiny feet moving into their bedroom, followed by Geleth climbing into bed with them. But Arys didn’t have any memories of her being the child and seeking comfort. Sileah had been an absent mother, and emotional warmth wasn’t something Arys was likely to get from her. ‌Trovek: I am… not good with that metaphor. My family situation was… difficult. I think my mother has something to do with my daughter.. maybe… She had been sure about this not long ago, but now? Arys wasn’t sure what she was supposed to believe any more. Pekrile: I do not know your mother, but harming ones own child or grandchild doesn’t come easily to someone. You don’t seem sure that it was her. Trovek: I was sure. Now I am not any more. I just… Pekrile: What is it? She swallowed hard, and buried her face in the soft fur of the plushy. Trovek: I want my family back… She wanted Geleth and Ferri and Lukin safe and happy at home. She wanted her grandfather to not be dead, she wanted her father to not be gone, she wanted Aaron to be a normal older brother, and she wanted her mother to help her figure out how to be a decent parent.‌ Pekrile: Sometimes all you have to do is open a door.‌ Open a door. A very common metaphor, used across countless of cultures and species. Arys usually associated the phrase with familiar hiss of the doors to her office or her quarters. But today, something else came to mind, and she remembered a conversation she had with Jeni, a few days ago, when she had visited Aaron’s home. ‌ Jeni: Sometimes answers are hidden in plain sight. ::she shrugged:: Maybe in that secret room. Trovek: The.. what? Arys asked, but she knew exactly what Jeni meant. The room with the locked door, which Hilja had called the 'prayer room'. Arys had thought about it as 'secret room', largely for her own entertainment, but she hadn't said it out loud. Jeni: The room with the locked door. Trovek: The prayer room. Jeni nodded and Arys sighed. Find answers in prayer. Really? Jeni: ::sensing Arys' apprehension:: Maybe not now. Maybe opening that door won’t make things better. ::She paused, letting the silence settle, before eventually, she added:: But it’s odd that a prayer room should be locked, isn’t it? Why do you think that is? Trovek: I… suppose it’s to keep people from going inside? Jeni: That is one out of two options. ‌ Arys was sure that Vedek Pekrile hadn’t meant a literal door. She knew perfectly well that Ferri and Geleth were somewhere else, and she was surprised as she sensed herself getting up. ‌Pekrile: What is it, Arys? Trovek: I have to open that door. She was well aware that none of this made any sense and that the rational thing was to sit down or to return home. But she also knew that she was going to do neither of these things. ‌[End Scene] ***************** Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4
  3. ((USS Narendra, Holodeck, Sakura Karaoke)) Sera regained her physical composure by sheer force of will. She had heard of the beverage before but had never had a logical rationale to ever ingest the beverage…until now. How was she to know that it burned like The Fires?! Sera: ::absolutely not peeved in ANY way, shape, or form:: Why would I be resistant to a substance I have never ingested? Your comment is illogical, Intelligence Officer Tito. Sherlock: That's a new one on me. I thought you'd be able to handle it. ::shrugging:: Guess not. Tender: Hey! A rather tall skinny fellow came from the back of the bar with a tray full of bottles. His tone appeared to be…aggressive? Had they done something grossly inappropriate? Wait…it was the whiskey, wasn’t it? Tender: If you want something, then you ask me. This is not a self-serve establishment! And if you brought it, then you need to leave it. This is also not a byob! Sherlock: You're just a bundle of joy, aren't ya? Sera: ::to anyone, really:: What is byob? And we are quite fortunate then computer karaoke bar employee. We brought only ourselves…I…I think. DeVeau raised her hands at the bartender and smiled. DeVeau: Please forgive us, we didn’t see you and it’s been a long time since we’ve been able to hang…you know what, forget it. Computer, reset bartender. Tito: Easy solution DeVeau Sherlock: Sometimes, I wish you could do that in real life. Sera: Indeed. Truer words had never been spoken. If such a flight of fancy could be carried forth to it’s illogical conclusion, then Sera’s first year that academy would have been completely reprogrammed. DeVeau: Now…where were we. Oh yes…get drinks, sing songs. Tito: Is there a selection, or do we have to find out our own songs? Sherlock: ::glaring at Tito:: oOYou're encouraging this?Oo ::turning back to DeVeau:: Please say we have some choices. DeVeau: There’s a wide assortment of songs, even Vulcan ones… Tito shot a glance at Sera, and Aine did similarly. Sera’s expression was completely blank, which in her case meant she was working furiously to maintain her control. This really was a psych stress eval. Sera: How…fortuitous. DeVeau: As for going first, I feel like since it was my idea, I should *not* go first. But if y’all would prefer, we can draw straws. Tito: I honestly don’t see the logic in that. Sherlock: It's a game of chance, don't be scared. Sera: ::looking between the three officers:: Straws? A game of chance? What does a thin hollow tube used for sucking liquid from a glass or bottle have to do with this? ::looking down to her comm badge:: Is the Universal Translator malfunctioning? Sera was defaulting to parroting back what she was hearing in outright confusion. When humans gathered into groups it usually devolved into social interactions Sera found incomprehensible. DeVeau: response Tito: Since you forced us on this social exercise, I believe you should be the one to start. But like the song goes it’s your party. Why don’t either Sherlock and Sera go first, since they warmed up their throats. Sherlock: ::opening her mouth as if she were about to yell at Tito:: You can... ::pausing and taking a second to think about what she was about to say:: ...count on us. Sera: You propose I lead a Terran activity in which I have no prior knowledge or experience with? ::exhaling through her nose resolving herself:: Very well. I will volunteer to lead this exercise if that is…everyone’s preference. Confusion reigned. DeVeau: response Sera: Well, karaoke is similar to a Vulcan word which means ‘to suffer.’ Sera restrained herself from getting up and walking out of the holodeck and personally ejecting herself out of the nearest airlock. Just barely. DeVeau: response Sera: No. A…joke. Everyone else was irrational; she could make the argument that it was only logical to join in. Aine took the bottle back from Sera and took another heavy swig then all but shoved it back in Sera's direction. Sera grabbed the bottle as Sherlock slid it back across the table after taking another heavy swig. She retrieved it before it had a chance to tumble off the surface and on the floor. Sera tilted her head slightly to the side in a considering manner as she regarded Sherlock. The human woman’s behavior was transforming in an unexpected manner. She looked down at the bottle in her hands with vague suspicion. Tito: Then why don’t we all start. Isn’t there a song we can all sing? Sherlock: ::sarcastically:: Row, Row, Row Your Boat? Sera: ::to Sherlock:: What? Are you unwell? Perhaps the solution to this was more of the whiskey? Sera raised the bottle and took another pull imitating Sherlock’s actions. Oh, the taste and sensation weren’t any better this second time, but she at least was prepared. Sera might be Vulcan, but she did not enjoy being the source of others’ entertainment either. DeVeau: response Tito: response Sherlock: I have an idea. DeVeau: response Sherlock: Since we have Vulcan songs, and a variety of Terran songs...why don't we all sing a song from where we come from? Sera: ::wondering if she drank all the whisky perhaps something miraculous would happen and she would require say…emergency medical treatment?:: My people are not known for popular music, Lieutenant. DeVeau/Tito: response Sherlock: I think that might be fun oOTo hearOo. DeVeau/Tito: response Sherlock: ::acting with a little bravado and shaking her head:: Ey ain afray. Pushing the bottle back to the center of the table, Sera stood. It was logical to simply get this…over with. Sera: Very well, Lieutenant Sherlock. I am certain that my selection will give you all vast insight to who I am psychologically. DeVeau/Tito: response She walked up and climbed the two steps onto the dais. She walked over to the small table that held a box-like device that had an LCARS viewscreen and began tapping around on it looking at what offerings were available. Both of her brows rose. The only way this could get any worse would be if someone decided to order it to rain in the karaoke lounge. Sera: These songs are regional…I don’t know any of them…and…they are funeral dirges. ::peeved in Vulcan:: Who designed this program? Sherlock: response Sera whipped her head up and looked over at the tactical officer who appeared to be having far too much fun than what was warranted. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Sera: You…want me…to sing something I know? Sherlock/Tito/DeVeau: response Resignation. Sera: oO You must endure. Do what you set out to do and get off the stage. Oo It will be without musical accompaniment. There are no melodies that align with the song I know. Sherlock: response Sera: oO This is revenge for winning The Game…I know it. Oo Very well. Ser stepped in front of the microphone and tapping it to ensure that it was working appropriately. It was. Fantastic. Sera took a slow breath and exhaled softly. She did not experience being self-conscious in the same manner humans did, but she did not wish to be seen as inept. It was with any social species to have an inclination to conform with the majority. She began to sing a tune that originated with her clan, written long before her birth, in a clear mezzo-soprano range. Sera: <<In Vulcan, obs>> Yuk, na' sochya bru-lar k'wuhli heh ak'shem hayal, nahp svizh-tor spo' wuh fnish-tor t' wuh sahriv po' mazhiv-yon, fi' tor t'nash-veh wadi u' du, kauk svi' sochya nam-tor hau tor t'nash-veh maut hasu wuh ska' tal-muv ralash k'svi wuh goh tvelkau nash-veh had ek'wak pufai-tor –abi' wuh wak, abi' nash gad ish-veh kashek variben nuh' mau, halishau tan-tor svi' wi nash-veh is-tor tor ish-veh dungi, zhuk-fas-tor svi' wuh yon tor shetau wuh huhtik t' wun-mor wuh dor, morov na' heh skil-tor lu ish-veh ki' vesh' nash-veh ik t'nash-veh sha' dvel eku nash-veh svi' khom t' thee wuh eit'jae, wuh nufaya – oh Ket’cheleb dungau du nah-tor tor fnau wuh shaht-fam igen? t'nash-veh khaf-spol kuhsh-tor wuh yokul maf k'svi thee. nash-veh aitlun tor shaya du, u' wuh t'naehm resha ek'wakik ne'rak thy wadi hi nash-veh hafau t'nash-veh el'ru fi-tor ish-veh nak, wuh kur’s t' mazhiv heh khaf heh shaukaush spes’fam kras-tor fi-tor thy wadi du fam yehat gol'nev ra du nam-tor, ish-veh ki' vesh' pitoh svi' wuh yel hi nash-veh wuh sayonotau nekwitaya nash-veh thy korsovaya il veshau…if nash-veh dvel-tor Sherlock: response Sera raised a brow. Sure, why not? Translate the song into Federation Standard while singing it… Sera: I…I can. However, I am uncertain if it will sound…It may not translate well. Tito/DeVeau/Sherlock: response Sera’s sigh echoed throughout the karaoke bar, and she started slightly and could not help the slight flushing of her cheeks. That should not have happened. Sera: Asleep, at peace lips parted and body limp, Your thoughts linger like the scent of the storm after sandfire, Clinging to my skin as you, even in repose are bound to my very being A discordant chord within the only melody I had ever known –until the times, until this day Your mind calls too much, demands surrender Yet I hardened to your will, Forged in the fires to become the strongest of blades A prize, battled for and won When it was I who willingly set myself before thee A supplicant, an offering – Oh Ket’Cheleb shall you think to tame the Endless sky? My heart thrums to the consuming lament within thee. I want to break you, as the war rages eternal beneath thy skin But I stay my hand upon your cheek, the colors of sand and blood and passions unspoken painted upon thy skin You cannot help what you are, it was written in the stars But I am the quenching force I am thy salvation Or destruction…if I choose. Her voice trailed off to silence and she stepped away from the mic. Sherlock/Tito/DeVeau: response tags/TBC ((OOC – I NEVER want to have to make up OR translate a song into Vulcan, again. That is all.)) ***************** Lieutenant JG Sera Engineering Officer SB 118 Ops J239812S14 Edit: Sorry but somehow I deleted the introduction, here it is. " I always admired those that write non humans as their primaries, how they explore the other species culture, society , behavior and personality. But I have to give a praise to @Sera for giving us a Vulcan song (and respective translation). Honestly you rocked "
  4. Nothing like a good Doctor turned Tactical
  5. This is absolutely adorable and so so awkward Love it!!
  6. Despite the G-Mail issue that unfortunately meant a re-sim, I want to take a moment to say how much I enjoyed reading this. I especially like the balance between dialogue and narration, the pacing, and the plot-complication that absolutely makes sense in the context of the the story. Well done, @Prudence "Rue" Blackwell
  7. Sill-con's player is still very new, and I am impressed with his desire to improve his sims. While Brikar as a species are definitely not easy to play, his narration explains thought patterns and cultural values, making them understandable for those whose knowledge about the species doesn't extend past 'they look like rock-guys' (myself included). Keep it up, @Obsius Sill-con ❤️
  8. I'm enjoying reading this scene unfold, not just because of the action, but because of the feelings between the characters involved! ❤️ ((Poacher Camp, Bajor)) The situation with Umadi and her poachers had escalated. Garrett, Umadi’s second in command, had been killed, and Ferri and Aine had fled into the forest. They had found refuge in a ditch - at least for the time being, but the footsteps of those Umadi had sent after them were steadily getting louder. It reminded Ferri of one of her training scenarios, where her aim had been not to be found until sunrise. She had failed twice before actually succeeding, and she had succeeded because she had decided to attack rather than stay hidden. Emlott: Aine, I think we need to shoot. Sherlock: I think we just need to hide. Wait it out. She shook her head. Time wasn’t on their side, and the poachers had already showcased extensive equipment available to them. Emlott: They can get devices to see temperature. Multiple footsteps were getting closer and closer. Sherlock: Ok, do you know what an ambush is? ::beat:: Nevermind, of course you do. Aine's tone was almost scolding, and Ferri blinked. Yes, she knew, but why was Aine mad about it? Emlott: Yes… what is your plan? Sherlock: If you get up to that ridge on the right, I'll move back in this grove a bit. When they get to here ::pointing to the ridge above them:: I'll shoot at them from cover and try to draw them down here. Then, you let them have it. Emlott: And what about a better hiding place? Preferably for Aine. Ferri didn't want Aine to get hurt. Sherlock: We'll worry about finding a safe spot once we eliminate the immediate threat. Ready? Emlott: Ready. Aine made her way deeper into the shallow grove, and Ferri made her way to the ridge Aine had pointed out. When it came to natural night-vision, Ferri had a clear advantage over most other species, but the dropped temperature made it exceedingly unpleasant to move. Ferri waited for Aine’s signal, and it came in the form of phaser fire impacting on the lower ridge. The three poachers - Ferri was sure that a fourth one was missing - pointed into the direction Aine has hiding, and two of them hastily made their way there. The third stayed back, saying something about ‘guarding their rear’, but didn’t actually seem eager to guard anything. He knelt down to tie an open shoelace, and that’s when Ferri - how had Aine said it? - ambushed him. The poacher didn’t turn around until Ferri had closed the distance between them and thrust the phaser into his chest before she fired. He didn't even get to scream. Emlott: :to herself:: One down. Ferri hated this. She didn’t want to be like this, and she was grateful that Garo never sent her on these kind of assignments. For a split second, her sense of self-preservation kicked in, and she considered to flee while she had the chance. She liked Aine, but she was fairly sure that Aine didn’t like her back. The two of them barely talked since her return. But Ferri didn’t want to leave her behind. As a matter of fact, as stupid as it was, she decided that she didn’t want to leave anyone behind. Ever. Quietly she followed the other two poachers, who were just a few feet away from Aine’s hiding spot. There was no sneaking up quietly on those two, and so Ferri did what was reasonable - she fired. The phaser fire was bright and blinding, and the woman crumbled to the floor. Her companion howled in rage and began to charge towards Ferri, whose phaser - just at this moment - decided that it had worked long enough. TAG/TBC ***************** Ferri Emlott Ambassador Zorkal’s Aide Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4
  9. I have a soft spot for Wyn's snark. IC: ((Shuttlecraft Seijin, on route to Herd location, Rakalla Province, Bajor)) This was supposed to be a casual flyby. A safe, simple scouting mission. And yet in the last twenty minutes it had gone from unnerving – finding out their chosen pilot was not skilled in in-atmosphere flight paths to concerning as they entered an unexpected atmospheric disturbance above the habitat of the pachitrods, and not it had turned downright confusing and dangerous as there appeared to be something or someone hiding in that atmospheric disturbance. Wyn was starting to think he was a bad luck charm, dooming every mission to disaster simply by his presence. And all of this while he tried his very best to make safe and careful decisions. He wasn’t a risk taker – he was a doctor! Foster: What do you mean there’s something hiding in the clouds? Tito: Give some coordinates and I will either stay clear or face them. Your call Commander. Foster: Stay clear! We’re not here to place police or heroes. We were here to scout! He would like to keep the original intent well in mind and he would note that they already had far more information on their scans than anyone had expected. Information that an intel guy like Tito could use… if they survived this. Sill-con: Commander, I know I'm not officially qualified to recommend tactics, but if the ship assaulting us originated from the poachers or pirates then retreating would not be feasible. Foster: How is retreating not feasible? ::The doctor asked a question that he truly didn’t understand the answer to.:: Aren’t we faster than them? Was this a pilot thing? Or a tactics thing? Or an engineering thing that he was totally unaware of? From what he understood this was a warp capable shuttle, nimble and decent at long range and built with all the power of Starfleet behind it. It had run teams behind enemy lines oin the Dominion war. The Runabout class was a hardy type. But he had no clue about cloud dwelling poacher ships. And really he wasn’t an engineer either, he had just dated a lot of them. Stupid adorably nerdy engineers. Tito: Whoever they are, it’s not an official ship. The Government and Security forces are aware of our presence. Could you be right, Ensign? Is it some support ship for the poachers? Sill-con: ::leans into monitor:: unknown sir, the ship prowls away before we could get any definitive readings, if we are to identify if the model is used by poachers we need a clear opening to scan them. He sucked a breath in through his teeth hating every moment of this. Foster: So we don’t know what it is, and we don’t know what it can do… And for reasons he didn’t understand but was taking into consideration they also couldn’t just run away and come back to scan another day with a crack pilot. Wyn didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit. Tito: Whatever it is it’s close Tito upped the throttle to avoid the bolts of – lightening? Weapons? It was difficult to tell as they crackled out of the clouds. They could be natural. They could be weapons made to blend in with the storm. Or they might be a combination of the two. Foster: Too close. ::He drew in a short breath forcing himself to be calm. He was the leader after all and someone had to keep this show running, now matter how much targ dung they waded into.:: How do we get some distance safely? Sill-con: hm… I'm not sure, perhaps if we commit to a barrel roll that abruptly halts its speed may throw them off long enough to get our bearings and get a scan… maybe an opening to attack. He turned oh so slowly and blinked. Do a barrel roll? He was pretty sure that, up to this point, he had only heard the words barrel roll in the terms of hot shot show off piloting maneuvers that were best attempted on the holodeck with the safeties on, and in holo games. He had never once realized that it was an actual real-world maneuver that people used in combat. He was starting to wish he hadn’t slept through most of basic piloting in the academy. Tito: Well it can’t get any worse. Foster: You had to say it… He intoned as a stray burst of energy welled up from the clouds and streaked out with a thunderous wave accompanying the wave of lightening. It clipped the Seijin in the aft and slammed it forward like a tiny boat caught up in a tidal wave. Sill-con: brace- ::shakes in chair:: Tito: You mean… Wyn didn’t care, he was already strapped in and he pushed Tito against his seat hard, hitting the perfect set of trigger points to prompt an immediate brace reflex in the intel officer. He didn’t care of Tito had some antisocial tendencies and probably hated being touched. He would apologize for doing things that helped people stay alive… never. Foster: BRACE MEANS BRACE. Eeven with the prompt Tito was jolted around like one of those shuttle crash test dummies at the academy, taking advantage of all the safety measures that had been stocked in the shuttle just for cases like this. The inertial dampeners screamed in protest as the shuttle went sideways and Wyn’s newly fixed antennae twitched constantly, trying to figure out what way was up. Sill-con: geh… the rear has received damage, we're not critical but we cannot take another strike commander! What are we to do? Foster: Damage report! And where’s our friend? He said friend in the most sarcastic manner possible. The ship out there was hardly a friend. Tito: We can’t keep up, I am barely able to fly it, we have to land. Foster: Then land! That’s way better then dying up here! He still wasn’t trying to play a hero, and somehow fate kept chasing them. Sill-con: ? Tito: Brace yourselves, I will come in a bit fast but I am confident we can land safely. Foster: Once again, brace means brace… Sill-con: ? The altitude dropped severely and Wyn clenched his teeth and prayed to whatever gods in the universe that hated them right now to not be sick. He never did zero grav well and a sudden altitude drop was dangerously close to a zero grav experience. Therefore dangerously close to the barf zone. Don’t barf. That would only make things worse. Tito: Surely we had to land in the middle of the phachytrods… Foster: Please don’t hit the things we’re tasked to protect… He said it through clenched teeth, willing himself not to be sick. That would be one fun report. ‘Dear Commodore, we kinda killed the things you sent us to protect. The poachers love us, now…’ Sometimes the most dangerous thing in the world wasn’t a criminal, but a well-intentioned idiot. And he wasn’t sure how, but he was pretty sure that under his leadership this team had become just that. Sill-con: ? Well, he had to give Tito credit as he swerved away from the herd of pachitrods. Points for keeping to the mission, but the damaged shuttle wasn’t doing so well on the descent. This was not going to be a soft landing by any stretch of the imagination. Wyn glanced over and watched the sweat bead up and drip down Tito’s brow and he frowned. That told him the shuttle was less under Tito’s control and more under the suggestion of where to go and gravity was in control of the rest. Tito: HOLD ON TO SOMETHING… Wyn grit his teeth. His father had lost a leg in a shuttlecraft crash, and for years Wyn had desperately tried to not become his father, only to very much become his father. Oh please, fate, he really would like to keep both legs. Both arms. Both antennae. As the tip of the nose turned upwards, alarms blared, the shuttle shields flared and the safety measures went off, Wyn grabbed the straps of the seat, brought his legs towards him to curl up in the most protective position possible and braced. Exhaust vents hissed, alarms shrieked, the lights guttered. The shuttle hit the ground with a booming impact. And then it spun. And spun. And spun. He sucked in a breath. Awesome. He was alive. And he was still the leader. Great. This was all his fault. And he was sure several someone’s would have his head for this. For trying to be safe. For trying to be careful. Tito: Sound off, Commander, Ensign, still with me? Foster: I am unfortunately still alive and apparently in one piece. With both legs, both arms and both antennae. That was decent. His head was ringing from the noise and the impact. That wasn’t a head injury, it was sensory overload on his still healing antennae. He was dizzy as a result, that swimmy sense of vertigo. Therefore he wasn’t moving. Sill-con: ? He lifted his head listening to a strange arrythmic drumming sound coming from outside. Foster: What’s that sound… ? He asked it. Tito: WHAT THE FRACK? THEIR STAMPEDING? And then immediately wished he didn’t ask it. He didn’t think these things could stampede. Apparently they could. Foster: Polarize the hull plating. ::He said almost by instinct.:: Run the reserve energy from the engines to do it. Because clearly they didn’t need the engines anymore. Despite his almost total lack of engineering knowledge he said it with such confidence that it was a clear and precise, unquestionable order. Tito/Sill-con: ? Foster: Amp up as much of the power reserves into the hull plating and don’t move. Don’t touch the outer walls, you’ll get a nasty shock… Tito/Sill-con: ? Foster: What can I say? I have a bad habit of dating engineers and sometimes that nerdy engineering bedroom talk teaches you stupid things that I guess save you from stampeding elephant-cows. If he ever saw Choi Ji-hu again he would have to thank the Engineer for that tidbit. Then again Ji-hu had suffered from a Vulcan mindmeld that Wyn had forbade due to the dangers involved… and was never really the same person after that. But it was funny how the past sometimes came up to help you in the present, even if that was buttersweet. Tito/Sill-con: ? As the energy from the damaged engines coursed across the hull the atmosphere in the shuttle started to crackle with an uncomfortable sense of static electricity. Outside the pachitrods started to naturally part around the crackling shuttle. One particularly impulsive big male tried to ram the rear end of the shuttle and immediately gave a mooing-yelp as an electric charge crackled against it’s hide. It stumbled drunkenly away and then started running with the herd. After that the remaining pachtrods gave the Seijin a wide berth. Wyn let out the breath he was holding and panted for a bit of extra oxygen. Foster: Well, that could have gone way better… He didn’t want to say it couldn’t have gone worse, because it could and he didn’t want worse. Tito/Sill-con: ? Foster: Are there any injuries and are the comms still working? Get the two critical next pieces of information on the table. Tito/Sill-con: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commanedr Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  10. When your BBEG are called Garret and Kevin ❤️ Loved this intro @Alora DeVeau
  11. ((Bajor, Raijalla Valley)) Lukin had to admit, Bajor was beautiful. Oh it would never hold the same place in his heart as Cardassia, but it was easy to see why Cardassians so greatly desired to conquer it, and the benefits they would reap. And yet, he also knew the damage they had done. Looking at the scenery before them, there was no visual representation of all the ways the Occupation had affected the planet, but there were hints here and there in various ways still present in the culture and peoples of the planet. But Bajor had survived the Occupation, and she was as beautiful as ever. The people had survived the Occupation and were stronger for it. And Cardassia? It too would grow stronger, and without the sins of the past repeated, if he could do anything about it. In that moment, he wondered what it would be like to simply start walking and not stop, to wander among those flower studded fields, Arys’ hand in his on one side, Geleth’s on the other. It was a nice thought. Perhaps he would do so. But not yet. No, there was still much to do - at least, a lot of rubbing elbows. A moment could be taken, stolen, and it was that moment that Lukin took with Arys, who was trying to figure out if, since the Gala was not a mandatory event, she was attending as Lukin’s partner or as part of Taybrim’s crew, and if she was to wear a dress or her dress uniform. Zorkal: Are you ready? Trovek: Far from it. Makeup and hair were done, and would match both dress and uniform perfectly. It even fit to the robe she was still wearing. By contrast, he was actually ready, a suit of dark grey and deep green, the panels of the former overlaid on panels of the latter, and a silver belt clasped around his waist. Zorkal: You could simply go like that. He didn’t mind at all that she only had a robe on. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded removing said robe. Likely, though, it would be rejected as it really was neither the time nor the place…well, it wasn’t the time. Trovek: Very funny. ::she rolled her eyes:: But there is still time. And well, I was distracted. Arys glanced at the chrono, and indeed, there was time yet. She motioned for him to sit down on the bed next to her, and he did so. She hadn’t mentioned Jenis’ warning to Lukin, but she had taken action. A message had been sent to Aaron, essentially uninviting him, and another to Ferri, requesting her to change her plans and watch Geleth instead. Lukin followed and sat down, waiting for her to explain herself. Zorkal: By what? Arys hesitated. The one moment the answer was on the tip of her tongue, the other it was gone entirely, leaving only a bitter taste to remind of it. She stood behind her decision, but she was ashamed to have brought her family here, only to back out now. Trovek: Truthfully, I suppose I am asking for your forgiveness. She lowered her gaze, and a frown furled over the corners of Lukin’s mouth. As far as he knew, she’d done nothing that required forgiveness. Had something occurred? Had she made a decision that would affect him and Geleth without asking? Zorkal: Why? Trovek: I know how much family matters. I know how privileged I am to have a brother who is alive. And that I shouldn’t throw that away. Family. It was the most important thing to Cardassians, save for Cardassia itself. The family unit was generally forged with a strong bond. Men and women would weep over lost children, a matter of life on a harsh world that didn’t always have the resources it needed to support its people. It was an interesting contrast to the idea that while marriage could be for love, it was often for other reasons, and yet there was still that loyalty to the family that went beyond what others might expect from Cardassians. Lukin had lost his family. His mother, father, aunts and uncles, siblings and cousins were nothing but a distant memory. Zorkal: Arys, I’m not quite sure I know what you mean. She looked up at him and took his hands. Trovek: Something tells me it’s… ::she paused, and decided to start from the beginning:: I had offered Aaron to watch Geleth this evening… under supervision, of course but while we were at the market, one of his wives sought me out. She warned me. She said that he is exceedingly good at knowing what to say. And it’s true. He always has been. And maybe that was what was bothering Lukin as well. Arys had already stated that Aaron had said the right things’ and then asked to see Geleth. What was the motivation? Was it truly altruistic? Was it really because Geleth was part of the family? Zorkal: That makes him dangerous. His hands tightened their grip on hers a little, and she nodded. Zorkal: So what do you wish to do? Trovek: I… want to be careful. I don’t think I would want him to meet Geleth, or you. ::she paused:: Not yet. Maybe never. Maybe being as far away from his as possible is the best course of action. That was unexpected. Lukin had thought that Arys was on a mission to save her brother, but now she seemed uncertain. Zorkal: If that is what you wish. If it disappointed him, or if it displeased him, he didn’t say, and Arys was grateful for his support. She squeezed his hands and got up again. Trovek: If anything, I feel more guilty about telling Ferri she has to watch Geleth. I think she quite enjoyed spending time with the Ensigns. ::she smiled:: I’ve never seen her so chatty before. Zorkal: Then perhaps we shall invite them over along with her and she can chat more with them there. But while they were on Bajor, Geleth would either accompany him, Arys, or Ferri. Since the gala had diplomatic implications, Lukin was not inclined to miss it. Arys was a part of the crew who had been invited, so she could not miss it. Trovek: I suppise you’re right. ::she sighed:: Well, let’s get ready. Zorkal: I am already ready. I can not say the same about you. Though he personally rather liked her with the robe. Even better without it. She tilted her head and took off the robe, tossing it onto the bed. Trovek: Could go like this. Zorkal: My dear, as much as I would greatly enjoy taking advantage of your current condition, we are expected at an event and it would reflect poorly if we were not to show up. And I guarantee that I would not allow you to show up in such a state, no matter how glorious it may be. In truth she was, of course, not planning on going like… that. She turned and picked the dress uniform from the table. She would have preferred something else, after all, she was there as Starfleet Officer. Zorkal: I find that infinitely more appropriate. I will relieve you of it later. Trovek: Sometimes I wonder if you even still love me. ::she pouted, but wasn’t all too serious about it:: We haven’t had a real argument in ages. Stop being so agreeable and supportive, I hate it. Zorkal: I could order you not to go to the gala, but that would be counter productive. I’m sure we’ll find some reason to disagree sooner rather than later. But if you would do something about your attire, otherwise we may never reach our destination. There was a slight quirk at one corner of his mouth, just a hint, and then it grew a little wider. Rarely, if ever, were his features ever fashioned into an exuberance that others wore, but for him, his smiles to Arys and Geleth, born of sincere love and devotion, even if he might not admit it to others beyond that carefully cultivated circle, were a Cardassian defined level of joy.. Arys decided that yes, it was time to get dressed, and did so. Now clad in her fancy uniform she walked up to Lukin, moved a hand to the side of his face, on her lips a somewhat condescending smile. Trovek: It’s adorable when you think you’re in charge, my lizard. Zorkal: It’s amusing that you think I’m not. Lukin chuckled softly, then pressed his warm lips against her forehead, one hand sliding around her waist. Zorkal: Shall we? Trovek: We shall. She nodded, and together they left for the Gala. Flirtatious mood aside, Arys was still worried. To someone on the outside, Aaron’s reaction to the withdrawal of his invitation had been cool and collected, supportive of her decision even if a little disappointed. But Arys had seen something in his eyes, a glimmer of something that was neither supportive nor disappointed. Had reconnecting with him been a mistake? Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4 And Dalin Lukin Zorkal Cardassian Ambassador Starbase 118 Ops M239008AD0
  12. I really love how @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock makes use of this rather relaxed mission and weaves in bits and pieces of her B-Plot back on One-Eighteen. This is from PNPC Shevon Sherlock - She said I could and LT Aine Sherlock - New Two
  13. My character Arys might not be part of the Taybrim-Fanclub (she's a Dal/Foster-girl), but her writer is! I love reading those narration-heavy Taybrim sims that give us an understanding of how Sal loves doing what he does, but also highlight the burden of always being center stage. An absolute treat to read @Sal Taybrim , can't wait to drag Sal along to more missions
  14. ((Temporary Quarter, Starbase 118)) Shevon had seen a lot of cargo and docking bays, but rarely did she venture far from her home in the stars. She'd even been to 118 a few times in her life, but never took the chance to venture into the belly of the beast. But now, here she was. A maze of corridors and levels. She wasn't sure where to go or what to do. Her life was suddenly halted from its norm. The Promenade seemed as good a place as any to lose one's self and it was there she went. ((Promenade, Starbase 118, a short time later)) Shevon used the PADD that was provided with her temporary quarters to navigate her way to the Promenade. The shear number of shops and restaurants was enough to overwhelm anyone, not to mention the vast variety of alien species she was seeing. She'd seen her share, but there were many here she couldn't even have imagined to exist. And the view to the Commercial District below, she did not know such things could be built, at least not on a space station. Everything appeared nice and clean too. But then again, compared to the Delight, a bucket of dirt appeared clean. She eventually approached one of the many replicator cafes...replimats...whatever they were, they were free. But she hadn't a clue what to order. Food aboard the Delight could only be described as "edible," and nothing else. Eventually she just ordered some kind of soup she'd overheard someone else ordering. As she slowly sipped tiny spoonfuls at a time, she watched the passersby and wondered if it was always this busy. And with each passing second, she realized more and more that she was alone. Not just alone at a table. Much of the crew was already seeking employment elsewhere, on ships soon to leave. And since many of them came from other ships, that made sense. She knew nothing else, hadn't a clue yet what she would do. Other existential thoughts came and went. Would anyone even remember what had happened? Would anyone know she even existed? Of course not. The only person she ever really knew was dead. From birth it seemed, she was destined to be abandoned by the galaxy. As her soup grew cold, which she wasn't really enjoying anyways, a beeping sound came from the PADD she had with her. She wasn't sure what it meant, but there was a small blinking light on the touch screen so she tapped it. A box opened up on the screen showing the face of the woman who came to retrieve her from the shuttlebay. The one with the same name. The one that accused her of being some sort of random creation by something she still didn't understand. A. Sherlock: Miss...Sherlock. Um...can I all you Shevon? S. Sherlock: I'd prefer that actually. Aine noted that Shevon's face looked both suspicious and reluctant. She'd seen that face on her when she first brought her to the Observation Lounge and Captain Monroe had revealed Aine's name. She wondered if the woman often made that face. A. Sherlock: Good. I was wondering if you had any free time to meet. There's some things I'd like to discuss with you. Shevon noted what Aine had said and how similar it was to what she'd said in the shuttlebay after her rescue. She wondered if all Starfleeters talked that way all the time. S. Sherlock: Do you always talk like that? A. Sherlock: ::a look of surprise came across Aine's face:: Like what? S. Sherlock: I don't know ::long pause:: evasively? A. Sherlock: I'm not trying to be evasive. S. Sherlock: Then why don't you ever just say what it is you want to talk about? Aine had always just considered it polite. A. Sherlock: I just... ::shrugging:: I want to talk about our father. And, your future. S. Sherlock: I don't know who my father is. And from what you said before, neither do you. Shevon was still bitter at the fact she was hypothesized to be a random creation. She'd been around for quite some time and who was this little...thing...to say anything like that about her? A. Sherlock: Between your DNA scan and... S. Sherlock: What DNA scan!? A. Sherlock: It's standard procedure when you're transported aboard a Federation starship. Anyways, I have some other information. And I'd like to talk to you about it. A part of Shevon didn't want to talk about it to this woman. She found her a bit smug, like all Starfleet officers she'd met. S. Shevon: Fine. When and where? Aine was half tempted to go back on her plan. Shevon was aggressive and standoffish, like most Merchant Marines. A. Sherlock: I'll send you directions. ((Apartment 302, Kowloon Block Apartments, Hong Kong Subdistrict, StarBase 118)) All Shevon could think was, "Of course she lives in that fancy dome, I bet all of them do." Her PADD guided her to the nearest turbolift, for which the wait seemed forever. Down to a place called Trinity City, before catching a waterborne craft of some sort she'd never seen before that dropped her at the deepest point of a series of waterways. She felt like she was being led to nowhere. But after departing the craft, she spied the building the PADD was guiding her to. Compared to some, it wasn't so big and looked a little dirty. Lots of things looked that way deep in this waterway. Upon entering the dingy building, she took a small lift to the third floor and found the apartment labeled 302. The dim lighting kind of reminded her of the Delight. She approached the door cautiously, but when she got close, it swung up. Her head and shoulders reeled back as if bracing for someone to jump out and grab her, but there was no one there. S. Sherlock: Hello? A. Sherlock: Hey, come in. I'm in the kitchen. It's the door on your right. Shevon slowly inched her way in and the door closed behind her as she began to make her way into the kitchen. She peeked her head in and could see Aine standing near a replicator. A. Sherlock: Tea, Barry's, hot, splash of milk. As the order materialized, Aine grabbed the mug of tea and turned to face Shevon. A. Sherlock: Tea? S. Sherlock: ::hesitantly:: Coffee. A. Sherlock: Any preference? S. Sherlock: I don't care so long as it's hot, black, and bitter. Aine simply nodded and then placed the order. She began to make her way out of the kitchen, handing Shevon the mug and leading her out to the sparse living room and gestured to one of two recliners in the room. She sat first, sipping her tea, and patiently waited for the obviously hesitant Shevon to take a seat. A. Sherlock: I spoke to my ::long pause:: our, father. S. Sherlock: ::taking a seat:: Are you going to apologize? A. Sherlock: Look, I was shocked. It didn't mean... Aine could see anger in Shevon's eyes. She was saying the wrong thing and she could see that. She took a moment to think. Right now, she didn't need to be a Starfleet officer, she needed to be Aine. A. Sherlock: I'm sorry. It was completely inappropriate for me to suggest that. Shevon gave her a sharp nod then took a long sip of her coffee. A. Sherlock: As I was saying, I spoke to our father. And it's just that, he is your father. He and your mother were...together. So that means... S. Sherlock: I get what it means. You don't need to say it. A part of Aine was relieved to hear that. Things were uncomfortable enough. S. Sherlock: Is that all then? A. Sherlock: No. I wanted to offer you a place to live. I have a spare room. I'd also like to see if you'd consider working for Starfleet. I can ask Commodore Taybrim if you can be made a provisional... S. Sherlock: You arrogant little shit. Aine's head shook and reeled back. Her eyes widened in surprise. She couldn't understand what prompted this response from Shevon. She was only trying to help. She sat in silence, shock. S. Sherlock: What makes you think I want or even need anything from you? A. Sherlock: I'm just trying to help here. S. Sherlock: Why? I don't know you, and you don't know me. Just because we're suddenly sisters...it means nothing to me. Aine considered her next words carefully. She realized that the reaction Shevon was having wasn't all that dissimilar to her blow-ups, at Sil, at Luthas and Egil, at Mel, at her father. It wasn't a family trait. It was a trait of trauma. You seek out excuses without asking for help. You seek out blame without consideration. A. Sherlock: I'm not offering these things because we're sisters. That's just a coincidence. I'm offering because I know what you're going through. Shevon stood up, the anger in her eyes was growing. Aine was half expecting to get a face of hot coffee, but somehow the half Orion woman held fast to the mug. S. Sherlock: You don't know anything! YOU were clearly the chosen one here. YOU had your parents. YOU were spoiled... A. Sherlock: Spoiled? S. Sherlock: Yeah, look at YOU! You're still a child and don't even realize it but no, little miss perfect is an officer in Starfleet! You probably haven't had an actual hard day in your life! Aine sipped her tea slowly. She looked up at Shevon. She wanted to yell, to fight back. But she knew that wouldn't help the situation. She also knew Shevon wasn't completely wrong. She did have both her parents. Compared to many in the galaxy, she had it easy, of that there was no doubt. But... A. Sherlock: And here, you don't know me at all. I'm not perfect. My parents hated that I wanted to join Starfleet, but never really told me why. But I did it anyway. And do you know what it takes to even get into the Academy? Much less graduate? Oh, and let me tell you this, don't get pregnant and then heartbroken in your first year, it doesn't make it easier. Aine paused, raising her eyebrows. Hoping that Shevon was getting the message. And it seemed to be setting in a little as she sat back down with a slightly shocked look on her face. A. Sherlock: I lost a ship once too. So when I say that I know what you might be feeling...I...know...what...you...might...be...feeling. Look, I'm not saying we have to be friends. I'm not even saying we have to call each other...sister. Don't let that crap stop you from accepting help. Shevon's eyes shifted away for a second. She was still angry. But maybe Aine was talking sense here...which she didn't think would be possible. But maybe she didn't give her enough, or even any, credit. S. Sherlock: ::eyes shifting back to Aine's:: Tell me about your ship. Aine cupped her hands around her mug, resting it in her lap and leaning forward. A. Sherlock: It was called the Resolution. Aine hadn't talked about the Resolution to anyone outside of the crew that was there or counselors. It wasn't a particularly hot topic for her. There were so many memories, bad ones at that, wrapped up with. Death, loss, and a little ribbon that was a terrible reminder of a mistake made. A. Sherlock: I can't tell you much about the mission as it's classified. But I can tell you that I was shot. I technically died. But I was revived. And during our escape, as I was standing there bleeding and in pain, I watched from a shuttle as it was destroyed. There were one hundred and fifty people assigned to it. Half a dozen of us weren't on it. At the time, I didn't know if anyone had made it off. Shevon stared almost blankly at Aine. Here she thought that the young woman, her younger sister, had never experienced serious hardship. She felt for her, but she still wasn't sure if she could trust her. Some part of her didn't want to trust her. A. Sherlock: I later found out that four... ::remembering the classified nature of one of the deaths:: thirteen of our crew lost their lives. S. Sherlock: Why weren't you on the ship? A. Sherlock: I can't tell you that. S. Sherlock: If you had been, would it still have been destroyed? A. Sherlock: I ask myself that every day. Would things have happened differently on that ship? Or what if I hadn't been shot, would we have gotten back to it sooner and been able to stop it? These are things I replay and relive every damn day. S. Sherlock: What did you do about it? How did you move on? A. Sherlock: I don't think I ever have. That was the truth. Starfleet had done their best to help them. And some of them did move on. She never did. It was an oddity within herself that Aine struggled with. Her first mission after being posted to the Resolution had taken a turn. The away team she was on ended up in a firefight. Life or death depended on quick reactions without thinking. It seemed to be something she had no problem with. She'd been in many fights as a teenager, but nothing so serious as that one. She took twelve lives that day, and not once since has she ever questioned it. Not once has she ever dwelled on it. Not once did it ever invade her dreams. Death, she thought, wasn't something that affected her. But she was wrong. When it came to the deaths of those she knew or those she was sworn to protect, it overwhelmed her in a way she could never have imagined. A. Sherlock: They, Starfleet, brought in a team of counselors to help us. All it seemed they ever did was ask how I was feeling. Give us exercises and ::beat:: methods they thought would help us mentally. Really, all I wanted was someone to tell me I was going to be alright. Not breathing exercises or recreational activities or ::beat:: Risian distractions. Shevon was beginning to see what Aine was getting at. That she didn't want her going down the same path. But she wasn't even sure if that's what she wanted or needed. But at this point, she didn't have anything else...maybe that was the point. She also didn't trust anyone. How could she start over among people she didn't even know? Was it worth the risk? S. Sherlock: Maybe ::beat:: I'll take you up on the offer. But, what if it doesn't work out? The job. A. Sherlock: Well, you're still free to stay here. I'm not going to turn my back on you. We'll just find you something you can do. S. Sherlock: Ok. But, I don't have any money. What I did have saved was all on the Delight in gold pressed latinum. A. Sherlock: You don't need to pay for anything right now. I'll take care of it. The rent on the apartment is covered. And, if you need anything, I'll grant access to my credits. Furniture, food, anything. And, as you saw, you have access to the apartment, you're free to come and go as you please. Shevon's eyes diverted again as she took another sip of her coffee. S. Sherlock: Thank you. No one's ever helped me before other than my father...my captain. A. Sherlock: I'm glad to help. And, I hope that I can help you see things differently. I know you don't think highly of Starfleet, but we are here to help people. We're not always perfect, sometimes, far from it. But we try. The pair sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks before conversation turned to sharing of their lives. Things they'd done, places they'd gone. There were few smiles, just polite exchanges of histories. Neither was quite ready for niceties just yet. Neither was ready to openly acknowledge their paternal connection. Time was what they would need, and time was what they now had. End (for now) Shevon Sherlock Recently Unemployed and Lieutenant Aine Sherlock Tactical Officer StarBase 118 Ops R239712AS0
  15. This is a really neat plot twist from @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock and a great ending to a personal storyline I really enjoyed ❤️
  16. Again @Arys gives us a great view into her character. And again I wasn't expecting the direction it took. I loved it.
  17. I admit I started reading this as one thing, then it took a surprising turn and was something else. I love it @Arys
  18. I am really enjoying the progress of this side story! ((Bridge, USS Glenn)) It was clear they were the last to arrive and the Captain gave Mel a look he was all too familiar with. He just smiled wryly in return. He let the others crowd in towards the tactical station overlooking the fore end of the bridge as the Captain began giving her presentation. He stayed back closer to the turbolift and the small accessway fore of it. A small pinch of Aine's sleeve held her back and closer to his chosen location. As much as he loved the Glenn, this presentation had been seen by him probably hundreds of times. He really didn't want to sit through it again. And as far as he knew, Aine had never been on a Galaxy before, he was ecstatic to show her some more of the hidden gems rather than the grand features. Monroe: Welcome one and all, I am Captain Monroe and I want to welcome you aboard the USS Glenn. As the Captain brought up the display on the viewscreen, Mel gave Aine's sleeve a tug. Her head turned towards him and a slightly perturbed look came across her face. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head towards the accessway. Aine's eyebrows furrowed in annoyed curiosity. A couple sharp jabs with his head towards the accessway again trying to silently convince her to come with him. He could tell she was annoyed with the idea as her lips pursed. Nonetheless, she looked back towards the Captain and when she wasn't looking, he gave her sleeve another tug and the pair hurriedly made their way, unseen to the accessway. He took her by the hand and led her down the ramp. The deck below was darker lit than the bridge. Many had no clue, but here there was an officers lounge for bridge officers. Little more than twice the area of the bridge adorned in plush furniture and various species of plants provided by the botany labs on the Glenn. It was a place for stressed and weary officers to get away for a few minutes. Not many ships had them, but Galaxy's were not just any ships. He knew they'd have no company here. The Glenn's crew was mostly on 118 enjoying their leave with skeleton crews working in shifts. Aine had broken his grip and made her way to the windows. There she stood a few feet in front of him, her arms crossed, staring off into space. Sherlock: ::thinking back to her time on her previous posting:: Not even the Excalibur had something like this. You all are really pampered. Martinson: The entire outer rim decks nine and ten are lounges. There's a lot of places on these babies to get away. He moved to just inches behind her, looking over her shoulder. The front of the saucer was like a horizon, falling off in the distance. He always felt this view gave one a good perspective on the massive size of the Glenn. Martinson: I thought you might like this view the most. I remember the first time you got to tour a ship while we were at the Academy. There was a point you fell behind because you were just standing there staring out the port. Sherlock: ::half a smile curled:: I remember that. Earth had never seemed so small before. There was a long pause. He wanted to say something, anything. But he knew better. He knew to let her just enjoy the moment. Sherlock: The lounge on the Excalibur had these massive windows. They were angled up and away. Sometimes, if there was no one else there, I'd lean on them. When you looked down and there was nothing there, it felt like you'd fall into space. The mention of falling away prompted him to move closer to her. His arms slowly wrapped around her and under her crossed arms. A part of him was suddenly nervous. Sherlock: You know, I'm still mad at you. Martinson: Are you? Sherlock: ::a grinned now fully formed:: Yeah, I am. Martinson: Ok. His embrace tightened ever so slightly. He thought she must feel some comfort as her neck relaxed and she rested the back of her head on his chest. Martinson: What was that line from the song you used to sing? The one I tried to learn? "Rockin' to a realtor, Joe co lomsa" or something like that? He could feel the silent laugh through his arms as she shook her head in disapproval. Sherlock: You were so bad at this. You're Irish is the worst. Martinson: It really is. But to be fair, it sounds more alien than alien languages. She playfully elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed in response. Sherlock: ((OOC: spelling this phonetically so those that can't read Irish can sound it out...sorta.)) Rachin tee na railta, da choe coe lomsa. Martinson: I'd travel to the stars, if you came with me. She leaned her head back once more. He missed this, though he wasn't going to say it aloud. There was comfort in old familiarity and it was clear to him she felt something like that too. He didn't speak again, he'd ruined too many moments in the past that way. There they stood, staring off into space, silently. TBC Lieutenant Melvin Martinson Federation Inter-Trade Negotiator USS Glenn R239712AS0
  19. I've really been enjoying this building scene between @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock and @Arys - it feels very grounded and real, and I'm enjoying watching the friendship unfold! Great work! ((CMO's Office, Sickbay, Starbase 118)) Aine felt like she was in Confession. When she was younger, religion wasn't a thing her parents had pushed but the area she grew up in, it was still common. To the point it was a part of the local culture. She didn't necessarily believe in it, but it seemed the guilt part was always there and she could never shake it. Her encounter with a Q while on the Resolution definitely did much to open her eyes to other possibilities, but habits are still habits. Sherlock: At the time ::beat:: of course I didn't think he was right. I was... Trovek: Heartbroken? Sherlock: I hate that word. But yes. ::long pause:: In retrospect, and from a completely objective viewpoint, it makes sense. Arys nodded.This was the first time Aine had openly admitted it. Those who knew about Aine and Mel's past usually saw things from younger Aine's perspective, giving her the benefit of the doubt. But over time, she herself, learned it was selfish. Trovek: I personally... don't quite agree with the reasoning. I've thought about marriage and the likes a lot lately, and there are always going to be challenges and complications, especially when both partners have a career and do not solely exist for the other. Aine took another bite of her food, this piece almost looked like a honeycomb, but definitely did not taste of the sweetness of honey. She pondered where Arys was going with this. Sherlock: So you think it's possible to balance? Framed as a question, it really wasn't as much as a statement. Trovek: Yes. ::she nodded. Seemed like Aine could read her thoughts:: And, being in my mid-thirties, I think I would be able to make it work. Somehow. But in my early twenties... ::she shook her head:: Breaking up is never pleasant, but look at you contacting him despite all that. Sherlock: ::eyes shifting:: You don't think that was juvenile? Last time it felt juvenile... Trovek: Well, the good thing is you're a grown-up now. ::she smirked:: You can have grown-up conversations with him, or do grown-up activities. Grown up activities? Sherlock: oOGrown up activities?Oo Yeah ::eyes shifting again:: ::beat:: maybe... Trovek: Would you want it to last? ::she paused, rephrasing:: Or rather, would you like the option of it being able to last? She had no clue what she wanted in the end. When it came to her personal life, Aine was about the worst planner there was. Evidenced by an apartment with only a couple chairs, a single desk, and a twin bed that were all akin to Starfleet issue. Such a grown up here. Sherlock: The option...option. Right now, I just want to be able to talk to him. I don't know what it is, call it a comfort in an old familiarity? Trovek: ? Sherlock: ::attempting to change the subject again:: So, this thing with Lukin... The mention of age and marriage didn't go unnoticed by Aine. And with all the other news circulating around the "little station..." Trovek: ? Sherlock: Yeah, that... The look on Aine's face went from being a smartass to serious yet happy. Sherlock: ...does it mean I'll have to be nice to him? No matter the answer, she'd try. For the sake of her friend. For the sake of her friend's child she hadn't even met yet. Trovek: ? tag/TBC Lieutenant Aine Sherlock Tactical Officer StarBase 118 Ops R239712AS0
  20. I really love this glimpse into Tito's past , and how it makes him apathetic towards the situation he is currently in. It's a heavy read, but it really showcases the how much effort Tito's writer has put into the characters backstory. Proud of you, @Vitor S. Silveira❤️
  21. I wanted to take the opportunity to say thank you to @Alora DeVeau for organizing Ops' first ever Character-Trivia Challenge ❤️ Due to a mixup in the calendar we had our monthly voice chat a week early, and Alora spontaneously decided to host a second one on the actual first weekend of the month. Someone suggested to do a Character Trivia night and Alora collect fun facts from participating players and moderated the evening. It was an absolute blast and definitely one of the best get-togethers we've had so far! Thanks also to @Sal Taybrim @Vitor S. Silveira @EgilRenot and @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock for eargerly participating
  22. I absolutely adore this sim from our beloved CO @Sal Taybrim This was great way to deal with the fallout of the last Terra Prime mission, and the difficulty for someone like Sal to sit back and let others lead. Having been absent in the mission itself, the introspection of this shed some light on his feelings on what happened. I am very much looking forward to continuing this scene with you!
  23. After my week started out bad and ended in just plain awful, I was very grateful for this community. Why? Because I get to write with awesome people. And sometimes I come across posts that just make me laugh like this one. IC: ((Evac-19 – SS Belladonna)) Some people had an odd timing, and a flat-out weird way to prioritise one thing over the other. Arys noticed that Alora wasn't exempt from that rule - the woman seemed oddly interested in Engineer Lowel,l and Arys... wasn't quite sure why. They were here to help people evacuate, not make friends. Perhaps Alora was eager to date someone who wasn't reporting to her, in one way or the other. Looking for potential partners outside of Starfleet wasn't a bad idea... Arys just was unsure if this was really the right point of time for that. DeVeau: So, Engineer Lowell, like my colleague indicated earlier, you really seem to know your stuff. How long have you been with the Belladonna? Lowell glanced at Alora, who smiled at him in return. Lowell: Three years now. It’s a good crew. Trovek: Fascinating. She sounded very Vulcan saying that. Perhaps she didn't really care because the man barely even seemed to look at her, and much preferred to speak to Alora. Why? Who knew. Maybe teal just wasn't his colour. DeVeau: Oh really? ::Alora’s eyes lit up a little and a smile accompanied the piqued interest.:: What did you do before that? Was she really that interested? He was an engineer, and probably did engineering things before — something with screws. Lowell: I grew up on Mars, worked on a freighter as an intern with my uncle for a few years, worked up the ranks until I was chief engineer on a couple of big freight rigs, and landed this job three years ago. It’s really a step up. Trovek: It is. Just not a particularly big one. Maybe they could set her up with a handsome Cardassian. Or maybe Dal - Arys had heard them use first names and all, so evidently, they were close. DeVeau: I see. Always on the go, sounds like it can be hard to settle down. When they came to a junction marked ‘staff only’, they didn’t stop and Lowell led them straight to a room marked ‘maintenance’. oO And now he's taking her into a utility closet. I think this is the point where I should go and do something else. Oo Lowell: Actually, I’m engaged. Getting married after this trip. DeVeau: Really? Congratulations! Arys here is getting married soon too. Trovek: Sure am. Poor Alora. And it had been going so well. oO Guess we'll actually have to concentrate on the assignment now. Oh no. Oo He unlocked the door and it opened to another room. Within contained modern equipment, a diagnostic scanner, controls to access various maintenance information and coordinate repairs, tools that could be used to fix any problems around the ship. Lowell: There we go. What do you want me to scan for? DeVeau: We’re looking for passengers who haven’t congregated at the evacuation points. There seem to be quite a few missing. Trovek: Is that possible with the equipment here? If not, maybe the Narendra can initiate the scan. Lowell: response Suddenly, Alora peered at Arys, and Arys peered back. She was about to ask what was going on, when Alora handed her the triPADD and glanced pointedly between the device and the Arys. oO Woman. What? Oo Evidently unable to read Arys mind, DeVeau turned to step a little closer to Lowell. DeVeau: According to what we’re seeing, a few hundred people are missing, if not more, and we need to figure out where they are. Lowell: response DeVeau: Are you? Lowell: response Arys glanced at the triPADD, deciding that at least one of them would have to be useful - and froze. She read the displayed message once, twice, a third time. The Doctor swallowed hard and looked at Alora. Why had she allowed Lowell to lead them here? What was her plan? Was that why she had pretended to be so very interested in him? Lowell: response Trovek: That is... helpful. ::she caught Lowell's gaze and sighed:: Sorry, this is my 'I just found out my Doctors are spreading chaos in my sickbay'-face. DeVeau: response She handed back the triPADD and nodded. Trovek: Let's finish this quickly before it gets any worse. I would very much prefer to return to the Narendra and take care of it from there. We can't do much from here. DeVeau: response Lowell: response Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4
  24. There are some people who just blow you away with their writing, and @Nella Noxwyn is definitely one of these people. Nella is our newest Security Ensign and essentially just fresh out of Academy - which makes the sim even more impressive. Lean back, read something cool, leave a nice comment ❤️ ((Evac-10, SS Belladonna)) Ensign Noxwyn hadn't said much since the beam-over to the SS Belladonna. For all the verve and vivacity she showed at the Academy and on the bridge of the USS Narendra, she increasingly felt a growing disunion with those earlier feelings—reality didn't care; the evacuation carried on. It was inexperience, perhaps, that allowed her mind to wander up a blind alley. Inexperience caused Nella to blurt out something she half-remembered about insisting on “taking point” for Commander DeVeau's team. The exact words she'd uttered were the half she didn't remember, but resounded in memory like something plagiarized from the Academy Security manual. The half she did remember was the palpable sting of deep embarrassment in her Iotian heart that hadn't subsided. She had been too formal, perhaps too emotional, and the other officers definitely seemed to notice this. There was a slew of comments about not coming aboard blasting with phasers; that was never her plan. To a security officer fresh from the Academy, “taking point” meant to assume the most exposed position in a military formation. It was her duty ((not her call of duty)) to protect the officers with her—especially if they were Narendra's XO and Chief Medical Officer! Nella feared she'd been misunderstood, but knew better than to argue semantics in that moment with her superiors; and that was the moment that rendered her demure. She hadn't spoken much or been lively since. Doubt. The feeling was overwhelming and spreading through her, virulently. Nella Noxwyn had long imagined herself a member of Starfleet. Multitudinous hours of dreaming spent on creating this moment in her mind's eye—her first active service mission as a commissioned Starfleet officer. Now it was finally here, and Ensign Nella Noxwyn was in doubt. oO Well, ain't that I'm feeling so swell about it now . . . Oo She'd left most of her focus in the transporter room, and she must have lost the rest during the beam-over. Was this actually happening? Was she dreaming? Was her life-long ambition fading out of view? Was she blowing her career already? Was she simply exhausted? Could she afford to be exhausted? No. Absolutely not! The crew was counting on her to focus; yet she couldn't focus. Why?! Whatever the reason for her lack of focus, it was needed now more than water in a desert and proved just as elusive. Conversations between the two other officers continued around her as she milled through habit, just as she'd done by rote during sleepless morning drills at the Academy. She was already leaning fully on routine and habit to carry her through. Her mind was elsewhere, and she was lost. This wasn't just because her body was broken into particles and transferred to the Belladonna's lounge. It was the characteristics of the lounge itself that transported her memory back to Sigma Iotia II; specifically, to Beamtown: her home. More specifically, to the Beamtown Avenue Cabaret—her mother's nightclub ,where Nella had lived and worked all her life. No laws prevented minors from tending bar in Beamtown, so she'd done that, and just about everything else involved in running such an establishment, at some stage growing up. It was the closest she'd felt to home since she'd left. She'd left to join Starfleet. She'd left to join Starfleet because the Beamtown Avenue Cabaret was bombed in a turf war. Now, she was in a lounge aboard the SS Belladonna, wearing a Starfleet dress uniform she hadn't removed since her graduation ceremony earlier that day, in order to assist the command crew of Starbase 118 in diffusing a bomb. Too many coincidences. Too many similarities. She was being haunted. Her mind went full circle, but her body moved by routine alone. Scanning this, nodding that, occasionally verbalizing a short response to the other officers, but not interacting much. They were discussing everything between them, and she keenly felt the slack she offered for them to hold taught. When the officers seemed to prompt Nella for input, she only drew blank—a nod, a “yes sir”. No focus. None in the turbolift after they'd left the lounge. None in the Evac point, where they were now. Ensign Nella wanted to be here. Nella wanted to be elsewhere. Ensign Nella wanted to be here. Nella wanted to be elsewhere. The two rival gangs in her head squared off. Ensign Nella's mind snapped back to the moment, and the voice of Dr.Trovek: Trovek: They are beginning with Evac-10 to Evac-15, the evacuation points in the center. My suggestion is to go to the passenger quarters belonging to those evacuation points and wait for the update on who is missing. ::she paused:: But it's just a suggestion, ma'am. oO Great Montgomery Scott! How long was I out?!! -- Focus, Nellie! You remember more about the plan than you think! C'mon! Focus! Get back in action!! Oo DeVeau: And it’s a good one, so no point in ignoring it. but…I think I have a way to make getting updates a little easier and quicker. Trovek: You do? Noxwyn: How's that, Commander? DeVeau seemed to keep that secret to herself. DeVeau: The entrance is just down here. Commander DeVeau led them along a corridor, to a large bay. From what Noxwyn recalled of the Belladonna's schematics, this was probably a large recreational module or artificial biosphere. Instead, a set of wide doors opened up and inside the room were the evacuees; some of them, but some of them was a lot of them. DeVeau: Stay here. I’ll be back. Trovek: Sure... Commander DeVeau became as poise incarnate, and used her command experience and authority to silently part the crowd before her, creating an organized path to her intended target. These people knew at this point they were being evacuated, and they obviously recognized that Commander DeVeau would be the one taking charge. Nella broke from her amazement at this to do her job, which was to keep watch over DeVeau and Trovek. That meant one eye to split between the two other officers, and left Nella's other eye to indistinctly survey the crowd. DeVeau returned almost as quickly as she had left—or so it seemed to Nella. That was just as well. The room had an odor of sweat, stress hormones from a cocktail of species, and stale air. Thousands of quiet private conversations coalesced into a loud gurgle of indecipherable speech. It would be good to get this crowd on the move. DeVeau: Okay, got a list, and linked my triPADD with the ship’s manifest. When people are reported missing, it’ll come up automatically and we can go hunting. It’ll save some time too. ::Stepping back out of the evacuation area, Commander DeVeau held the device so that the other officers could see it clearly:: DeVeau: And here’s our first list. Let’s get started. Commander DeVeau turned and led the way on the search for the first missing passenger. Dr. Trovek had obviously been preparing extensively for this plan and was reciting important information. Nella felt more focus now; she was regaining control. Trovek: Our first group seems to be a whole family missing - at least their last names - Onagh - implies that. Can we locate them via the ship's computer? oO Onagh. . . Oo DeVeau: response Trovek: Good Idea. The Commander and the Doctor led the way; so much for Nella taking point. What a palooka, she'd been! This wasn't at all how she wanted to perform on her first mission, but maybe her first career lesson was in seeing so many people needing help—so many people in a danger they weren't aware of. So many people on the Narendra dedicated to helping. So many more people on Starbase 118 and other vessels supporting the effort. Far more people in danger on Betazed—this wasn't about her at all! Perhaps in that moment, what remained of Cadet Noxwyn ceased to exist. This wasn't training. This was definitely not a drill. Ensign Noxwyn was on duty. Nella kept alert as the team was led through a complex of corridors and eventually ended up in one of the more 'luxurious' areas of the ship. There were plants and fresh flowers that Nella had never seen before—not that she had ever seen many. Beamtown was more like a massive enclosed dome than a city, as it was located on Sigma Iotia II's polar continent, near the planet's true magnetic north. This room was captivating and pleasant, in strict contrast to the nature of their mission. The doctor's tricorder chimed as it detected a reading. Trovek: Guess this is a lot easier than we thought. DeVeau: response Nella then received a note from her own tricorder—a nearby wall showed an unusual zone of heat from somewhere within. Nella cautiously approached the wall and felt it with a gloved hand. The wall was warm in a single spot... warm, but on the edge of being too hot. Perhaps it was a component of the systems used to maintain the plant life in this area, perhaps it was something far more hazardous. Nella wasn't sure; she wasn't an engineer; she wasn't a botanist; she was a security officer, and her job was to be suspicious. Noxwyn: Commander, Doctor. I'm gettin' odd thermal readings from this wall! It's . . . hot. Can you make anything of it? Nella may have set herself up for another embarrassment, or, she may have found something pertinent to the mission. She was so fresh from the Academy she wasn't sure. That's why experienced officers—some of the fleet's best, in fact—were with her, to make that determination. Nella felt less alone now, and just as well. People, many people, were counting on her to get back in action! Trovek/DeVeau: response TAG/TBC -- Ensign Nella Noxwyn Security Officer Starbase 118 Ops / USS Narenedra NCC-26595 O239906NN2
  25. This was a very interesting response to an IC conflict - well narrated and well done! ((Primary Sickbay – USS Narendra)) All the while Sheila evaluated patients she noticed the way Commandar Dal rubbed at his temples. He was clearly unhappy with the way Sheila, a more junior officer, had taken charge. Sheila herself was slowly regretting her previous choices, noting the way her guilt was slowly burning like a flame at her internal organs. Yet, as the second man pushed up his sleeves to reveal only bruises and cuts, Sheila resigned to sigh, turning towards her work. Neither her nor Dal were happy, especially with each other. Nevertheless Dal eventually, in a matter of seconds, picked up the requested dermal regenerator. However, he gave a side glance, one that Sheila was hard to miss, at the nearly dozen or so nurses and other doctoral staff she could have called on instead. In her own efforts to quell the rising inferno of guilt and anxiety within her, Sheila had practically forgotten where she was. This was not like the last mission where her and Dal were on their own. This time the two of them, plus Blackwell, were on board the Narendra, rather than being surrounded by rubble on someone else's ship. No matter, the man in front of her had gazed between her and Dal before making a wise choice, for their own benefit. Bailey: I can work with that. Much appreciated. Next please. Evacuee 1: My head still feels funny. Kollo: And I still think we’re being lied to. Blackwell: ::She paused and looked towards Kollo, and rather than shying from his statement, she looked towards him:: Mr. Kollo - Sheila decided to keep her lips buttoned for the time being. No use saying something unnecessary, not when the Commander was clearly upset with her. Instead she chose to observe the way Dal and Blackwell handled one of the evacuees who was being unruly. And it was perfectly clear that Dal had had enough, what with the way he pushed the man with the cuts, yet his antennae pointed towards the Tellarite not far off. Dal: Lieutenant Blackwell, I believe it is clear that no one else is seriously injured. Can you move Mr. Kollo and his group out to the habitat area? Commander Dal was clearly, as clear as crystal, thoroughly done with this particular group of evacuees. Sheila, in her own silent way, agreed with the Andorian. They were beginning to argue, talk back, and question what was going on. It would only spell disaster. A disaster that would slowly leach into the water supply like oil. Blackwell: Okay everyone, let’s move towards galley, and I’ll get you all settled ::She started to turn until, but was stopped as Kollo seemed to wheel himself around her:: Kollo: Look ::He stabbed a finger towards Rue:: Why don’t you tell me the truth and then I’ll follow you? Blackwell was more than handling Kollo. Even as he thrust a finger her way she kept her cool. She was calm, hoping it would leach over to the others present. Sheila herself didn’t feel that brave. In fact she was sure she would have flinched herself if she had been the other woman’s position. It was a dam pot ready to boil over here in sickbay. Blackwell: ::she was careful with her body language here - folding arms, hands on hips, anything could read as defensive. Instead, she set her hands at her side, stance open, eyes on his:: What precisely do you want to know? Dal: Doctor Bailey, I think *you* should scan this patient ::he gestured towards the first evacuee, a teenage Trill.:: I am seeing trace amounts of gamma radiation. At Dal’s words the young doctor came back to a more present state of mind, turning away from Rue as she battled to get Kollo to cooperate. Yet, the fire inside her had yet to fizzle out. For some unknown reason, one that Sheila couldn’t even begin to explain, it only grew more intense. It burned up her internal organs, making a red blush cover the woman’s face. Now she was angry. Angry and irritated by the chaos of the scene in front of them. Angry at the way it had escalated quicker than she had expected, turning her anxiety and guilt into frustration. Frustrated at the way she had spoken out of turn, commanding a small army before she even realized what she had done, that she was in the wrong. Angry at the way her eyes burned holes into Dal and she seemingly dismissed the seriousness of a young Trill being exposed to Gamma radiation. Bailey: ::In a tone unlike her normal self, a sharp edge to it:: Why don’t you do it yourself? Dal: Doctor Bailey…you are a trained medical professional. I am a search and rescue specialist and a command officer. Internal medicine is not my specialty, and I have just enough first aid capability to move critically injured people out of a dangerous situation and into the hands of doctors like you. Use your staff resources to care for the evacuees. Use me for my skills. Or I will take command here. With his response she shrank back. Water had been dumped on the fire, enough to leave smoke. The Andorien’s tone had been heart wrenchingly calm. He didn’t seem angry with her, more like disappointed, which was always worse. Worse in a way the nearly made her unwilling to say anything for a long time. And blinking away waves upon waves of intense emotions, she equally had to blink away the images of long lost familiar faces before she felt able to speak again. Bailey: Yes Sir. ::her voice was meek and after she turned towards the evacuee:: How do you feel? Evacuee: Dizzy. Nauseous. I don’t like it. Perhaps what she said next was more to comfort herself than the evacuee she was treating. Yet the sentiment worked both ways. Bailey: It’s okay. Please take deep breaths, that will help. I will get one of the nurses to get you some medicine. Until then you don’t need to be afraid. I’m just going to scan you with my own medical tricorder. That okay? ::And as she waited for a nod or verbal confirmation from the evacuee she addressed Dal, voice straining to remain calm:: Have you come up with anything about Maxwell? The Commander had been nodding, she had seen it out of the corner of her eye, as she talked to and treated her patient. It wasn’t in any way a comfort to know someone was looking over her shoulder. Yet in a way she understood why he was doing it. He was making sure she stayed on track, on task, didn't bolt. Not that she was planning to; not anymore. Dal: I did. Henry Maxwell boarded at StarBase 118. Civilian, investigative journalist. And brother to one Commander Arturo Maxwell… Bailey: I see…I’m sorry I never got your name. ::Sheila had turned back towards the Trill evacuee:: Dal/Evacuee: Response Bailey: Well Pud, it’s nice to meet you. Now can you tell me how bad the dizziness is? Any allergies? Dal/Evacuee (Pud): Response Bailey: It’s going to be okay, just keep taking slow deep breaths. Nurse… Sheila pointed to a small woman, with short red hair. The woman’s name was escaping her thoughts at the moment yet Sheila recognized her face, she was a nurse. Perhaps she could use her resources after all. Bailey: Could you please grab me a hypospray with an antiemetic and antihistamine. Dal/Evacuee (Pud): Response Nurse: Of course. She shot Sheila a sympathetic smile before running off to collect the requested medication. In the approximate 30 seconds to minute it took Sheila asked Dal another question. Bailey: Anything else about what happened to this Maxwell after they docked at Starbase 118? Dal/Evacuee (Pud): Response The nurse came shuffling back over to Bailey, hypospray in hand. Nurse: Here you go. With that she handed the small slim grey hypospray over, then shuffled back into the small crowd of medical personnel until she was needed once more. Bailey: Do you mind? ::she gestured to the hypospray:: Small pinch. Sheila injected the medication into Pud’s arm, that being the highest place she could reach while perched on the arm of her chair. Once injected she gave the injection sight a slight rub. Bailey: You should begin feeling better in a few minutes. And if you feel comfortable I would be okay with sending you to join the others. Dal/Evacuee (Pud): Response Lieutenant Sheila Bailey Medical Officer - General Practitioner and Rheumatologist Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0 “We all have regrets. But we can’t undo the things that we’ve done.” - Sara Lance
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