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  1. OOC: You can usually count on @vitamink for a laugh. ((Pirate Ship - Drowning Band)) Andrews: I'm going to keep that thing busy! Somebody grab the bodyguard and then get everyone to a safe place! Drevas: Isaiah! What in- what are you-. Tatash: Andrews what the f… Lurtz: Is this normal Starfleet training? Isaiah would have normally quipped that lizard riding was only offered as an elective on odd years at the academy, but he was preoccupied with creeping up on what would easily be a thirty-foot long monstrosity if scaled to his normal size. Several alarm klaxons were sounding in his brain, warning him that he was courting real actual death. The only thing that kept him moving *towards* the reptile was the knowledge that the distraction might prevent more real actual death. If it worked. Dal: Come on, let’s get you up. Commander Dal helped the wretchedly retched-up bodyguard up, at the expense of getting lizard stomach contents all over his suit. They joined the group led by Tatash and the others and started moving off. The lizard, still recovering from the regurgitation, espied all the potential prey starting to hurry away and gave a displeased hiss. Isaiah took the opportunity to run up behind the lizard, grab hold of the black collar it wore, and clench his legs to the beast's neck The reaction from the lizard was nearly instantaneous, and it immediately began twisting and writhing, attempting to dislodge whatever was on its back. Isaiah held on tightly to the collar for dear life, hooking one arm through and pressing himself down and low, hoping that the lizard couldn't reach the back of its neck, and also that the collar was made extra heavy duty. Meanwhile, the larger group made their way towards what appeared to be a shelter of some kind. Tatash: This is as good a place as any. Ishreth’s antennae curled forward, as he sniffed. Dal: What is this? ::Gesturing to the shelter with his antennae:: And what is that? ::Pointing towards a big spongy, fragrant … thing that formed a carpet of sorts.:: Tatash: It’s a lunchbox, I’m pretty sure this is a ham sandwich. Drevas: ::poking the ground:: Yep. Feels spongy enough to be one to me. Dal: Charming. Commander Dal un-shouldered the guard into a safe location and then looked out to see how Andrews was doing. Dal: Ensign, how are you faring? ::he called in a louder voice than one expected from the soft spoken Andorian:: The lizard was trying a number of things to remove the unwanted rider from its neck. It had started by attempting to twist about and scratch at its collar area with a fore or hindclaw, but, fortunately for Isaiah, it didn't have the flexibility. Then it had attempted to twist about and bite behind itself. This was even less effective. However, it had the unfortunate side-effect of going around and around in circles like a giant scaled puppy chasing its tail. Isaiah clung tightly, but he was feeling rather sick. Andrews: Still alive, sir! ::He called as best as he could, while riding the lizard-go-round.:: Tatash: At least we got food covered then. Drevas: ::chuckling:: I suppose! The next move that the lizard decided to try was to roll onto its back in an attempt to squish whatever it was that was holding its collar. This was actually quite bad for Isaiah, as he did not want to find himself between that lizard's weight and the floor. As the reptile rolled over, he had to let go and jump to the side and then grab ahold again as the creature came back up. It was a real pity that there weren't a bunch of drunken cowboys cheering him on. He deserved drunken cowboys. Instead, he heard the voice of Commander Dal again. Dal: Can you get that lizard safely away? Isaiah had no idea how he was going to manage that, when priority #1 was still "don't die." Still, he wanted to sound hopeful. Andrews: I'll do my best, sir! Drevas pulled the civilians up into the ham sandwich haven. Meanwhile Ishreth wasn’t too sure about standing on food while being seen as food by a pet lizard. Drevas: Everyone still here? Valeria: I’ll do a headcount! Outside of the haven of the lunchbox, Isaiah was still attempting to keep his teeth from rattling out of his skull as he doggedly clung to the agitated lizard's back. The angry beast gave a hiss and a sudden buck, and Isaiah flew from its neck, head over heels, into a display of older Terran artifacts. Groaning, Isaiah forced himself up to his feet, pushing items off of himself, and attempting to back away from the angry lizard. He backed up and fell over something. It was long and cylindrical and had a black button on one side. What in the world was this..? Lurtz/Tatash: ? Drevas: Great. Uh. What now? I don’t think we can just go outside with that lizard there. Then the comm signal crackled to life with a raucous pirate voice. Smeagle: =/\= Hey, *miscreants.* We’ve got a buyer! The Vanity of Death will be here in 2 hours. So clean up this targ-sty, and take a shower for pities sake, will ya? =/\= Valeria: Buyer? Lurtz/Tatash: ? Dal: I have the sneaking suspicion we are on the sales floor. Isaiah now found himself sprawled backwards over the strange cylinder, looking up at the open maw of the lizard. Unless he did something fast, he was going to share the fate of the bodyguard -- only he didn't have the benefit of a bladed weapon to make himself less palatable. Quite by accident, he leaned up against the black button on the cylinder, and a glowing, red pinpoint of light spring into view on the far wall. It was some kind of low-powered laser! The lizard's head whipped around and it was suddenly focused on the glowing red dart. It darted away from Isaiah to chase the dot, only to come into contact with the wall, where it scrabbled at it ineffectually. Drevas: No. So why don’t we try and use this box as… well, what it is? If it’s a lunch box someone’s gonna pick it up sooner or later and we’ll just wait till that happens. It might be a while but it’s got to happen eventually. Right? Dal: They are going to come to check the merchandise – including us – we need to hide. Not just from a pet lizard but from sentient intelligent pirates. Lurtz/Tatash/Drevas: ? Isaiah had just picked up the cylinder and was directing the beam up the wall (with the lizard giving chase), when he heard Commander Dal again. Dal: Andrews, can we use that lizard to our advantage? Andrews: Sir, I might have a way to do that! Keeping the beam pointed away from the group, Isaiah hefted the laser-projecting cylinder and hurried towards the lunch box. Lurtz/Tatash/Drevas: ? Commander Dal looked to Tatash and Drevas next. Dal: We need a safe hiding place for a dozen tiny people. Somewhere defensible. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have more … pets. Andrews: Commander! You've got see this! Grunting, Isaiah swept the cylinder about, causing the glowing red dot to dance across the wall, with the lizard desperately following, trying to catch it. Dal/Lurtz/Tatash/Drevas: ? Andrews: It's some kind of low-powered laser projector, but that lizard finds it absolutely enthralling! Dal/Lurtz/Tatash/Drevas: ? Andrews: What if we used it to keep the lizard busy while we evacuate? Oh! Or even better...we could use the lizard as a distraction for anything that comes after us! Isaiah "drew" a spiral pattern with the beam and grinned as the lizard spun about, attempting to catch the dot. Perhaps he'd hit his head a little hard when he'd been thrown from the lizard, but he clearly seemed to be enjoying himself. Dal/Lurtz/Tatash/Drevas: ? -- Ensign Isaiah Andrews Security Officer StarBase 118 Ops M239010MC0
  2. OOC: I just love the way Jamie infuses Wyn's personality in the posts she writes with him. ((Ballroom C-10, Starbase 118)) Wyn Foster might be a little paranoid. At one point an antagonistic friend by the name of Sinda Essen had called him out, saying that he was packing drugs to stave off his own personal demons and he had hotly tossed back to her that no, in fact he did not self-medicate because he had already seen what sort of horrible destruction that could wreak. And in a quip of sarcasm she had called him paranoid. He had returned that yes, damn right it was paranoia such hard, fast and scathingly raw tone that it had stunned her to silence. No matter where, something could happen, someone would get hurt. His preparation never hurt anyone. His paranoia… well, jury was out on that. But he stuck to his preparation. Foster: In my boot. ::He pulled a perfectly fitted wallet-fold custom medkit from his polished boot.:: I always have at least one medkit on my person at all times. Though speaking of self-medicating, this was the … third… time he had seen ill effects connected to alcohol consumption and Ashley Yael. Once is a fluke. Twice is a coincidence. Three times? That outlined the horrifying possibility of a habit. Blackwell:::She gave a soft smile:: It’s one of the many reasons why I love having Wyn around. Yael: ::more to Wyn, sheepishly:: Sorry to make you work at a party. Foster Hey, it’s what I live to do. He tried to make it sound lighthearted. Tried. He was fighting the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat. His father had been an alcoholic. Was an alcoholic. Is an alcoholic, despite being sober for nearly thirty years. It was terrifying, dark, destructive and hard to break. A tiny voice was starting to plead in the back of Wyn’s head to ignore this. To wedge himself into a state of comfortable denial. A much louder voice was ringing warning bells. Wyn, remember the last few times you had warning bells? What happened? Terrible things happened. With every iteration he acted faster and with more vehemence. And every time he somehow failed harder, watching people die in body and spirit. Blackwell::With a quick wink to the Andorian, her gaze turned towards the crowd:: Quite the guest list ::with a sip of her water:: He offered a smile to Rue, trying to tamp down the rising wave of fear that rose in his chest. What if the warning bells were right? What if he messed it up again? What if he lost his new crush… and his longest, dearest friend? Did he have to be at this party? Could he run away and hide, railing at imagined fears by sobbing in a dark cold room? No? Curse those heavy, horrible pips. Yael: It doesn’t seem there’s any cultural specifics or theme to the party, which makes me think the items may be a collaboration of very different items. He offered a pinched smile and a nod. Foster I think ‘eclectic’ is the word you are looking for. ::he filled the hypospray and sidled over towards Ashley.:: Anything in particular you’re interested in spectating? And as soon as Rue started talking he used the change in attention to administer his special hangover cure – a patented blend of vitamins, minerals, nutrients and analgesics, guaranteed to make the day instantly brighter. And he was quick, too. Even Mr. ‘I hate being touched’ barely had enough time to react before it was over and done. Wyn indulged in a tiny smirk. He liked being good at his job, up to and including his ninja skills. Blackwell: Oh I am looking forward to the displays. I have all intentions to get a look as many things as I can while we diplomatically mingle. Foster Oh diplomatic mingling, that sounds great. He said in a tone that clearly said it sounded about as great as dumping a metric ton of tribbles into a Klingon mosh pit. Blackwell: Give good impressions, come off as personable, or at least interesting, and don’t make a scene - I think it should be manageable ::She grinned faintly:: I’ll even hold off on waxing poetic about any strange things I find. Yael: What if we prefer that you wax poetic? You might impress the scientists with your knowledge. Foster It is definitely preferable to diplomatic mingling. And he meant that. He would take nerding out on an obscure topic over meaningless mingling while trying to smile, bow and scrape in all the right ways any day. Leave the diplomacy to the diplomats and empaths who got a kick out of it. Blackwell::She shrugged faintly:: I heard a few rumors of what could be here. Treasures and curiosities from all over. ::She looked at the two and gave a brightened smile.:: What about you two? Anything you want to see? Yael: I’m hoping they have something from Iconia. Might be a long shot though. Foster: Dinner? He offered with dead honesty and a little shrug. Antiques were never his thing. When he was a kid he was on a starship and interested in every new thing they found out in space. And then in Pepperell, he had to admit he wasn’t very interested in stories about old stuff because it was always stories about old Human stuff. And he could never really get invested in it. He was, at one point curious about old Andorian stuff, but quickly found that he didn’t have enough cultural foundation in his genetic culture to understand most of it. Add in the fact that his father explained to him that he had hybrid biology just before he entered Starfleet Academy – as to ensure that his Academy entrance physical would not be his first time learning this – made him even less interested in his home cultures. He simply didn’t want to know in large part for fear of rejection. So, no… antiquities never really captured his imagination like they did for others. Yael: If they don’t have anything interesting, I’m sure we could sneak away to a relevant convention somewhere. They wouldn’t be as spectacular as all *this*... ::he glanced around them:: … but the Station is always hosting something new and interesting. Foster: Like Klingon mud wrestling. Was that a joke or an honest suggestion? Hard to tell with Wyn. Blackwell: ? Yael: We should keep our eyes on the arrival manifests as well. You never know when someone fascinating is going to show up. Foster: you expecting anyone? Paranoia welled up in him again. Should he be aware of something? Did he miss something? Blackwell: ? For a moment Ashley Yael’s eyes floated towards an overdressed Bolian dripping in ‘notice me!’ accents. Who seems exactly like the type of person Wyn would like to avoid, without knowing anything about him. Yael: Careful with that one. ::he nodded his head at the Bolian man, then looked at Rue:: Hard to forget him. Blackwell: ? Foster: Who is he? Yael: A journalist… if you can call him that. Jafarr Symote. He’s got a team of minions and a gossip show that airs all over the Station. And if he doesn’t have any juicy material, he’ll make it up and edit it in. That made the little doctor bristle, visible. He liked nothing about that. Nothing at all. Foster: So noted. I will summarily avoid him like the plague. Blackwell: ? Yael: I suppose he’s *relatively* harmless… just don’t let him corner you in a corridor. Yeah, cornering Wyn Foster in a corridor would probably end badly for the both of them. The little doctor didn’t take well to threats and had enough untreated PTSD from past trauma on Starfleet duty that he would likely take any attempt at cornering as an attempt at violence. And with a less than scrupulous reporter? That would be a nightmare. Blackwell: ? Galven: Usually things that are considered relatively harmless are pretty irrelevant, but I'm not going to keep anyone's "time." ::He raised both hands, moving his index and middle fingers in air quotes:: He jerked his head to one side and raised both antennae and snowy brows in unison. Foster: How the hell did you sneak up here? But at least German Galven was a known quantity. Not a skeevy reporter. Still, he got the drop on them and that bugged Wyn. He really needed to get his antennae checked. Yael/Blackwell: ? Galven: I actually cornered a few reporters a few weeks ago as a matter of fact. Foster: Cornered? ::he watched with muted shock.:: I hope you didn’t hit any. Actually he kinda hoped Galven did. Reporters deserved it. Yael/Blackwell: ? Galven: ::smirks:: Apparently they didn't want to hear about anything and everything. ::shrugs:: So have any of you been to a gala like this before? Yael/Blackwell: ? Foster: Nope. Medical conferences tend to be more dry and boring. Less merchants and pageantry. You just knew that if this convention was only scientists and archaeologists that this gala would be a lot more quickly and a lot less fancy. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? Foster: Really I’m just here to smile, not cause a scene and eat. And because I was told to be here. And that, in a nutshell, was how the little surgeon approached fancy dinners. But hey, he’d take fancy food. That was a nice perk. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? A chime rang and the lights shifted, indicating they should move to a table. Foster: Oh, looks like things are getting started. ::He pointed to the stage:: A six course dinner with entertainment? White the shindig. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? Foster: I expect it’s entertainment of the archaeological variety. He started strolling around the tables, reading the nameplates. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? Foster: Aww, that’s cute, they have little department color stripes to identify our names. Handy. Whoever planned this party had an attention to detail – and that he could appreciate. Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  3. OOC: I can always count on a Wyn post for a laugh! IC: ((Ballroom C-10, Starbase 118)) Wyn had his hair actually truly styled. A rare occasion for sure, but his conversation with Sheila Bailey had prompted Wyn to visit that irritating neurosurgeon Jos to take a look at his damaged antennae and after a long discussion on future treatment options – none of which he was excited about, but all of which he should consider. It had, at least, offered some pain moderation that allowed him to, among other things, get his rather terribly shaggy hair cut. Now it was sleek, fluffy, brushed to one side and wisping gently around his antennae. Distinguished almost. He had a high-necked white shirt, an asymmetric fitted silver vest and charcoal slacks that emphasized his wiry runner’s physique. Clearly he had gotten the memo as ogled the ballroom looking lost. Blackwell: Wyn, over here. Ah, a beacon. Nice. He pivoted and went towards the call. Yael: ::trying to smile genuinely as the Andorian joined them:: Wyn, good to see you. You look amazing. ::then, to Rue:: Both of you do. Pause. Both antennae and eyes gravitated towards Yael. There was something … off … about him. If he was being cavalier he would guess hangover. Foster: Thanks. So, what’s up? Blackwell: We were about to get some water - care to join us? His gaze went towards Rue. Her eyes slid to Ashley. Then the water. Then Ashley. Subtle. Ok, absolutely hangover. Foster: Sure, water sounds great. He sounded a little too happy about water. Sliding beside Ashley he fell into step. Yael: ::to Wyn:: I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten an invite. Glad you could attend. Blackwell: Why don’t I go grab the drinks, and you two can find us a place to people watch for a moment so we can get a lay of the land? Drinks. Well technically water was a drink. A pretty [...] poor drink if you asked Wyn. Nobody had asked Wyn. It was also not lost on him that Ashley ‘don’t you touch me’ Yael had linked arms with Prudence ‘touchy feely’ Blackwell. What kind of voodoo black magic was that? Yael: Have you gotten sight of any of the artifacts? They’re being quite secretive so far. Terribly curious what sort of items they have to justify such finery. Foster: Artifacts? ::Clearly he had not especially been listening.:: They were all pretty covered up. Saved by the Rue, who stuffed a glad of water in his hand. He sipped his own to cover up his [...] pas, watching Yael, doing backflips of mental doctor-calculations. Absolutely a hangover. Yael: ::sighing lightly in somewhat transparent relief:: Thank you. ::beat:: You had your hands full there. Blackwell: No worries at all. Balancing drinks is just one of my many skills. Foster: And you do it with grace. ::he smiled towards her.:: Blackwell/Yael: ? Eyes drifting between Rue and Ashley he gestured towards the tables. Foster: Maybe we should sit down? Find our names or something. Blackwell/Yael: ? Foster: You know, sit down before you fall down. He regretted it after he said it, looking at Ashley with a doctorly skepticism Blackwell/Yael: ? His expression softened and he tried to recover with a compassionate offer. Foster: If you ask nicely I have a medkit and I can administer hangover medicine. Which would also require Ashley to admit the hangover. Carrot. Stick. Check. Blackwell/Yael: ? He pulled back, looking a bit chagrined. Foster: In my boot. ::He pulled a perfectly fitted wallet-fold custom medkit from his polished boot.:: I always have at least one medkit on my person at all times. And he meant it. He usually had three, each set with a priority order of specific medical items. Blackwell/Yael: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  4. OOC: I got a chuckle out of this. Julien seems like a hoot. IC: ((Dunamis' Quarters, Habitat Ring, Starbase 118)) // To: Ensign Dunamis From: Ensign Julien Lockehart Dear Duney, Heard of your new assignment! Congratulations, by the way. I hear that 118 is a hot place to be right now. You’ve read the reports of their latest mission probably, of course you have, studious bloke, you. You’ve always been. Saving prisoners on Qo’nos while fighting off cultists! Wow. I only wish I had that kind of assignment. Here on the Victoria nothing much happens, we’re stuck on routine DMZ patrol. Oh, well. What can you do, am I right? Captain Kell is a nice guy though which is a bonus. We should meet and catch up sometime, eh? Just the two of us like old times, talking like old friends while you insisted on poring over our textbooks two months in advance for that class test. Just relax, okay? You don’t need to keep on working yourself raw. There’s more to life than your career and you deserve a little space to explore all aspects of it. Including the more fun ones. 😉 Ah ha, you know what I mean. Get back to me when you’ve made up your mind on it, okay? See you, handsome. Don’t keep me waiting with that response. Regards, Jules // Julien Lockehart. He hadn't seen that name in years. The name brought to mind a shortish, blond-haired bespectacled human male who'd been a schoolmate of his four years ago now, and with that recollection came a familiar tale - one that admittedly still embarrassed him to no end to tell. He still remembered how it'd gone down: ((Flashback - Time Index: 3 years ago)) ((Event Hall, Starfleet Academy - Earth campus)) Dune was not a party person. He never had been. Call it a remnant of a childhood growing up as the sole Kelpien child in a class of humanoid children. Too many people around at any one time made him nervous, in fact, a feeling he masked with apparent stoicism. Yet here he was, an hour into the prom, neatly dressed in a light pink dress shirt, tie, suit, pants and even shoes to match, spindly fingers clutching a glass of champagne. Being as slim as a twig sometimes has its perks and this particular time was one of them; he looked absolutely stunning. At the current moment his attention was oh so mercifully occupied by his Klingon best friend, though: Qltlha: Duney, please, for the love of Kahless, let those shoulders of yours relax for once in your life! You have earned the right to party the night away, more than any of us with that lofty degree of yours! Dune: ::sighing:: Qltlha, you know me and my work ethic. I do not normally fully relax. Not when there is more to be done for the morrow. I leave for starbase 23 in the afternoon and my packing is still unfinished. The shuttle leaves at 1300 hours- Qltlha: For the starbase and starship, the latter of which which will only be there next week! Dunamis! You are being ridiculous! I know you favor punctuality and preparedness but that extent of it is too much! ::sighing in exasperation:: You will harm yourself one day with that attitude, my friend, if you do not keep it under control. ::squints, looks over his shoulder and snickers:: Oh, Kahless' blade. There's Julien now! Julien? He'd been told by the human that he'd show with a surprise in store, of course - but not quite the sight that he got as soon as he turned his head. Oh, goodness gracious, that was surely the laciest garish red dress he'd ever seen. Somehow or other it flattered the human male's figure perfectly, along with the blush, lipstick, eyeliner and fake brows and the ridiculous black wig with utterly mismatched bangs - among other features, of course. When Julien had mentioned a surprise the first thing in the Kelpien's mind admittedly had not been to appear at the prom in full drag. Oh, he knew that the human had been head over heels for him ever since they'd met at orientation of course, but this was absolutely flooring each and every (failed) attempt at courtship so far. Strangely? Amidst the silliness of the whole situation Dune found himself thinking that the human actually looked attractive in that getup. Oblivious (or perhaps totally ignorant of) the looks and catcalls and kisses blown his way Julien sashayed his way towards the pair and struck a pose, fingers in a V and all. Lockehart: How do I look? Duuuuuney? ::batting his eyelashes at the Kelpien:: Dunamis: ::choking a little:: Julien. Goodness gracious. Why are you dressed like that? Qltlha: ::smirking:: It was my idea. He wished to make a last impression on you and hopefully earn your arm for the night! Come on, Duney, won't you be a good friend and indulge him? One night? Lockehart: I wore red just for you~ ::giggling:: It's your favorite color isn't it? You look spectacular, by the way. Is that blazer of yours custom made? It fits so snugly- ::places both hands on the arm of the suit:: Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Yes, he could handle flirtation well enough, but in this situation, where he couldn't quite decide what his mind thought of the whole thing his friends' words were becoming quite uncomfortable - and so he took the only other option he could think of. Dune: Um. ::gently brushing Lockehart's hand off:: Excuse me for a moment... And off he went through the crowd in the direction of the toilets, ignoring shouts of "don't keep me waitiiiiing~" behind him. You'd think that for a people so tall and skinny they'd be hard to lose - ha, not really. Blushy, uncomposed Dune was gone in the crowd in seconds even when not running. ((End flashback)) Ensign Dunamis Tactical Officer Starbase 118 - USS Narendra 0239706DM0
  5. @Sheila Bailey writes beautifully and I just love the sweetness of this ending! ((Virixis VI - Beachside)) DeVeau: Unfortunately, we got called back to duty really suddenly and I was so intent on getting to my station as soon as possible, I forgot to take my squirrel costume on. Sheila’s gaze turned longing for a moment as she remembered her friend. It was this particular friend, a joined Trill, that had had a performer as one of her past hosts. She had still been able to carry on the skills of singing, ballet, and acting, though she most often danced. And this particular friend had often invited her to performances, in which she carried a starring role, in Sleeping Beauty, Romeo and Juliet, and Jewels, among many other ballets. Yet since their graduation the two friends had hardly spoken to each other. Thankfully the good memories lasted and were seemingly enough to fill the empty void. Yet Sheila was reminded of her sisters too. Her younger sister, Margaret Anne, had often written plays and stories when she was younger. Oftentimes she had been able to coerce their older sister Cathleen into playing some of the other roles; Sheila never did like to perform in those plays and stories yet she had been willing on more than one occasion to paint the sets. One time however, in the course of a play rehearsal, the scene had had both Margaret and Cathleen running in the yard and up a tree. Cathleen had tried climbing but slipped and tore her skirt and her knee. Since then Sheila was fairly sure her older sister had stuck to wearing pants. It seemed like the only situation in her personal experience that was in any way similar to the one which Alora was describing. Bailey: ::Holding back a laugh:: What a sight. I can imagine your commanding officer being angry at that, though I guess it depends on the seriousness of the event which called you back to duty. Clothing hardly limits one's ability to perform their job. Even if one was wearing a ball gown, improvisations could be made. And in the right attire swords could be slipped down the backs of dresses, or strapped to the thigh. If not, the dress’s skirt could be tied up around the waist of the wearer to allow for easier movement. With this in mind it certainly seemed that a squirrel costume was comfortable as well as easy to move in, likely made of a soft material used for pajamas. Definitely not the sort of thing to go get mad about. Disappointed maybe, and some might even laugh about it too. Sheila might have laughed if she had seen the incident in person. Now however she worked to hold in her laughter and simply listen, that was the polite response to make. DeVeau: Commander Ross wasn’t happy. Didn’t yell at me, but he didn’t need to. I literally was so focused on getting to my station I didn’t even think about my costume not being the proper attire. Sheila was intent on listening carefully to Alora’s story. Asking leading questions and showing her interest and respect. Though it did make her wonder. Perhaps Sheila and Alora could combine their talents and set up a performance sometime for the crew. A light hearted performance. Sheila knew that she herself could use a spot humor after the several tough missions that she had gone through. Perhaps too could she find her way back to the sarcastic, witty woman she had once been. For Alora it could be a change to redeem herself, in a way. To finish out the play and get back to her station in her proper attire. Bailey: That seems completely understandable. DeVeau: What about you? I know you sing and have a pretty voice! Bailey: Oh myself? I’ve not been in any performances, plays I mean. I have been told however that I would be great for singing at a wedding. DeVeau: I know. I remember you sang part of an Elaysian lullabye when I brought you that violet. Like I said, you have a lovely voice. You could easily perform. What about other types of performances? Bailey: And the dancing? Nothing like what my friend did. She was all into ballet. But Elaysia has a great many traditional dances. Jigs and the like. Perhaps I could get a holoprogram of them together for you sometime. I would demonstrate myself but I’m not in the condition for it yet. DeVeau: I would love to see you dance. Maybe on the holodeck? I’m sure we can program the gravity to make it lower so you could perform it properly. Oh why hadn’t Sheila thought of it in that way? At first she had thought she would only be able to get a holographic performance set up, one in which she wouldn’t be able to take part in. Yet Alora’s comment reminded her of her last holodeck experience with an old friend. Those machines certainly could be programmed to fit anyone’s personal needs. Bailey: Sure, just comm me sometime and I’ll get something set up. Oh and speaking of performances it would seem that one would need a headshot for auditions and the like. ::At this Sheila went shuffling through her stack of papers looking for one in particular. Once she found the one she was looking for she handed it over to the other woman:: Here. Alora took a minute, not glancing at the handed over drawing quite yet, a look of surprise forming on her face. Sheila gave Alora a small smile in return, her sense of curiosity growing. DeVeau: What’s this? Sheila handed over another pencil portrait; the original copy, a second copy having been left in her own quarters back on the station. This one however unlike the others was not of some fanciful woman. It showed simply a woman with long dark hair, a round slim face, and sharp collar bones. The composition was of Alora. Sheila had managed to find time to get around to composing it, sometime between last shore leave and then start of this one. Their last conversation together had sparked it and Sheila did well to keep her promises. Bailey: I finally got around to drawing it, after we last talked. I want you to have the original copy. Hope you like it. DeVeau: I do! It’s lovely! ::Alora took a moment to look at the drawing:: I’m amazed at your talent. Bailey: Thank you. It’s nice to be drawing again, to be making it my own. DeVeau: I’m going to have this framed. Do you think people will think I’m too self absorbed if I hang it on my wall? Bailey: I believe not. I have several drawings, like this one, of myself and my sisters hanging on the walls of my own quarters Sheila widened her smile. Alora certainly seemed to appreciate the talent she showed. Such appreciation lifted her spirits. DeVeau: I think I’m going to take this back to my cabin right now and package it up. I don’t want it to get damaged. Bailey: I’m glad you don’t. Best to keep it away from the waves. And if you frame it it’s less likely to smudge the graphite. ::Slight pause:: I’ve enjoyed your company. DeVeau: ::Smiling:: Thank you Sheila. I’ll see you later, but I’m glad to have this as a reminder of you. Sheila watched as Alora rose from her chair and turned to place a gentle hand upon her shoulder. After a slight pause the other woman moved off carefully taking the treasured drawing with her. Sheila watched her go, even considered waving as Alora disappeared out of sight, yet thought better of it. Once out of sight Sheila turned back to her art supplies, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper. Before long a graphite drawing was starting to form, one that was beginning to show two women standing side by side. By the time the drawing was finished it was clearly a composition showing Alora and Sheila, the water in the background, their arms around each other in a side hug, almost as if they were posing for the artist to be able to draw them. [End Scene] Lieutenant Sheila Bailey Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0 "The very first requirement in a hospital is that it should do the sick no harm." - Florence Nightingale
  6. One of our officers introduced a new character, and I really enjoyed getting to know him a little bit. I look forward to seeing what he does with Dune! IC: ((Verriar’s Tongo Palace, Starbase 118)) How out of place he must have looked: six feet and eight and a half inches of lank in uniform, clutching a tiny glass cup that seemed like a little fruit wrapped in branches in relation to his long, thin fingers. Large golden eyes stared intently down at the spinning tongo wheel about a foot in front of him, round which many gathered to hedge their bets. Dunamis was not a gambler. He never had been – except in chess where one would sometimes strategically gamble away their pieces in the hopes of victory. He didn’t like tongo. It was far too reliant on luck and chance and not enough on the skill of the player. But hey, maybe that was chess player him speaking, eh? Admittedly when the others had extended him invitation to meet at the commercial sector for a men’s night out he hadn’t expected to have to walk all the way down decks to this bar he found far too dark and far too… vicelike. He’d drank what he’d been recommended, of course, it was only polite – and been complimented by the many-armed hostess for it – which admittedly still didn’t sit well in his belly. No, really. And the aftertaste was far too chemical-like for his tastes. But hey, one sometimes made compromises for connections did they not? Dunamis: ::glancing upwards at Isaiah and rubbing his eyes:: Remind me how many rounds it has been, again? My vision has begun to swim. Andrews/Yael: ? Dunamis: Ah. I see. Not at all, actually. I think the wheel has spun so many times I’ve lost count. Andrews/Yael: ? Right then a waitress walked up to him. Waitress: What can I get you, tall, stoic and handsome? Dunamis: ::directed at the attending waitress:: One iced lemon tea, please? He watched her nod and walk off, following which golden eyes flickered over the little circle of drinks set before the group on the table. Most, if not all of them were alcoholic. The chemical-y scent stung at his sensitive nose. He’d never understood why the human idea of a ‘men’s night out’ was casual gambling, alcohol and/or bars or any other variant on the same. Was the idea of appearing at work hung over the following morning not enough to dissuade them? Not that he was going to complain, of course. Dunamis: How long have you both been patronizing this establishment? ::gratefully accepting the cup of tea he was given:: Andrews/Yael: ? Ensign Dunamis Tactical Officer Starbase 118 - USS Narendra O239706DM0
  7. OOC: I was trying to figure out which quotes were my favourite and realised I just love this entire sim. Wyn is hilarious and cute. My favourite miniature Andorian doctor! IC: ((Virixis IV)) He was laying in a hammock. He liked hammocks. His dad had a hammock back in Pepperel, which he had expressly told Wyn to not ‘play around in’ and therefore it was exactly Wyn’s favorite thing to play around in. They were also tremendously comfy. He was sitting there, half drowsing, half awake, just enjoying the calm of the day and petting Triberius, because of course he could get a pet sitter for all of his tribbles, but this stupid little monster snuck into his bag. Besides, it was a strange little hybrid and he didn’t trust anyone else to tend it. So here the tribblecat was. He was purring contentedly in the sunlight, proof positive that he could be an angel at times as much as he could be a monster, like any good feline creature. Generally those times coincided with when he was asleep. He had pushed Wyn to a near sleep state, but Wyn’s ever empty stomach was keeping him awake. He should go get dinner, but he was comfortable here and Triberius was purring. It was a terrible conundrum… DeVeau: =/\=Wyn?=/\= He recognized the voice on the other end. Alora. And her tone was wavering, filled with pain. He shot up from his hammock as if jolted with electricity. Triberius protested loudly. Foster: =/\= Alora, what’s wrong? =/\= Immediate doctor mode engaged. He was on his feet and Triberius was being hauled back into to his very cushy habitat. Of course how could he have a habitat if he snuck into Wyn’s things? It might have been a planned sneaking. An allowed sneaking even. Not important right now if someone was in pain. His antennae curled forward listening for more clues. DeVeau: =/\=Can you come? Please?=/\= Foster: =/\= what’s wrong? =/\= Immediately searching for more information as he grabbed a medkit. Triberius made his dismay known by farting noxiously in Wyn’s direction before fluffing a new bed with a haughty huff. DeVeau: ::Swallowing.:: =/\=It’s...it’s classfied. Please...come?=/\= Oh no. Not that. That was the thing she contacted his Dad about. Crap. He started to gather his things, stuffed them in a bag and hustled. Foster: =/\= I’ll be right there. =/\= He located her from her commsignal and rushed out of his room, hair mussed, white button down and jeans – hardly decent doctor’s attire, but it would have to do. With any luck there would not be any blood, but whenever was he lucky? Out of the resort proper and into the pathways that led to the cabins. He was quick on his feet from too many nights of running to forget his nightmares. And running because he liked it. And running because it was good exercise. There were many reason to run. This was one of them. He wasn’t even out of breath when he came to the darkened, cabin. His antennae twitched. Popcorn. Popcorn? French fries? He almost was suspicious. Almost. He was trying oh so very hard to train himself to not be paranoid. He was not paranoid. He was a little paranoid. Still, he opened the door, medical bag slung across his shoulders and let his antennae do the sensing. Oh no, something was up. Foster: … Alora? He called out halfway between a fully innocent lamb that had totally and completely fallen for it and a paranoid grumpy twit who was starting to suspect something was up. The lights came on and he instinctively took a step back, shielding his eyes. But they were mercifully dim as they popped on but didn’t flare. Rue must have hinted at his light sensitivity. DeVeau: HAPPY BIRTHDAY WYN! Blackwell: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WYN! ::She said in time with Alora:: Yael: ? His jaw dropped and he just stopped, frozen for a moment as a deep shade of navy colored his cheeks. Was running away a viable option? No, idiot, it was not. This was a nice thing. An embarrassing nice thing. Was hiding a viable option? No, idiot, it was not. This was a nice thing. So maybe standing frozen was a viable option. Ok, that was a compromise, it would do until some words dribbled out. Foster: … thank you? ::No, don’t make it sound like a question, idiot.:: Thank you! ::That’s better. Next time don’t smile like your lips are being stretched, but you’re getting there.:: I didn’t expect… Now that was the honest truth. DeVeau: You don’t think we would forget, would you? Blackwell: He probably forgot himself ::And winked gently to the Andorian:: But Happy Birthday Wyn Yael: ? He was recovering now and he had adopted that roguish, somewhat jaded, kinda charming mask. It was a comfortable persona, it worked for him. Foster: Gotta admit, Rue, it’s easy to forget your own birthday when you Dad threw a dart at a calendar and said ‘yep that’s the day we’re celebrating’ because no one kept records on a primitive iceball… This was true. His eyes adjusted and he dared a step in. Rue waved her hands as if she was a game show hostess and revealed a table full of… Food. Ok, food. He was coming to terms with this. This was a nice surprise party for him, which had certainly surprised him, he was totally embarrassed but also very hungry and these were friends, so he couldn’t be mad (well, maybe just a little mad) and he had to remind himself to be happy and Shut up and eat, Wyn. Everything will be happier and less maddening if you eat. His stomach growled an agreement. Blackwell: We have sweets, fruit, healthy treats, not so healthy treats...and of course drinks. Just a quiet night, with friends. Foster: Ok, I like that. ::he said in a soft voice, almost like a child.:: Yael/DeVeau: ? Foster: Of course I’m hungry. I’m always hungry. Well, maybe not always, but most times. With an overactive metabolism, it wasn’t hard to devour three meals per day and still be seeking snacks. And he was past supper. Oh yes, he was hungry. Foster: ::Looking to Rue as he neared the snack table.:: You did this for me? Blackwell::She walked up and was the first to offer a friendly hand towards Wyn, putting an arm around his shoulder, and smiled reassuringly:: Yup - we did this...for you. He leaned into the touch and took in a long deep breath. Foster: Thank you. This time with 110 percent fewer weird smiles. Improvement! Yael/DeVeau: ? Blackwell: Well first….why don’t we have some drinks ::a quick waggle of brows:: and enjoy ourselves! Foster: I can get down with that. ::He nodded stuffing a slice of apple in his mouth.:: Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? Foster: No, I ran here! Triberius was quite cross. ::He shook his head:: He was keeping me hostage in the hammock. Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? Foster: Of course I brought him. I left the tribbles back home… But he comes everywhere. He’s special… like a rash, you know. I can’t get rid of him. Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? More food was grabbed and munched while the others were talking. Foster: I mean as long as we don’t play pin the tail on the birthday kid, I’m pretty OK with whatever. Maybe one of those terrible movies Rue loves? Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  8. OOC: This JP between @Prudence "Rue" Blackwell and @Ashley Yael gives us more of Jafarr and his craziness, not to mention some very realistic reactions on the part of those he's accosting. Just loving this! ((Starbase 118 Ops - Sickbay)) PRIORITY MESSAGE: MANDATORY LEAVE To: StarBase 118 Ops Senior Staff From: Commodore Sal Taybrim As we return to StarBase 118, I want to let you all know that we are celebrating a most successful mission. Thank you all for your tremendous work. We have not only strengthened our alliance with the Klingon Empire but done an incredible service to all our neighbors which will help ensure peaceful relations moving forward. This news has reached the Federation newslines. Starfleet Intel has confirmed that StarBase 118 will very soon be crawling with FNS reporters, all looking for a scoop. To this end Admiral Hauke and I both believe that the crew that worked so hard to bring this change about does not need the added stress of being hounded by often hostile new personalities. We will dock at StarBase 118 at 0100 base time and you will have four hours to gather everything you need for a two week vacation and report back to the Narendra. We will be quietly staying at an all-inclusive private resort reserved for situations just like this. I have messaged officers involved in this ongoing mission who stayed on StarBase 118 to join us on the Narendra when we dock. This vacation is meant to be relaxing in the utmost while Starfleet Diplomatic Corps takes the heat from the media buzz. If you have any questions, please let me know. ~Commodore Sal Taybrim Commanding Officer, StarBase 118 ~~~~~~~~ Rue had taken time to change into something far more comfortable - a pair of black slacks and a light sweater. Along the way back, she got a message regarding their orders for shore leave, and read them along the way. As she got into the room, she smiled faintly to Yael. Blackwell: Looks like we have our orders for rest and relaxation ::Noting that he was reading the same orders she’d just reviewed:: Yael: Well… that does sound *nice.* ::meaning the message as he finished reading the order that Sheila had mentioned:: We should get our things and high tail it to the Narendra. He slid his feet to the floor and then paused, glancing down at himself. His symptoms were slightly less obtrusive now, but he wasn’t going anywhere fast, especially barefoot and in sickbay patient PJ’s. Rue watched and chuckled faintly as he looked at his current clothing. Yael: I should definitely change first. Blackwell: Very likely. ::And she turned, giving him a bit of privacy. Meanwhile, she was considering what she needed to bring, making a mental list. She was looking forward to a vacation herself. A breather. Time to think through the last few weeks, and perhaps actually just consider a few side projects.:: He was still a bit unsteady, but moved to pull the privacy partition back so he could dress. He had a fresh uniform folded on the table next to him… politely provided in preparation for his departure. He pulled off the medical pajama top, noting he was almost completely free of bruising, save some lightly remaining discolorations where it must have been the worst… he *knew* he’d been thrown around quite badly… and he tried not to think too deeply about how much attention he’d required while unconscious. It was his *head* he was concerned about most as he pulled on his uniform and closed the collar, securing what dignity he had left. He was still a bit dizzy, colors seemed almost obnoxiously bright, and there was a dull, endless ache behind his eyes. He really could use that vacation. As he came back around, she turned and smiled a bit Yael: Got to get my sea legs back. ::beat:: I just need to grab my personal computer from my quarters. Did you need to stop by yours? Blackwell: No, I’m all right. I’ll just come along with you. Everything I need I’ll either buy, replicate, or have shipped.::She smiled and moved to the door to open it for them, a soft swoosh sound as she touched the panel, stepping out from sickbay with Ashley:: The walk was pleasant, if slow, as they walked. She kept her pace nice and easy, and off and on paused to tap at her PADD to have something sent to her quarters on the Nandrendra. She paused as she heard some sort of brujahjah ahead of them, lifting her eyes as she viewed the scene. The pair walked as a somewhat slow pace… the Denobulan hybrid was none too quick at the moment, though he was getting steadier on his feet as he moved a bit more… he had his computer and a couple small things in the smallest of travel satchels slung over his chest diagonally. They were making their way down the corridor when there was a bit of a commotion behind them past the intersection. Ashley turned, about to ask what the fuss was about, when a quartet of persons in a coordinated group appeared at the interchange. A Trill, a Human, a Bajoran, and a Bolian, all equipped with rather professional looking gear that included headphones and microphone headsets. Their eyes landed on Ashley and Rue, and he felt something of a pit growing in his stomach as the group *rushed* down the hallway toward them. He almost tried to move toward the wall slightly, because he thought they would rush *past* them. Nope. The quartet of slightly winded journalists stopped and hovered far too close to the pair, essentially trapping them on the wall of the corridor. The Bolian spoke first, and *fast,* clearly the ring leader to this dog and pony show. He weaseled next to Ashley, tucking in close… *too* close, making the Denobulan flinch at the proximity. The reporters reminded Rue intensely of a group of carrion eaters, swooping down on a desiccated corpse on the side of the road. She grabbed Ashley’s shoulders, steadying him and attempting to protect him, pushing herself between Jafarr and the Denobulan hybrid. Jafarr: ::looking into the camera carried by the Trill:: This is Jafarr Symote, and I’m with Lieutenants Blackwell and Yael of Starbase One-Eighteen! ::he turned and dark blue-black eyes zeroed in on Rue:: Ladies first, am I right? So, what part did you play in this whole Klingon cult business? Nasty stuff, the Cult of Molar. Blackwell: My role was transport, communications and intervention - we simply were doing what was needed for the good of the Federation, the Klingon Empire, and the safety of all. ::It was practiced, succinct and exact:: Jafarr: ::hardly letting her finish:: Did you see any hand-to-hand combat? Get any kills? Bring home a bat’leth? Blackwell: Thank you, no more questions ::She tried to move past once more, unsuccessfully:: Jafarr: ::almost interrupting again:: That’s a new hair style, it’s very bold. It’s a Power Cut, if I do say so myself, and I *do* say so. New relationship, new look, amIright? She wanted to take a breath but she put on a well practiced smile on her face, aware of the cameras on her The Bolian gave Yael a strangely knowledgeable look and nudged the weirded out Denobulan in the ribcage with his elbow, making him flinch slightly yet again at the undesirable contact. The Bolian promptly forgot about Rue in a singular moment and his eyes zeroed in on Ashley, who likely looked like a trapped cat. It was remarkable that she kept the smile on her face, as when he elbowed Ashley, she had the distinct want to show him how good at hand to hand she really was. Jafarr: So, tell our viewers what a *counselor* and a *pacifist* is doing leading a secret Strike Team behind enemy lines? You’re kind of *small* to be leading Marines into combat, aren’t you? Ashley was too surprised at the bold and very knowledgeable question to respond properly in the short second the Bolian stopped talking. Jafarr: You were injured. Struck by Klingon pain sticks, OUCH, am I right? They didn’t stick you anywhere *sensitive* did they? ::beat:: Is it true you rode thirteen wild targ down the corridor of the Klingon High Council? As Rue attempted to carefully and gracefully separate Yael and the reporter, she caught the questions and wondered what form of chemical fumes he had inhaled before coming to entrap them. Yael: ::finally finding his shocked voice:: What? No! Jafarr: No, hmm? Shame, that. Missed opportunity you’ll regret. ::barely pausing between sentences:: Do you think it’s a good idea for Star Fleet to be sending unprepared non-combatants into combat operations? Yael: I’ve- Jafarr: ::interrupting again:: Especially someone with a history of psychological instability and substance abuse issues? How *do* you get such rave reviews from your crewmates when you can’t even control your *own* addictions? She narrowed her eyes at that. She couldn’t help it, she was getting impatient, angry and most of all, protective. If Ashley wasn’t shocked into silence he would have bristled at the incredibly hostile question. His embarrassment was written in his expression, but before he could speak the Bolian turned to Rue again at warp speed. He had seemed to note her shift in mood and intended to capitalize on her for the cameras. Jafarr: Lieutenant Blackwell, what’s the nature of your relationship with Lieutenant Yael? You’re gorgeous. ::turning to Yael shortly:: Isn’t she gorgeous? ::turning back to Rue again:: With his eyes and ridges, and your *WHISTLES* ::he motioned crudely to ALL of her::, your illegitimate, unmarried love babies will be *beautiful,* amIRIGHT? Blackwell: Yael - do not respond ::She said, her voice was impeccably calm despite the heat rising in her veins. She looked to Jafarr quietly:: Yael: ::flustered, trying to formulate something intelligent:: This is *incredibly* inappro- Jafarr: The ladies in the audience want to know, Lieutenant Yael, do the ridges go ALL the way down? The protest inside him was frozen, and Ashley stiffened visibly, flushing hard as he glanced at the camera. Good gods, this wasn’t *live*, was it?! Blackwell: :She stepped forward:: Mr….Symote was it? ::She gently pushed Yael behind her:: I understand you are all - very- eager for a story, and I know that you have a lot of questions ::And directly to the camera:: Which is reasonable as citizens do need to know what is being done to protect the galaxy, uphold the values of the Federation, and of course, keep people safe :And she smiled:: however, I happen to recall Mr. Symote that your specialty in reporting is more…..::She paused:: Jafarr: ::butting in again with a feisty smile:: You’re right! I get the meat! I tell people what they want to know. ::his smile turned slightly:: Seems you’re the *man* of the pair. So *protective*. How admirable! He was baiting her again, that smile ever on his face. Blackwell::She raised both brows to that:: Are you always so ….::she considered:: quaintly antiquated, Mr. Symote? ::She looked amused now, and looked brightly to the reporter:: Jafarr: Oh, I married my yoga instructor. Then divorced her three months later, HA! ::he didn’t seem torn up over the loss:: She wasn’t nearly as modern as you. Blackwell: Oh, I’m not modern. I’m practical, when I need to be ::She shook her head and looked to the reporter:: So if you are really curious into what is the meat of the situation, why don’t you ask about …::And then she was caught off guard:: Jafarr: So this isn’t the first individual you’ve dated with ::And he said with a mock low whisper:: Difficult emotional situation. How about your ex-fiance…. Blackwell::And then it was her turn to cut him off:: Please Mr. Symote - that’s very old news. ::She shook her head:: If that is the best you have… Jafarr::And then he gave a devious grin, and leaned into the woman, practically looming over her:: And what about the investigation into the Salters? Now it was her turn to be caught entirely off guard. Rue’s face stayed perfectly calm, but her eyes were brighter, as nerves and anger started to make her heart beat far too rapidly. Jafarr:: It’s all so -intriguing and interesting- ::The Reporter pressed, smelling blood now:: Scientists who developed cutting edge technology, known for their brilliance, innovative focus, tragically killed in a seemingly mindless accident. What would have prompted you to get curious about that? ::He pressed the microphone closer to her mouth, and she felt herself lean back against Ashley:: The Denobulan hybrid had cringed at every touch, but now felt something sterner growing inside him as Rue leaned back into him. They needed to *end* this encounter. His shock at the verbal assault had worn off, even if just slightly, and he boldly reached to grasp her wrist tightly… and with as hard a shove as he dared, he shoved his way past the Bolian and the team members with Rue at a brisk jog. Jafarr: Hey! Lieutenants! *Lieutenants!!* Ashley kept up the speedy pace until they hit a turbolift and the doors slid shut behind them, at which point he finally released Rue’s wrist and pressed himself against the turbolifts wall, looking somewhat panicked, and a bit shocked at his own behavior. Amethyst eyes looked downward at nothing for a moment, then flicked up at her. He also gripped his hand where he’d held her, holding his own hand as if it had offended him somehow. The feeling of crawling beneath his skin was starting, but it was a short contact… he could manage it. But the sudden activity had sent his head spinning a bit, and he wasn’t very steady for a moment. Rue was almost numb to sensation as she was pulled, trying to work out precisely where those questions had come from, how he could have known to ask, and mostly, what it meant. When she was tugged, it was easy - Yael went and so did she, lead like a cut right into the turbolift. As Yael released her, she moved against the wall and breathed hard, and slapped her hand against the panel to close the door. Yael: Sorry for grabbing you. That wasn’t an interview… it was an *assault.* Blackwell: ::her voice wavering a bit:: He was rather….rabid wasn’t he? ::She cleared her throat and straightened, and furrowed her brow:: ...Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you did he? Yael: ::laughing lightly, but it was forced:: Just my pride. You? Blackwell: No, it’s...nothing ::She shook her head and folded her arms:: We should get you looked at though - just to make sure ::Quickly focusing the conversation on him:: When we get on the ship, lets call Wyn. Yael: I’m okay. Really. He released his hand, grasping the fingers into a fist a couple times before forcing himself to let it hang normally, despite the creeping feeling sliding into his wrist. He *could* control it. He *would.* Blackwell:...Okay, I just want to make sure you are okay - that ….::her fist clenched:: that reporter ….I wish I could have slugged him. Yael: You know, the same thought crossed my mind. But that would have made *great* material for his viewers… I can see the headline now… “popular shock jock punched by pacifist.” Blackwell:An exhale:: No, that would not have helped anything - made things worse really. Yael: Ah… reorienting, and realizing they hadn’t given the turbolift a command:: Take us to the deck where the Narendra is docked. The computer calculated the command and the lights began to slide past as they were taken to the proper deck. The turbolift doors opened, and thankfully there were no journalists waiting to maul them in the corridor. Yael: ::moving into the corridor:: How did he even *know* all that… There were numerous things the Bolian had said that he shouldn’t have known about. Not just information about the mission to Qo’nos, but *private* information… *medical* information. Blackwell: I really don’t know either …..:::she frowned:: But I will find out. Yael: Maybe we should report the encounter to security. There’s no way he could legitimately have known all that… The Denobulan hybrid fell somewhat silent as they walked. He was *not* going to ask what the “Salters” investigation was about… Rue had had a palpable reaction to that statement. But he also felt a bit awkward, and embarrassed… he’d had several things exposed in rapid fire that he’d have preferred *hadn’t* been. Blackwell:::While he was awkward, she was angry...but she was focused on keeping that anger controlled, and held from the sensitive denobulan:: So...lets think through this. How could he have logically gotten information like that. Yael: That would require his source to have access to the information. Someone with a high security clearance. ::pausing, then more quietly:: Who would *do* that? Anyone in Starfleet should know better… unless he offered them a bribe they couldn’t refuse? Blackwell: Bribe….or something else ::She glanced to him:: Yael: Or he could have something on them, and in order to keep their own secrets on the down low, they feed him private information about others… not much better that way though. Blackwell: Then there’s a mole. ::She exhaled slowly, and put her hand up, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple to ease the ache:: Well, we are not going to fix it right now. We escape on shore leave, report the incident...and hope to relax somehow. Yael: True… ::not liking the lack of certainty:: What do we do now, then? Blackwell: Only thing I can think of...right now….::She then exhaled and quipped:: Besides you know, taking a ship and disappearing to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Yael: Right. ::smiling lightly:: We probably shouldn’t hunt him down and steal all his equipment. Blackwell::A slight smile:: I suppose not. The pair made their way the rest of the way to the Narendra, boarding with plenty of time for take-off. ~*~ Jafarr Symote Propaganda Artist & Journalist Written by Ashley Yael C238211TZ0 Lieutenant JG Ashley Yael Counselor Starbase 118 Ops C238211TZ0 Lt. Prudence Blackwell Comms/Ops Starbase 118 G239308PB0
  9. OOC: @Ashley Yael introduced this phenomenal sensationalist journalist and it's just priceless. ((Starbase 118 – Marine Headquarters – Corridor 7A)) Jafarr: ::perpetually interrupting:: Have you ever fantasized about *eating* your crewmates, Major? You’ve got the *chompers* for it! Do we need to be worried? Kelemkor didn't knock that instinct loose while he was in there, did he? The Bolian was trying to get a reaction, and he got one for sure. Tatash: Erect a security forcefield around this deck section immediately. The cameras kept rolling as the field came up, securing the area around them, and the Trill with the camera spun it to get it on film. Jafarr: Ooooh, big man with a forcefield. ::taunting:: What’s the matter, Major? Too big and slow to chase us? Tatash: =/\= Tatash to Andrews, I need a security team to Corridor 7A urgently in Marine HQ. I have a group here I need taken to the brig for immediate investigation. Andrews: =/\= Affirmative, Major, team is enroute immediately. =/\= Jafarr: You can’t stop the free press, Major. Journalists have rights! Tatash kept the line open as he looked at Jafarr. Tatash: =/\= You are under arrest for suspected espionage and the distribution of classified information, you are also under arrest for trespassing in a secure military facility. Your camera equipment will be confiscated, immediately. Jafarr: You don’t want to do that. Tatash: Should have checked who run the joint before wandering into a Marine base. Jafarr: You don’t seem to realize that- Tatash leant in, letting out a low rumbling growl. Tatash: Please, I beg you, resist arrest. Nothing would make me happier. Now, the Security Officers, myself and the head of Intelligence are going to have a nice long chat about just how you came by all that information. The Gorn leaning over him and growling that out actually stopped the paparazzi from speaking for a short moment, which was a miraculous feat in and of itself. Jafarr: ::stuttering slightly, searching for the right trigger:: That would be an abuse of power!! And… aren’t you supposed to be on leave? Tatash grinned as the Bolian squirmed. Tatash: My friend, this -is- my idea of shore leave. The shimmering of blue lights filled the room, as figures began to materialize. Isaiah and two other security personnel, a man and a woman, arrived and quickly stepped forward to accost Jafarr and his team. Iz directed the other two towards the camera crew while he addressed the blue-skinned Bolian. Andrews: Jafarr Symote, you and your team are subsequently under arrest for trespassing a secure facility. In addition, you are subject to questioning and investigation for possible espionage. I am going to have to ask you to come with us. Jafarr: ::finding his voice now that security was there between him and the Gorn:: Those charges are ridiculous! They’ll never stick. ::turning to his team:: Don’t worry, they’re bluffing. ::back to the security detail:: Trumped up charges meant to scare the free press out of doing our job! Tatash: ? Andrews: We have to follow procedures Mr. Symote. There's a reason that these areas are restricted. If you're innocent of espionage as you claim, we'll find out soon enough. Meanwhile Wilgun and Royden were relieving the crew of equipment. Wilgus: Please hand over any and all recording equipment, including portable and hidden units. Royden waved a scanner at the Trill, and it emitted a chirp. Royden: Portable and concealed units as well. Jafarr: I’ll have you know, there is an automatic uplink for all our footage! Even if you destroy our equipment, it won’t matter! We’ll still get to the truth! ::stammering as his team handed the items over:: But you better not break anything! This is expensive gear! I’ll *sue* you if there’s so much as a scratch! ::turning back to his team:: My lawyer’s on speed-comm, don’t worry. Tatash: ? Andrews: Your objections are noted and recorded and will be part of the report. As of right now, though, you and your team will be detained immediately, end of story. ::He looked to Major Tatash:: Sorry about the trouble, Major. ::Tapping his comm:: =/\= Requesting transport to minimum security detainment facilities =/\= Tatash: ? Isaiah gave a nod and a thumbs up to Major Tatash as he, the other security officers, and the trespassers were engulfed in the transport beam. (( Starbase 118 Ops - Detainment Area )) Isaiah gave his most professional smile to Jafarr Symote through the bars of the cell that the Bolian and his team had been confined to. Andrews: Just so you are perfectly clear, you are being detained for trespassing in restricted areas. In addition, you will be subject to questioning for suspected espionage as a matter of precaution. Jafarr: ::clearly annoyed at being imprisoned:: I don’t have to answer your questions! My sources have the right to anonymity! Where is my equipment?! Iz had to keep from smirking. Served the guy right. It wasn't like Jafarr didn't know exactly what he'd been doing, harassing a Starfleet officer for gossip rag stuff. Andrews: All of your equipment is currently secured in our holding facility, and you will be able to obtain it upon your release, provided you are cleared of more serious charges. Jafarr: I have the right to comm my lawyer. Andrews: Yes, of course you will be permitted access to your legal team. And if you have an official complaint you'd like to lodge, we will of course provide you a channel for this. Jafarr: I’ll sue you for this! This is false imprisonment! The silencing of the press is the mark of a dictatorship! Andrews: Duly noted, Mr. Symote. In the meantime, please enjoy your stay in our facilities. Iz departed, leaving Jafarr and his crew to simmer with shared concern and frustration over their arrest. The reality was, Jafarr had been through this before several times, and was almost sure he’d be released soon. The only charge that had ever stuck to him before was trespassing, and that was such a minor offense it almost never meant a consequence. He’d be free again, and he’d find a new target! He needed more material for his show, after all. The Gorn getting aggressive was intimidating, but it would make great television! Jafarr: ::musing to himself:: Maybe I should have goaded him more. Out-of-control Gorn attack! Now *that* would have been a headline. ~*~ Jafarr Symote Propaganda Artist & Journalist Written by Ashley Yael C238211TZ0
  10. I thought this was a wonderfully written fight scene and I love the tidbits of Tatash we see in here. There is a warning below, however. Still, a great fight scene, even if it's quite violent. ((OOC: Putting a strong Content Warning: Violence on this. It is quite bloody. Also sorry for the confusion earlier I posted an unfinished article whoops)) ((The Waiting Room)) Crunch. That was the sensation Tatash felt as he was thrown back against the wall by the almost impossibly sized Klingon. Whatever it was that just snapped in his back would have to wait as he forced himself to stand back on his feet, looking at the lumbering giant across from him. He was monstrous even for the renowned strength of a Klingon in their prime, his muscles bulging under his leather jerkin so much that Tatash could identify just about every muscle group. Tatash: Impressive. Whatever this lumbering hulk was, he had Tatash locked with his full attention. Good, the brawl with Kelemkor at least would have two against one, even if one of them was now spinning a painstick around like the galaxy's most awful marching band leader. Athaw: You shall not pass. Tatash: Then I’ll go through you. A brief moment passed between them as they sized up the distance between them and just how hard the opening volley would need to be, the last moment of calm before the beast came charging towards him with a bloodcurdling warrior cry. Something stirred in the Gorn as he did, letting his own roaring shriek out before charging forward to meet his powerful aggressor. It was an even match, probably the first even match he’d ever really experienced. It was exhilarating, pain being pushed aside by sheer bloodlust as for once the Gorn allowed himself the luxury of indulging something that he had been keeping buried deep inside for years. The spirit of a warrior clashing with the beast that he was finally allowing after so long to push through to the surface. Athaw barely responded to the blows the Gorn was dishing out, those standard punches that were the product of years of fighting lesser opponents and they were doing nothing to stop the massive pile of flesh as the Gorn found himself pressed back against a wall and smacked hard in his rib cage. Something gave way leaving a sharpness in his chest adding the sensation that breathing was starting to get a little more difficult, more laboured with each half inflation of a damaged lung. But wounds were something that occurred when the adrenaline faded, when he was allowed and permitted to feel pain. They were something to be doted over in a sickbay or hospital bed, they were not for the here and now in life and death. He grappled back, that thin veneer that was civilised behaviour starting to crack as Tatash relearned through pain what he was at his base level. What lurked under the training like a vile shape under a churning sea, the well drilled protocols, the rules of engagement one by one were falling apart as it was made clear this was an encounter that could have one definite ending. -I- will win. Tatash thought, rage bubbling up inside him, stacking like precarious mental bricks on top of each other building a terrible wall of force. -I- am Gorn. He lunged himself forward and clenched his jaw around Athaw’s shoulder and bit down, the full force of those terrible predatory teeth bearing down and pushing through the fabric and into the flesh beyond. Warmth flooded his mouth, metallic, running out over his chin. Athaw: ? Another series of punches came at him, but he was lost to himself, each one registering as a dull thud no doubt battering him but shrouded behind the insanity of brutal gratuitous combat, only letting go of Athaw to let out another fearsome roar, a shrieking hissing sound from a wide open mouth with stained teeth dripping crimson. He circled around him, waiting for Athaw to make another dash towards him. Athaw: ? And dash he did, the sheer force of the boot shoving against his chest sent the Gorn reeling backwards against a row of cabinets, Klingon documents spilling out like confetti as he impacted them sending their carefully catalogued shelves flying out across the room. His uniform tore, revealing the scarred scales underneath as it caught on the corners that were digging hard into him. Tatash: You’ll… never… win Tatash lunged forward again, propelling himself forward with his hand open, fingers curled up as he swiped down with his claws fully exposed, those talons ready to take the Klingon’s sight as he aimed to rend those sockets clean. Athaw: ? That terrible warmth of an inflicted wound washed over the Gorns hand, Athaw’s hand coming up out of reflex to cover his face as the dark talons carried out their grisly task, the base instinct to protect vision was a powerful one in any lifeform with eyes, that rarely could be overcome. But still the Klingon stood, swinging his mighty fist blindly towards the Gorn and connecting hard with his snout, the sound of something hitting the ground as he managed to shatter a couple of the Gorns terrible teeth, the remains of them clattering onto the ground. Tatash: Why… won’t… you… stop Each of those words was delivered with another swing of his own tensed mechanical fist, the artificial limb whining, before suddenly stopping as Athaw gripped it in his hand. Tatash pushed, the Klingon pushed back causing the appendage to start whining under the duress. No matter how hard Tatash struggled against it, the fist would not budge, before finally with a dull cracking sound the servomotors failed and his limb decoupled itself with a spectacular spray of sparks, hanging limply by the Gorns side. Athaw: ? The sheer predatory feeling to finish the task bubbled up without any particular thought. It was a primal, surging need. A need to survive regardless of the cost. A need to survive and protect the data that was hidden in that smoking, ruined arm. Turning his long snout to the side Tatash heaved himself forward and wrapped his jaw firmly around the Klingon’s neck, sinking his teeth into that delicate, unprotected flesh, gripping firmly, before wrenching his head back with a sickening tearing sound. The confusion on Athaw’s stained face was obvious as Tatash discarded the contents of his mouth onto the ground, the gurgling strained sound coming from his opponent echoed as he staggered backwards blinded and dazed, before slipping on his own essence that was pooling on the floor under him in a rapidly growing circle, collapsing backwards. No more roars, no more triumphant cries or bold strikes. Clutching his throat desperately to stem the flow of blood the Klingon was down but at least alive. Whether he would remain that way would depend on how quickly the other battle in the room could be resolved, whether or not Kelemkor would see reason, or continue this reckless course. He turned his gaze towards the other group, fixing his grisly visage upon Kelemkor with his pain stick. He didn’t move towards them, just outstretched his arms with his clawed fingers spread and opened his mouth once towards the telepath, hissing loudly. He wanted Kelemkor to peer into his head, he yearned for it, he -wanted- him to experience every emotion running through him. The rage, the anger, the primordial satisfaction of his ancestors from downing such a powerful beast. The pride, the sheer and point blank savagery. Because then Kelemkor would know he would be next. Kelemkor/Taybrim/DeVeau: ? --- Major Tatash Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company) Starbase 118 Ops C239108T10
  11. This entire thing just made me laugh. ((IKS Yan – Unlisted Shuttebay 14)) A secret shuttlebay. A janky old B’Rel class warbird. Wearing his old, comfortable drifter clothing with his trusty Cardassian disruptor pistol in his boot. Could this mission get any better? Well yes, they could succeed, live, have a party filled with every type of egg dish imaginable and then all get to sit in hot tubs. Separate hot tubs, probably, at least for Zel’s latinum. The commline shrilled and he peeked his head out from underneath the helm console where he was hard at work with a laser welder, determined to get this thing performing to some degree of accuracy. It wasn’t quite ‘turn on a dime’ but at least it was no longer ‘turn on a half a planetoid.’ McLaren: =/\= McLaren to Zel. Get the ship ready to leave... you’ve got 5 minutes. =/\= Zel: =/\= I’ll have it ready for you in four. =/\= ::He stated with the utmost confidence:: =/\= What’s going on? =/\= McLaren: =/\= I’m on my way to the bridge now, I'll explain when I get there. =/\= Zel: =/\= Right on. =/\= Ok, time to finish up his work and get things heated up. The good thing was this was a simple system and it booted up far faster than a federation vessel of the same age. It also had far less finesse and relied mostly on the skill of the driver to prevent the thing from flying into a sun or crashing into a StarBase. Fortunately Zel liked to think of himself as a very good driver. Pulling himself out from under the helm console he saw his team gather at the cramped bridge area. Zel dusted himself off, looking every inch of a scrappy drifter. Looking every inch of who he was seven years ago. But a bit more well fed and a bit less broken down. Starfleet medical was a magical thing once he had stopped being utterly paranoid about doctors trying to kill him. McLaren: We're launching as soon as Tony and his team are aboard. Zel: Right on. Hey, on the bright side I got the computer banks working with Rue’s translation program, so Merry Birthoween, you can now read your consoles and panels in Federation Common! That was a legit holiday, right? Zel didn’t celebrate holidays. He just had a drink every time he didn’t die and that was celebration enough. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana: ? McLaren: The Cult is pushing the tempo... and they have Max too. Zel: That doesn’t sound good. Master of understatement, Zel Rohan was. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana: ? McLaren: I would have like another couple of hours, to be honest... but we dont have that luxury anymore. We'll have to finish everything else as we're in route. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana: ? Zel: I assuming we’re going to cloak as soon as we clear the Base’s shield array? That might have been the only thing that was fully working on the ship when it arrived. A bunch of things still weren’t working so hot. Not the least of which was the air circulation system, which made the dim, cramped bridge smell keenly of Klingon farts and fermented fish. Weapons targeting was still calibrating, though they should be able to finish that well before they reached Klingon space. And they had a shipment of emergency rations because the replicators were at best sketchy and at worst a surefire way to a week long stay in sickbay. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana/McLaren: ? Zel: And we should practice who we all are on this mission. I mean cover persona. Zel assumed he could still go as himself. But if Sol directed against it, he had a backup plan. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana/McLaren: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ pNPC Lieutenant JG Zel Rohan Helm officer StarBase 118 Ops
  12. I've really enjoyed having @Tatash in our group. I love his very picturesque narration style. His sims are always well thought out and artfully done. ((CO’s Office – Starbase 118)) The party they had all enjoyed not that long prior was well and truly over and the mood was dour as he stood outside the Commodores office waiting for the invitation in. The dreaded talk, the one that had been alluded to during the ceremony was upon them. He had given the other officers a nod as he strode his way in, before internally wincing as he saw Nugra sat among them. The subject matter would not be enjoyable for anyone, perhaps doubly so for another Gorn when it came to hearing the rumours and terrible days that could be potentially on the horizon for their mutual race. He tensed his fingers, drumming an impatient tune on the PADD he held behind his loose-fitting jackets back, a leather one that sat above dark trousers and boots. Even his comm-badge was tucked away inside his breast pocket with no Starfleet markings visible on him at all. His business was to blend in, to be the invisible one, and to avoid the crosshair painted on him as a Starfleet uniform tended to attract. He looked like any other freighter captain or fairly well to do trader that visited the station on a daily basis with mundanity. That was the illusion he needed to portray. His eyes found himself looking out one of the small windows, no way near as grand as the one the Commodore had in his office but it gave a good enough view of one of the smaller civilian flight-lanes, held in the almost endless traffic queues waiting for permission to dock. Little specks they were, drifting back and forth, tiny civilian ships coming and going like fireflies on a summer’s night blinking occasionally from their little beacons and lights. He almost felt jealous of them drifting around in their blissful ignorance with their simpler lives. Unburdened by the horrors of potential war and terrorism, seeking only the next trade deal or shipment or vacation. As the saying went, ignorance was indeed bliss. With a pop-hiss the doors opened with the Commodore waving them inwards. Tatash took the invitation, although he let the more senior officers in. Taybrim: Welcome everyone. And Thank Captain T’Aven and Captain Nugra for joining up before you head out. As promised the information pertinent to the Marchlands is first on the agenda. Please, come in and have a seat. Tatash gestured to the chairs letting the others take them, he was content to stand at the back. If he didn’t have the luxury of pacing the room to keep the oxygen flowing to his brain at least standing could do half as good a job. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? A grid of light played over them from a series of projectors, along with a slight fizzing sensation on his scales. The light was solely there to prove a point to anyone present that the room was being sealed, and anyone trying to snoop would be given a millisecond to turn off their devices before a Security detachment hunted them down. Taybrim: As the security layer indicates what we’re about to talk about is classified. ::he turned towards T’Aven and Nugra:: That said, I have shared the majority of this information with Commodore Rajel and you are granted permission to speak with her about any of this information. I trust you will take precautions when you do; but we need to take extra care here in the Trinity Sector as we are directly in the middle of the conflict I am about to explain. The Constitution is removed from it in your patrols of the Marchlands so there is less of a risk to your ship. Tatash: For now. An ominous warning, but it set the tone for the torrent of bad news that was about to come like a volley of miserable little bullets from the briefing notes. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? Taybrim: I know the Constitution has tangled with the Orion Syndicate before; and I have spoken of it with Jalana several times. The Syndicate has grown in power without having any real territory and holdings over the past two decades; much of it done while Starfleet erroneously believed the Syndicate was stamped out. They resurfaced about five years ago and we’ve been dealing with them ever since. Tatash nodded in agreement. The syndicate was an endless, festering tumour that sunk its malignant little tendrils into every part of the quadrant. You could kill one cell, you could shatter one ring, and another would simply regrow and take its place. Somehow independent, somehow a terrible whole. Taybrim: One of the most recent ventures of the Orion Syndicate has been supporting and funding a splinter cult within the Klingon Empire that calls themselves the Followers of Molor. They worship the tyrant Molor, defeated by Kahless, and follow a path of pain, chaos and dishonor. For centuries they have been little more than miscreant maladjusted outsiders that have stayed at the edges of Klingon society, but with the Syndicate support they have been able to amass a considerable amount of power which they have used to focus on one major goal: overthrowing the Klingon High Council and initiating a new regime. Tatash: It’s important to note that the cult is just that, it’s a sect. It isn’t tied to one specific house, instead it has a trace amount of just about every single one of the main powers in Qo’nos. That’s what’s making it so insidious. It’s the absolute indoctrination of its members that make it equally dangerous. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? Taybrim: Correct. The cult in and of itself is not that powerful. But they have drawn support from houses that do not care for the cult’s doctrine at all, but are happy to see the cult tear down the current Chancellor Daeshon and his progressive policies. Policies that have brought prosperity to the Empire at large, but drawn power and influence away from certain houses. Those houses are all too happy to turn a blind eye to the Cult’s doctrine in favor of using them as a tool to spark civil war. And those houses were absolutely ignorant of the bigger picture. Vying for power without appreciating the destabilising actions that would come with it. Every battle would leave even the winner with cuts, and eventually they would simply bleed themselves out. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? Sal now turned and let his gaze fall on T’Aven and then Nugra in particular. Taybrim: I’m afraid it’s more worrisome than that. Starting Klingon Civil war is a task beyond the power of the Cult, so they have tried a different tactic which they are far more likely to succeed in. The Cult has been aggressing the Gorn Hegemony along the border, trying to incite a war between the Hegemony and the Empire – which would internally destabilize the Empire and leave it ripe for a revolution of the worst kind. Tatash met the Commodores gesture and nodded. He was up. Tatash: Before I proceed, I have to remind everyone that this information has been classified as top secret. Even then, the information has had the sources redacted and scrubbed to protect our intelligence assets in various locations. Everyone that has been given access to this information has been recorded, and even then it's only a handful. He looked at Nugra specifically. It was not a pleasant conversation to discuss intelligence about your own species, let alone when it was gathered through clandestine means. ‘Various locations’ always included allies, friends and neutral parties as well as hostile powers People seemed to forget that Starfleet Intelligence had just as many ears as any of the major powers' secret little clubs like the Tal Shiar or Obsidian Order, Starfleet was just far more pleasant about going about it in their day to day operation. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash pressed something on his PADD, projecting a map of the bordering space between the Gorn Hegemony and the Klingon Empire in mid-air, one half a golden colour, the other the default Red of the Empire. Various icons representing each powers fleets and battle groups hung in static locations. Tatash: This is the current fleet movements of both powers recorded by our deep sensor units, as it was a month ago. This is now. He pressed another button, large arrows of movement appearing from those various icons as one by one they began to drift towards each other, heading towards that diagonally-slashed line that denoted the buffer between the two. It was easily visible there was a far greater number of red icons than gold. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash nodded. Tatash: The cults actions are having an effect, these manoeuvres are not standard exercises or logistical movements. The discord that they have been sowing between the two powers is causing posturing on both sides. It was hoped that the fleet movements alone would be the sole demonstration of power. However… The screen changed, a new set of icons appearing on several Gorn planets near the border. Tatash: In response to the disparity of power fleet, these planets have been heavily rumoured to have received an unknown number of strategic subspace weapons on long range platforms, similar to the Cardassian ATR-4107 units, autonomous delivery systems with guidance systems designed to evade most countermeasures. Interestingly, the Gorn are being uncharacteristically noisy about their deployment spreading ripples deliberately in the right intelligence channels to get noticed. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash nodded, his finger hovering over the button. Tatash: They want to send a message. The Hegemony would never win an outright war with the Empire, so they are ensuring they have a visible deterrent. However, if the deterrent should fail… He pressed the button. The map changed, unrecognisably so. Swathes of the starfield had become blobs dotted with red ‘x’s, Qo’nos itself was surrounded by them, large areas of Gorn border space wrapped in a shroud of equally black unmarked space, and along the bottom of the horrible was a large number. Impossibly large. Billions large. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash: Those dark areas with the crosses are subspace rifts caused by prolonged use of subspace weapons, warp travel would be rendered virtually impossible inside them. The Hegemony would be defeated, but the cost would be catastrophic to the Empire and near extinction for the Gorn who would charisterically fight to the last. The figure along the bottom there is the predicted number of deaths by the conflict, and with an Empire on it’s knees and a subjugated race desperate for aid, the Syndicate would have absolute free reign over picking the carcass of both clean. This is what they would consider a -satisfactory- outcome. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: --- Major Tatash Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company) Starbase 118 Ops C239108T10
  13. Who says you can't sim an unconscious character? ((Starbase 118 – Sickbay)) Things had gotten really intense, and with the alcohol on board, Tony could go either way. If there was anything a Marine didn’t do, it was back down from a fight. In fact, there were few things a Marine would rather do that participate in a close order knuckle drill. Throw a little of the liquid courage on top of the already adrenaline and testosterone induced thrill seeking ego, and it was likely to be on. All Nalni was doing was making it easy for Tony to enjoy the evening. Then the room spun, and the floor came very quickly to meet him. He barely felt the deck as he hit it, and then the peaceful wave came to him. The alcohol doing exactly what it was supposed to do. Nalni: A Delta-wave inducer, eh? One last chance, Tony. ::pulls his arm:: Like I said, cut the [...] out. Going to give up or what? What happened next was really strange. Instead of trying to figure out how to operate the tool, Tony’s breathing fell shallow and rhythmic, and he slept letting out a few snores for good measure. Nalni’s emotions were all over the place which included confusion, turmoil, and regret as she scattered off the man and scooted herself across the floor. McLaren: Nalni... give me the hypospray. Now. Nalni glanced up with a worried expression written on her features and nodded. She didn’t even notice the security officers come inside as McLaren took the hypo and set it down on one of the trays near the bio beds. Trusting the commander to handle Nalni, she stepped forward to quickly and quietly brief the officers on what had just occurred. They nodded, then they took up positions, each one covering an end of the biobed, ready to react should Nalni try anything else. The Barzan officer pushed herself off and looked from one side of the room to the other, then towards Solaris. McLaren: No... sit down on that biobed... and do not move. Or I will have security escort you to the brig. With a guard watching over the rather perplexed Barzan, Kherys turned her focus to Tony who snored lightly, prone on the floor. Grabbing a tricorder, she ran a quick scan over him. Nalni: I didn’t even activate the hypospray? ::sits down on the biobed:: You can even see for yourselves. ::scratches her head:: Meeks: ZZZzzzzzzz…. ZZZZzzzzzz The commander signaled for a couple of larger, stronger nurses to come and assist. The two crouched down and attempted to move the marine, then agreed to go get others to assist. Kherys allowed them to do their job and stepped back. McLaren: He going to be ok? Harper: Yes. He’s just asleep - nothing she did had anything to do with that. His limbic system output is off the charts, though. And this is definitely not Tony. He’s never been so….so forceful. Ever. He’s literally a giant teddy bear. Nalni: And I’m usually more constrained with my emotions. I don’t know what came over me. Meeks: ZZZZzzzzzzz… ZzzzzzzZZzzz. McLaren: Now... where were we before all that unpleasantness? Harper: As I was saying ::before they got interrupted and Kherys had only managed to tell the commander part of what she’d discovered.::, something is causing their hormones to spike. Honestly, it’s not even just their hormones, it’s their entire limbic system, and their automatic nervous system. Both play roles in controlling emotions, particularly romantic emotions...and fight and flight responses. Kherys turned back to the two consoles, Nalni’s and Tony’s information both still lit up on the screen. Pointing, she circled the areas as she spoke about them. Harper: These scans were taken at their last physicals. This and this…::She pointed to the left side of each screen.:: are parts of their brain that work with these two systems. Over here…:: She pointed first to Tony’s recent scan, then Nalni’s.:: Show that these parts are actually overactive. Right now, it’s like they’re...on fire! They can’t help but feel emotions, and what emotions they feel, well that’s determined by whatever’s affecting them and how their body is processing...this.... The Barzan sat up with her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She shivered at the thought as Kherys described what was going on. Nalni: I would really like to stop feeling this way... Meeks: ZZZzzZzzz… ZZZZZzzzzz… McLaren: Right... if you need scans of unaffected people... you can start with me. Then, I can go sift through some assuredly boring surveillance files… Kherys nodded, glancing over to where the six nurses had finally managed to gently get the marine on a bio bed. She moved away from him and Nalni and over to a different one. Motioning for McLaren to sit, she proceeded to run scans over her. That done, she turned to look them over. Harper: Yes. See, yours...all normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. I have what I need, ma’am, if you want to go check the surveillance. Meeks: ZzZZzzzzz… ZZZZZzzzzz… McLaren: While I do that... maybe you and the Lieutenant... :: She cast an icy glare at Nalni, implying that it wasn't really a suggestion. :: can go gather samples of food or drink… Harper: Honestly, Commander, I would prefer to keep Lieutenant Nalni under confinement. I don’t trust her ability to remain level headed at this time. She’s affected too. Normally, well not so normally right now, but in the heat of the moment, Nalni would’ve argued with the cadet. After hearing what was described a few moments ago, she was too scared about what she might do if she were to go anywhere, but sickbay. Nalni: She’s right, Commander. I’m too afraid of what or who I might harm if I go anywhere else. ::worries her lip:: I don’t want anyone else to go through what Tony just endured... McLaren: ? Meeks: SNORT! …ZZZzzzzz…zzzZZZzzzz Harper: Pardon commander...I think we may have what we need right here. Without another word, Kherys turned and hurried after the most recent visitor. McLaren: ? Meeks: ::Mumbling:: Mhmnm… ZZZzzzzzzz. Nalni: Given that I’m more aware of my actions, yet can’t seem to stop them, why would he be more different than whatever I’m going through? She glanced over at wherever Kherys was going and then back to Solaris. The imposing security officers didn’t look too friendly and Nalni knew why. It was because of her own actions and her dangerous side that Nalni didn’t know she had. McLaren/Harper: ? Meeks: ZZzzzzzzzzz… Zzzzzzzzz… Nalni: It was, like, as if a not so fond memory of what happened to me a few years ago just suddenly let me loose. McLaren /Harper: ? Meeks: ZZZZzzzzzzzzz… Nalni: I thought I had dealt with it, but apparently my mind thought otherwise. It’s no excuse for my behavior though. For what it’s worth… ::glances down at her knees wrapped in her arms:: I’m sorry. McLaren/Harper: ? Meeks: ZZZZzzzzzz… ZZzzz… ::Rustling:: Huh? Tony sat up on the bed, looking around. A wave of intense pain struck him right between the eyes. It felt like someone had stuck a hot fire poker through his temple. Not only that, but his mouth tasted like… well… it didn’t taste good. Meeks: ::Rubbing his head, still slurring his speech:: What the hell happened? How’d I get up here? McLaren/Harper/Nalni: ? Meeks: Nah. The last thing I remember was getting socked in the head, then nada. McLaren/Harper/Nalni: ? Meeks: Can somebody hand me that trash can? McLaren/Harper/Nalni: ? Tags/TBC 1Lt. Anthony Meeks Company Commander 1/292nd TMR D Co. Starbase 118 Ops/USS Narendra R238801IG0
  14. This hit home. ((Denobula - The City of Loxt on the Uvax Continent - 22 years ago)) The hospital thrived with activity, doctors and nurses abounding, students tagging along with their mentors like so many Denobulan turtle-ducks. The teaching hospital was the largest and one of the most esteemed in the Southern Continent, and was thus never “slow.” Patients from across the quadrant came to this hospital not just for the quality of treatment they would receive, but to be a part of the constant array of clinical trials and new drug testing that occurred year round. On the 56th level of the hospital was the neurology clinic. The two large bay doors opened into the ward directly from the four crystal clear elevators, each in a clear tube with a spectacular view of the tropical environment preserved despite there being a bustling city. The greenery and nature was a Denobulan necessity… nature provided the foundation for most of their scientific advancements, and thus they respected it… lived with it, rather than cementing the lot of it. Instead, they built *upwards.* One could be pestered by the famous Denobulan lemur in the arrival lot, or even on the roof of the extremely tall building, as the exterior was also prime climbing, with effort taken by the architects to include natures needs in the designs. Patients inside the building could witness an array of small warm-blooded animals climbing past the windows or launching off the bird sills from inside their rooms. Meanwhile, all the creature comforts you could want were included inside. Denobula was so tropical, in fact, that for the very longest time there was no concept of frozen water in their scientific records. It didn’t exist naturally on Denobula, and the discovery of it only happened after refrigeration technology was created. Nestled between three lovely stars in the system, the night on Denobula lasted a scant 3 hours… save for a single day per year where the stars eclipsed and total darkness fell for the full period of a single rotation. The short night cycle might explain why Denobulans needed little more than 4 hours sleep per rotation, and supplemented it with a hibernation cycle. But on that 56th level of the tapered skyscraper, the interior was clean and white, the smell of sterilizing cleanser the only remarkable scent. Neurology patients were ushered to their appointments as they arrived by those four large elevators, into the private offices. One of those offices belonged to Doctor Deneve Phax, lead neurological specialist for the ward and a renowned surgeon who was sought out for the most complicated of cases. He was in the middle of a massive clinical trial and the next several weeks would be filled with data searching patient reactions, as well as monitoring progress of the double-blind groups… the active agent, the placebo, and the control group. The clear elevator to the far left opened and a small purple haired Denobulan-Human hybrid burst into the room and past the reception desk. Ashley: ::waving:: Hi Miss Mat’ea! Nurse Mat’ea: ::smiling at the familiar child:: Hello, Ashley. Did you get taller again? Ashley: I’m two whole centimeters taller since last time! Nurse Mat’ea: Are you sure it isn’t three? The small child pushed at the large door into the workplace, barely able to move it by himself. In reality he was small for his age, but the nurse would never say so out loud. She used one hand high above his head to help him open the door, while letting Ashley think he’d done it himself. Lagging behind the energetic seven year old was a blond Human woman, his mother. A surgeon and general practitioner in her own right, they were on the search for her husband. Nurse Mat’ea: ::smiling and nodding respectfully:: Doctor Yael. Good to see you. Lina smiled at the woman as she followed through the doorway into the workplace, following her son. He knew the way to the office space, so there was little reason to slow him down. She could hear his voice from the hallway before she arrived in the right office. Ashley: Dad! Guess how many lemurs I saw today! Doctor Deneve: I imagine it’s a lot to justify this much *noise*. The bland response didn’t diminish the child's excitement. Ashley: Seventeen lemurs! A single eyebrow rose, the harsh tone lightening up ever so slightly. Doctor Deneve: That *is* a lot of lemur. Doctor Yael: ::stepping inside the office:: Hello sweetie. Deneve nodded to his wife, having expected her to not be far behind their son. Doctor Yael: We’ve hardly seen you this week. Ashley missed you. Ashley: Daddy can I cut out a brain pleeeeeeaase? His father snorted with a well contained edge of humor, while his mother laughed lightly. Doctor Yael: He wants to be *just* like you, you know. Ashley: I’ve studied *lots!* I know what a thasalmus is now. Doctor Deneve: ::with a hint of a smile, then dryly:: Alas, none of my patients need their *thalamus* removed today. Ashley busied himself looking through the texts on a nearby shelf, but only the ones on the shelf he could reach of course. Doctor Deneve: Don’t make a mess. Lina frowned at her husband. She knew he wouldn’t be happy to be interrupted, but in truth it had been two weeks since the man had spent a spare moment at home. Denobulans were notoriously patient when it came to this sort of thing, this was true. But *she* was Human and her son half so, and they *missed* him. Deneve knew this full well, but it no longer seemed to register as something that was important… even though it had used to. In fact, she was starting to question the whole marriage. She was still trying to make it work for the sake of her son… the son the Denobulan man seemed less than interested in. She’d never imagined he would be such a *gruff* father, or so absent. Denobulans were so family oriented, after all. She’d heard the gossip in the rest of the family. Deneve’s second wife had had a frank conversation with Lina about the things he would tell her… the Denobulan woman was concerned, so shared out of that concern. She’d told Lina that he was increasingly annoyed at his Human wife’s lack of interest in having more children yet. But it was how he treated his *existing* son that stopped her doing so… she also knew what he’d said about Ashley. That their son was a genetic dead end. And she was having trouble reconciling her feelings for the man, more so every day... and if she were to have more children, there was a statistically relevant risk they would also have Theoron's Disorder. Could she have more children knowing the man wouldn't bond with them if they weren't perfect? She could feel the hypospray in her pocket. The one filled with the daily required medication her son had to take. It was handy to keep on person, in case of a worsening day or an accident that caused a surge in symptoms, but thankfully he was mostly symptom free… he’d been medicated since he was diagnosed in utero. The hypo-spray was a cruel but realistic representation of her sons limitations in life, but he was still too young to understand what it really meant… so she carried the weight for him, wanting him to have as much of an innocent childhood as she could supply for him. She never failed to smile at how many lemurs he counted through the windows. At how excited he was about *everything* he saw. At how proud he was when he learned what a “thasalmus” was. And it pained her every time he cried because he missed his father. Or told her he wanted to be just like daddy and help people's brains get better. Still, she tried to facilitate the strong familial connection, and pushed for them to spend time together. If Deneve could just take a moment and *see* his son, imagine for just a moment who he could grow to be, maybe it could still work... Because she could see the unfortunate failures where her innocent son could only see love and joy. And she was starting to wonder what Ashley would think of the frozen mountains of her home back on Earth, the glaciers and wildlife of Alaska. It was a place you either loved or hated… and it was a vast departure from the tropics of Denobula. Ashley pulled a large text off the shelf, having some trouble with the weight of the tomb before plopping down onto the floor and rifling through the book for interesting pictures. Doctor Yael: I know how *busy* you are, dear. But I hoped you could spare time for lunch with your son. Doctor Deneve: I can’t. Large amethyst eyes looked up from a book illustration of the Denobulan spinal cord. Ashley: Mommy, I’m really hungry. Doctor Yael: I know, sweetie. We’re getting lunch soon. ::pausing:: Please, Phax? The sauted lemur kidney at the cafe on the corner is to die for, and I know you haven’t had a non-replicated meal in weeks. The same lemurs climbing the walls of the hospital also happened to be a delicacy. Another reason to bolster a healthy population, as Denobulans were largely carnivorous in nature. Doctor Deneve: Hmm… ::he paused, finally tempted:: Fine. But just a quick lunch. The family stepped out of the office area and toward the crystal clear lift doors. The small purple tinted boy lifted a hand to take the hem of his fathers coat, his other hand clasped in his mothers fingers. He was ecstatic his father was coming. Ashley: Can I have lemur kidneys too? Doctor Yael: Oh? How many lemur kidneys do you think you can eat? Ashley: I can eat *five!* Doctor Yael: ::feigning shock:: Five?! That’s almost three whole lemurs worth of kidneys! Doctor Deneve: ::glancing down:: Isn’t that a rather *adult* meal for him? Doctor Yael: It’s a special treat. He’s been looking forward to seeing you. The small Denobulan-Human hybrid tugged on his fathers coat, huge amethyst eyes gazing up at the much taller Denobulan. Ashley: Daddy? How many lemur kidneys can *you* eat? Inwardly, Lina hoped Phax knew not to say any more than five, since her son would try and force them down until he matched any number his father said. Doctor Deneve: I think I might top out at four myself. Small favors, Ashley’s mother sighed in relief, smiling as they walked out into the heat. Nobody wanted a food-sickened seven year old barfing up hot lemur kidneys everywhere. ************************ Doctor Deneve Phax Neurosurgeon & Father & Doctor Lina Yael General Surgeon & Mother & Ashley Deneve Yael Adorable Munchkin C238211TZ0
  15. OOC: I really relished the opportunity to see more of Prudence Blackwell - and of course, Ashley. ((Starbase 118 Ops - Habitat Ring)) Ashley was making his way to the Consumer Sector for some socializing in his off time. He’d changed out of his uniform and into something sporty. Black leggings, trainers with a white slash on the sides, and a stylishly washed out gunmetal grey v-neck t-shirt with three-quarter sleeves. One didn’t need to dress to the hilt to visit Verriars Bar, after all, and it was getting somewhat late. He expected the Tongo Wheel would be spinning loud by now. Stepping onto the turbolift, he turned to face the doorway as it closed and clasped his hands behind him, as he was prone to do. Yael: Consumer District. Verriars. The electro-stabilizing gloves he wore were no longer hidden… he would normally wear full sleeves, self-consciously, but he was getting better about not worrying about it as he got used to wearing them. The turbolift stopped not far along to allow another rider on, and he momentarily set his amethyst eyes on the person who entered the lift. Rue was dressed for relaxation, frivolity, and entirely unprofessionally - but at the same point, she was still modest. She wore a long skirt made of a soft fabric, with pockets - a utility that Rue refused to go without, soft flat shoes and a long sleeved shirt. Blackwell::Rue had done some shopping herself. She didn’t attempt to accumulate material goods as a habit - but she did like meaningful things. Trinkets. And she liked to see what the different districts would bring as potential momentos from different cultures. Treasures and the like. She had found a few items - a new shawl for wearing when she was off duty, and a necklace, that she carried in a bag. She stepped into the lift and gave a genial grin:: Hello, there. Thanks for holding the lift” Yael: Good evening, Lieutenant. No problem. The Denobulan hybrid nodded politely and smiled that oh-so-cheerfull Denobulan smile at the Human who stepped onto the turbolift, and stepped slightly aside for her to board comfortably. He didn’t recognize her, but had the passing thought that the cropped haircut she sported was very flattering… and she was *shorter* than him! Almost nobody was, so he definitely noticed when they were. Blackwell: ::She smiled to the Denoulan with a bright smile herself. Rue ws intensely used to being shorter than just about everyone, and so she didn’t note the surprise he had. She did offer a warm hand to him:: I’m Prudence Blackwell, and you are? He didn’t reach out his hand, avoiding the contact, though his smile remained. He was about to politely explain he doesn't shake hands, give her his name, when the lift started to move again to take them each to their destination in the closest order, and there was a moment of quiet among the occupants as they waited. But it was only a moment… the lights flickered. Ashley glanced upward instinctively to look at the lights, but there was a sudden jerk. He was thrown to his left… or rather, the lift jerked to the right… throwing him right into the Human next to him, and into the wall. As they chatted, Rue was quietly aware of an nearly indistinct shift in the lift. She was sensitive to the rhythms and the workings of both space station and the ship. However, she had nary a chance to comment on something being strange when the lights blinked, and then all was a heave to the right, the left, and then she was on the floor of the lift with a Denublian in her lap. She gasped a bit, eyes wide as she looked to Ashley, her brow furrowed in stew of confusion, worry, concern, and some embarrassment, sprinkled with relief that she was able to break his fall. And then she heard a creak. And her mouth opened. Then the lift plummeted. It fell just long enough to put them into the air and allow them to free-fall before the safeties slammed into gear, stopping the lift from falling any further, at which point they unceremoniously crashed onto the floor. The Denobulan cursed beneath his breath as he caught his breath and found himself sprawled on the floor, rather ungracefully and atop the Lieutenant. His midsection draped across hers, his arm draped across her arm... and he jerked away as quickly as he realized they were in direct contact, but the anxiety that the lift wasn’t stable took precedence. He pushed up onto his palms and his amethyst eyes shot to the Human in the lift, hoping she wasn’t injured. He thought he was alright, but that had been quite the sudden ride. As Inertia floated them above the floor, Rue had the brief thought that it was not the drop that was frightening - it was that sudden stop at the end. And in this case, as physics combined in a hilarious fashion to bring the floor to them rather than they go to the floor. And there was a thud. Oh. Rue had promised herself no injuries on this shore leave, and it seemed that was a promise she was going to break - but at least it was not her ribs, which were instead, from what she could tell, bruised. She barely noticed Yael moving quickly away to avoid the awkwardness of draping himself over her, sitting up and rubbing her ribs. Yael: Are you okay? Blackwell: I am, are you? That’s not a normal function of the lift, I assure you of that. ::She frowned and stood up, wishing she had her PADD with her. Instead, she would have to make due with a bit of wits and intuition. She stood up, offering her hand to help him up as well, and looked towards the panel.::: Yael: Perhaps… we should notify someone. Blackwell::She rubbed her side and grinned:: Likely, but in the mean time let me see if I can figure out what is happening. Do you want to comm someone while I look? ::she moved over to the panel, taking her hands off her side::: Of course, the computer would already be alerting the proper persons of the malfunction. These things did happen on such a large station. It was as Rue touched the panel that she was suddenly aware her hands were shaking. She wasn’t normally so...easy to startle, but the adrenaline was up. Her body was simply responding to that. She shook her head, took a breath, and opened the panel. And then... The lights suddenly flicked off, and they were plunged now into the darkness. Thankfully an emergency light blinked to life a few moments after… but not before Ashley cringed, having expected another drop to happen. Blackwell:::Her heart was pounding in her cheat, a hard beat that was in her ears. She took a deep breath, pressing her hand on the wall of the lift and closing her eyes, her back towards Yael:: Seems like...we are okay. Yael: Thankfully… it seems to be holding steady, for the moment. Though he had a firm grip on the wall just in case… not that it would guarantee their safety, but he felt more stable as his eyes adjusted quickly to the low light. Blackwell: Yeah ::She exhaled and turned, looking to Ashley and gave a half grin:: What is your name? I’m afraid I didn’t catch it in the plummeting. Yael: Ensign Counselor Yael. ::pausing:: Ashley. Blackwell: It is nice to meet you, Ashley ::She offered a hand to shake. It was there she noticed the gloves, and momentarily hoped that she had not walked right into a gaffe:: Yael: It’s okay… ::he tried to smile through the nerves::... I don’t shake hands. Nothing personal, I promise. Blackwell:: I think I managed to bruise a rib or two..nothing worrisome. ::She then took a moment to consider the lift:: But this should not have happened, and we should have had a contact by now. Yael: Are you an engineer? ::noticing now her attention to the panel:: Perhaps we could notify them directly. Blackwell:::She considered for a moment. Turbolifts worked through the power of alternating electrical currents that allowed the lift itself to ascend and descend. It could break if power was out, if there was a breech in the lines, faults in the channels carrying the currents - there were numerous possibilities. And what was frustrating was that likely the fault was - external- rather than internal to the lift:: Which meant barring her doing something reckless, they were for the moment, stuck. Blackwell::She hit her comm badge and frowned for a moment as the chirp did not seem to connect. Another clue, and another frustration. Something was jamming the signal. It could very well be the disruption in the current. She exhaled and looked to Yael:: We may be here for a while… Yael: ::trying his comm badge, which chirped strangely:: I certainly hope this isn’t a *systemic* problem. We could be in here for a while if it’s not just the lift. Can you... try anything from the panel? Blackwell: Well - ::She turned and looked back to the panel for a moment. She did not have her PADD, but she did have her tricorder - she rarely left without that. She pulled it out of the pocket of her skirt and scanned the controls, just to see if there was any disruption with the lift itself. She swallowed as her suspicions were confirmed:: I think I know what is happening. Yael: And that is? ::curiously, framed by the red emergency light:: Blackwell: The lift seems fine - I think the problem is with the shaft itself. The question is - how extensive is the problem ::she gave a faint grimace:: The Denobulan gave her a concerned smile now, noting her less than enthusiastic expression and tone. Yael: … I’m afraid I’m less than technically apt… what do you mean? Blackwell: Meaning - we know that above us was a rather rough go….below could be as bad if the disruption is widespread. Yael: So… we stay put then. They’ll notice the malfunction soon enough. He was trying to console them both with the knowledge they couldn’t be lost or stuck somewhere for *too* long without it being noticed. Then he tried not to laugh, though he did chuckle lightly. Yael: I… don’t suppose you were in a *hurry* to get anywhere? Blackwell:::She rubbed her ribs for a moment and exhaled:: Weeellllll... Yael: Because if you were, *those* plans are canceled. A small joke in the face of their unexpected incarceration in the dead lift. Blackwell: Yeah….::She shook her head and put her hands up:: I guess for now...we get comfortable. ::She smiled, and leaned against the wall of the turbo lift::: Yael: Your ribs are okay? I kind of… well, *landed* on you. Quite rude of me. Blackwell: I wasn’t aware you could control inertia with propriety ::She softly chuckled:: But no, I’m all right. Just a bit banged up. Yael: I recently broke a couple ribs, it’s not something I wish on anyone. Blackwell:::she rubbed her hands together and nodded quietly:: I have had that too, and not eager to repeat it. But I am all right. What about you? ::She smiled back:: Where were you going before this...happened? Yael: I was heading to Verriar’s. The tongo wheel was calling to me. ::pausing:: It will still be there when we’re freed. There was that Denobulan patience at work. He leaned back against the wall now, less gripping it and more relaxing against it, confidence growing they wouldn’t fall again now that the safeties had caught them. Blackwell: That is true. I suppose if nothing else, we can call this an unplanned meet and greet. Yael: ::smiling:: If you wanted my attention, I offer walk-in hours. Blackwell::She chuckled and moved to sit down across from him, knees bent. She stretched out her arms and rested her elbows on her knees:: So - we haven’t met before, are you a new arrival? Yael: I’ve been here a couple weeks now. I was stationed here years ago though, so it already feels familiar to me. ::pausing:: And yourself? Ashley took to mimicking her posture, sliding his back down the wall and crossing his legs beneath him to sit, though he kept his back against the wall when he did. Blackwell: Been here for a bit but still..::She moved her head back and forth a bit:: Adjusting. I came here after a bit of a personal life change and so...been shifting gears from that. ::She grinned a bit:: So tell me what made you join StarFleet, Counselor. Yael: Oh, the same old story. Kid looks up at the stars and asks, “what’s out there?” I love being out here in deep space. ::pausing:: I like being one of the first to see what’s newly discovered. Blackwell:::She smiled softly to that, linking her fingers together:: I can’t say I felt any different. For me there was a family element..more or less to get out, adventure, experience things that you just can’t planetside. Yael: It also conveniently puts a few billion AU between me and my father. That one was more a joke, mostly, despite being true. But who couldn’t relate to having a somewhat oppressive parent one wanted to escape from? Blackwell:::She raised a brow to that and chuckled:: That’s also a common story. And while I get along with my mother and most of my family, it is nice to have some distance ::She smiled to that, if a bit vague, and picked at thread on her skirt::: Yael: You mentioned a personal life change? That it was giving you trouble? Blackwell:::There was a glance from her skirt and to his face, and back again, and chuckled faintly:: Ah, Counselor - eager to listen? Yael: Hey, it’s what counselors do. We listen. *If* you’d like to talk. Perhaps I could help you adjust. Blackwell: It’s not really that interesting… :her shoulders rose and then fell slowly:: Yael: Is there something holding you back? Something you miss where you came from? Blackwell: My father died ::She finally said succinctly::: Yael: Oh… ::pausing:: I’m sorry. Blackwell: No, it’s alright ::She smiled and exhaled slowly:: It has been a while since he died and while I miss him...it hurts differently now. Yael: What do you mean? Blackwell: I suppose it’s more …:she rubbed her hands together, and quietly popped the knuckles of her right hand:: It’s less of a sharp pang and more of a dull ache that comes and goes. I can forget about it during work, or when I’m busy. ::and a sort of wane smile:: And comes back when I start thinking about calling my family. Yael: ::his smile was softer:: I see. You sound like you were close to your father. Blackwell: We were very close. My father was in many ways my rock...not a hero persay...but he just always had an affable way of convincing me...that as strange as the universe is, it all fits together. Yael: It does seem to have a strange way of working itself out, doesn’t it? ::nodding:: She pushed her hair from her face and looked down for a moment. Her father had seen the universe as a discordant but glorious symphony - countless instruments and voices all adding into a sublime arrangement that resonated through every single person and being. Even though he never left planet side, and was largely taken with his near obsessive study of strange antiquities, there were also moments that he would widen his gaze to reflect on the fact that beyond the world, there were other worlds and lives happening. He found it endlessly fascinating to look at older works, prior to when First Contact occurred, and to wonder how humans kept their hopes alive even when they thought they were alone. And to him, the answer was simple - they knew instinctively they were not, and it was just a matter of the first meeting happening. He was strange like that. Strange and wonderful. And Rue missed that. Blackwell: He just tended to think that..no matter how complex the picture, how complex the work, even if it was madness or chaotic, there was always some unifying thread….so to speak. ::Then she laughed:: Then again, he also did think that ketchup could go on just about everything. Yael: ::laughing lightly:: Clearly a mad-man. ::pausing:: Ketchup is the *red* sauce, correct? Blackwell: Terran Condiment - comprised of tomatoes, salt, vinegar, a few other things - and not normally what one would suggest for deserts. ::she grimaced and laughed:: So ….how about you? Why a starbase? Yael: It’s the most intriguing collection of types of people. Which makes my job as a psychologist that much more interesting. It’s a whole different kind of world, far from home. She knew why she had chosen a starbase - her urge to be in strange unfamiliar places on a constant basis had waned after her father’s death. She felt herself strangely needing an anchor point for her life. The starbase for now, was that. Blackwell: Well, it - is- different. Certainly you're far from home, but you are also at the same point, we have sort of a static arrangement. Literally, we are a home base. Yael: For so many different sorts. ::he nodded in agreement:: The lights flickered slightly, but the lift held steady. It was as if the lift was reminding them of their precarious position. Ashley tapped his comm badge once more but got the same delayed chirp, a failure to connect. Incredibly odd to say the least. Rue exhaled in an empathetic sense of frustration. What - was- taking the engineers of the station so long to look into what was happening, and more importantly solve it. Yael was very pleasant to talk with, but somehow spending the rest of their careers in the turbo lift not what she had in mind. Yael: Though I imagine you wish you were elsewhere… I’m glad I’m not in here alone He was realizing how close that had been near to happening. It wasn’t as if being alone for a few minutes would kill him, but he was already feeling properly trapped in the small space. She turned to him and smiled gently, but her brow started to furrow in concern. Blackwell: Why is that? Yael: Denobulans don’t do very well in isolation. I suppose the station is great for those purposes as well, there’s never a lack of people to meet, things to do, events to attend. I never feel lonely here. Blackwell: Well, that’s true - I mean we are always surrounded by people unless we are in your quarters ::She considered that quietly, though privately considered that at times one could feel lonely even surrounded, but she turned her thoughts to the Denobian, listening as he spoke:: Yael: When I first arrived they tried to assign me to these sprawling quarters. Two extra rooms, separate kitchen. Far too much space for just a place to sleep. I talked them down to a studio economy suite with a view of one of the docking pylons. They can give the larger space to a family that needs it. Blackwell:::She chuckled:: Practical, but also sweet and thoughtful. ::a quick grin to that:: . My own quarters are ...comfortable. Living area is practical, but in my bedroom, I hung tapestries and lights to try and create...I guess a sense of privacy and safety. ::She smiled a bit to that:: Yael: ::as if asking for more, but smiling at the thought:: Tapestries? Blackwell: I like to feel a bit like I’m…::She shrugged a little bit for a moment and looked sheepish:: Like a kid’s fort I suppose ::She wasn’t sure if he would know the reference. Did Denobian’s make pillow forts?::: Yael: ::now he chuckled at the vision building in his mind:: A kid’s fort? Inside your bedroom? Weren’t kids forts made of wood and put up into trees? Perhaps he was thinking of the wrong Human custom. Blackwell: Oh well, Blankets and such over chairs, just a place to hide. Just a place to escape my parents or my brother as a kid ::She laughed:: I suppose it’s a bit silly. But Harmless. Yael: Ahhh, I see. ::he chuckled lightly now that he was getting the idea:: I suppose I could compare my bed. A ridiculous number of pillows and blankets… Denobulans can tend to *nest in*. It’s good to indulge in a little frivolous comfort, I think. Blackwell:: I think we always need time for a bit of frivolity and just being silly. It is what keeps us sane. ::She grinned:: I’ve even known a vulcan prone to a bit of frivolity. He would read salacious novels with me. Yael: A Vulcan reading salacious novels? Now *that* I’d pay latinum to see. Blackwell: There can be a lot to learn from pursuits that have quote un quote no purpose ::She grinned:: and even better, you learn it without realizing it and without feeling like it’s work. That was the truth. She could reflect on a few points where she had taken time out just to relax, just to do something that was utterly ridiculous, and ended up gaining something she hadn’t expected from the experience. Memories or a knowledge that just could not be planned for. Ashley was finding he quite enjoyed Lieutenant Blackwell’s company. In fact she seemed to be a bit of fresh air… stuck in the turbolift, they needed all the fresh air they could get. Yael: All we need is a campfire and some snacks. No weather, so we don’t need a tent. Blackwell: That would get their attention ::she exhaled:: the campfire at least ...when the sensors went off ::she chuckled and looked to Yael:: I do like camping though. I don’t get to go often. Yael: Perhaps you could join me sometime? At Verriars, if you’re into the bar scene or tongo, or on the holodeck? I have a feeling we’d have enormous fun. Blackwell: Why not ::a warm smile on her lips and she looked up:: Though for that to happen...we are going to need to get out of here. ::And then she stopped, as she heard a thump on the top of the lift:: ….Let’s hope that is good news? The Denobulan hybrid glanced up toward the roof at the sound, and a bit of relief ran through him. Yael: Sounds like there’s someone above us. Blackwell: They have specialized devices to come out on the lifts and do routine repairs ::she considered and exhaled, wishing there was a way to see on the top:: Yael: How do we know it’s a crew? ::he glanced at her with a grin:: Maybe it’s a turbolift monster. A “gremlin on the wing,” isn’t it? Blackwell: Well...If we listen closely ::She pressed her ear against the wall and closed her eyes, focusing, and then smiled:: ...Sounds like something is working. We - may- be in luck. Which is good because I was about to take matters into my own hands…::she grinned wide:: Yael: How so? I would think the most we could do from in here is *yell* very loudly into the nether. Blackwell: Climb to the top of the lift and see if I could get a repair done on my own ::she winked:: But you won’t have to see me do derring do just right now. Yael: You’d climb on top of a broken lift, from inside it? ::he chuckled lightly:: That’s a pretty bold thing to do. Blackwell: Oh I can be pretty...bold when I put my mind to it ::She laughed softly and shrugged:: I - try- to keep it limited to when it’s absolutely necessary but only when I’m at risk or there is no other option….hence why I’ve been really patient. Yael: Starfleet does attract bold personalities. And that would be better than being in here alone. Blackwell::She gave a mischievous smirk to that:: If It was just me in here, I would have likely climbed to the top of this thing to see what I could fix on my own. ...So in a way, good thing you were here too as you kept me out of trouble. Yael: ::with a bit of humor:: I do apologize for making you hold back. Your way sounds like a *lot* more fun. There was a sudden shift to the weight of the lift, and his hands shot out to brace against the wall and floor… but it didn’t drop or move violently. More, it was shifted, then began to move ever so slowly. She laughed to that and then binked as the lift began to move again, and she braced herself against the wall...and then as it moved, looked to Yael. Yael: I think we’ve been hoisted. Blackwell: I think so….about time. There was another sudden shift in the position of the lift as it slowly moved. Then a mechanical sound began to whine. There was a chirp… their comm badges both activated, and a voice soon came across the line. Engineer: =/\= Who have we got in there? =/\= Yael: ::responding with relief:: =/\= Lieutenant Blackwell and Ensign Yael. =/\= Engineer: =/\= Anyone need a doctor? =/\= Blackwell: =/\= No, thankfully not. =/\= Engineer: ::clearly glad there were no injuries, then, with humor:: =/\= When I said I wanted to go fishing this week, this *isn’t* what I planned. We’ll have you out in a few… bringing you down to the next level nice and easy. Stand clear of the door. =/\= Blackwell:::She looked to Yael and smirked:: Well glad they are getting to have a laugh.:::and then to the comm:: =/\= something go on with communications? We couldn’t reach anyone =/\= Ashley was already sitting near one of the sides, across from the Lieutenant, so he tucked his legs in a little closer, keeping amethyst eyes on the door as the mechanical sound intensified. Engineer: =/\= Yeah, comms went down for a few minutes. Computer malfunction during a routine system refurbishment. Bad timing with the lift. Sorry ‘bout that. =/\= Blackwell: =/\= Well, I’m just glad we are getting it resolved...though I hope you can find point of error to avoid this in the future =/\= She sounded cheerful though Yael could see her quietly working through what she might write on a report. Yael: =/\= How far did we drop? =/\= Engineer: =/\= About seventeen decks, before the safeties kicked in. Bet it was a fun ride. =/\= Yael: ::to Blackwell:: Something like that. Blackwell:::she smirked:: Oh absolutely. And after time, there was finally a nice hum where the lift moved to the appropriate floor, and both Ensign and Lieutenant were free of their temporary confinement, on to go about their ways:: Yael: ::as they parted:: It was nice plummeting to my doom with you. Blackwell: Let’s do it again sometime! ::and she waved cheerfully and was on her way:: ************************ Lt. Prudence Blackwell Comm/Ops Starbase 118 OPS G239308PB & Ensign Ashley Yael Counselor Starbase 118 Ops C238211TZ0
  16. The newest member of Ops has already worked her way into our hearts. She's completely new to this format of writing, but that hasn't stopped her from sharing her character and worming her way into our hearts. *** ((Whitburn, Scotland, Earth)) The wind had a cold nip to it, even though the sun shone in the sky. Winter always hit earlier and colder the further north you were. Even in summer there were several degrees of difference in some places compared to the south. Ariana pulled the collar of her coat up as she descended from the shuttle, to block the wind that the scarf wasn't able to. She was a few buildings away from the one she was looking for. The high street wasn't that busy as the morning rush was over. She waited for a family to pass before she headed in the direction that she needed. Walking briskly, the shop soon came into view. An old man was looking through the window at a plaque. Her heart felt a little sad for him. She turned the handle to the shop, which made the bell above it tinkle. It made her smile as it always did. She headed over to the flower stand, she passed the various trinkets that the shop sold to get to them. They ranged from ornaments, to greetings cards. She could smell the sweet flowery smell as she approached them. They had beautiful bunches of all colours waiting to be bought. But she looked for the ones with the most red, white and blue in them, as always. Spotting some that were blue and white, there was never any point buying pink. They always mysteriously wilted before she left. Taking the flowers to the desk, she waited for the lady to serve her. The young lady came over to her smiling. Tiffany: Hallo hen, how kin ah hulp ye'r? Ariana smiled at the lady. The woman's voice washed over her and made her feel warm. Amaase: Just these please. ::she handed over the flowers:: Tiffany: That'll be eight pun, please. ::she put the bunch of flowers into a flower bag:: Ariana took her purse from her inside jacket pocket and got the correct change out. Amaase: Thank you. ::she smiled as she handed the money over:: Tiffany handed Ariana the flowers as she took the payment. Tiffany: Hae a crakin' day. ::she smiled at Ariana:: Ariana gave a polite smile but had a somber look on her face. oOShe isn't to know. It's her role to be polite, she'd get no custom otherwise. Or grumpy custom.Oo She left the shop. She paused outside and placed her earbuds in her ears. Setting her music on shuffle, she started walking at a brisk pace. She had been walking for fifteen minutes and the highstreet had turned into houses about a quarter of her way there. She didn't have to divert down any turns up until this point, as it was a near straight road. She turned right and walked a couple of hundred yards before she stood back a little to wait until it was safe to cross. She wasn't waiting long before she made her way across. Before her there was a hotel to the left and hedges in front of her and they followed the corner around into the opening. She paused before she entered looking down the road as she always did. The memories it brought back. Taking a deep breath and followed the path into a shuttle park that held around 20-30 shuttles. that winded around the grass fields. There were bushes here and there. Infront of her, slightly off to the left stood the maintenance building. It was never open, so she was not entirely sure of it's full purpose. It took her around two minutes to reach the gate. As she did she paused to see his dog. It was clear to see from her viewpoint. She smiled. oO He's a good boy, sat protecting you as always.Oo She collected some water in a bottle she found in the bin and made her way over. She paid little attention to her surroundings, she had been here that often she knew where everything was. Her mind was full of her own thoughts. As she approached the path she looked up to see him. She took her ear buds out and placed them into her pocket. Amaase: Hey Acel. I'm back again. ::she felt the familiar lump in her throat:: She walked down the path and vered right slightly to be stood in front of him. Amaase: I have brought you flowers. They're blue and white, no girly colours, so no killing them. Hey? A single tear rolled down her cheek, she carefully walked down the strip of grass, careful to not step on her brother or his neighbour. She nealt down, his black stone in front of her. Amaase: You're dirty. ::she remarked looking at his head stone:: I best clean you up. She placed the flowers down on the plinth and undid the lid of the bottle of water. She had always liked that touch with the bottles, they always went back there empty for the next person to use. She poured the water over the headstone using her right hand, with the left, she wiped over the stone to remove the dirt. Setting the bottle on the plinth, she took the flowers out of the bag and the wrappings. Putting the rubbish into the bag, she placed his flowers into his pot. Amaase: That's better. ::she half smiled admiring her handy work:: She walked back towards the path placing the rubbish in her pocket. Reaching the bottom of his grave, she sat down on the floor in front of him, crossed legged facing him. She fought back the tears as she looked at the headstone which read: 'Acel Arron Amaase The blue eyed boy. 236707.24 -235107.03' On the actual head stone which was shaped like a heart either side at the bottom were two blue cartoon styled luck dragons. On the bottom plinth it read: 'Missing you always. Forgetting you never.' The lump in her throat burned. she choked back the sob that was about to escape. Amaase: Sorry bro. ::the tears started to fall thick and fast:: But you were one of the few who believed in me. ::she sobbed as she spoke:: I wish you could be here. I wish you could see what I have achieved. All that I have overcome. ::she had started to double breathe at this point, her heart hurt so much she thought it would burst right outside of her chest:: I made it Acel, I made it. ~END~ Ensign Ariana Amaase Counsellor Officer SB118-Ops O239710AA0
  17. Sometimes the inner struggles are harder than the external ones. ((Starbase 118 Ops -Promenade)) Bailey could hear the coughing and truth be told it scared her. Terrified her to no end. Last she had seen Yael he had been perfectly healthy, not a single complaint. And too based on the way he had talked then had definitely acted like the type of person that did not want to make any sort of bother. It was that last part that made the Elaysian woman nearly lose her breath as well. Yael needed medical attention and amediently. One couldn’t last long if they couldn’t breath. The growing problem though was the fear she experienced. Fear created not only from the memory of her uncle but from the intensity of the moment. The way her body moved on autopilot; picking up supplies, ordering around any medical officer standing about in main sickbay. Honestly the whole situation made her sick; nauseous. She wanted to vomit right then and there however her uncle, who she could almost see out of the corner of her eye, appeared to be telling her no, that she could only end up a patient herself if she could not solve her current problem. That she could not be weak. It was that bending of time. The way she blinked, her eyes closing one second opening the next medical crew staring at her. Staring as if to tell her to move, to do her dang job. From Sheila’s point of view she wondered at what had happened. It was like she had just woken up. In a hypothetical sense the morning was full of fog, smoke. The trigger was lost until she found herself practically on top of Yael. His skin clammy, and though he couldn’t see himself, his pallor was blue. Some unknown stranger had lowered him to the ground. Here Sheila had pulled out her tricorder moving the device over the counselor. Blink. Uncle. Blink. Sisters. Blink. Galven? Blink. Meeks. Her mind could see everyone who cared for her looking up at her out of Yael’s eyes. In the back of the woman’s mind, as if coming up out of a fog, came her uncle’s voice whispering “leave him.” Bailey: One of your ribs has punctured your lung. The Denobulan could only agree with another deep, alarming cough, hacking up more blood as the pressure in his chest increased. His hand reached out to attempt to shove the hands crowding him away, as if the space would give him more air. Blood, wet, dripping, blue, dropped onto Sheila’s uniform with each of Ensign Yael’s hacking coughs. Coughing in a situation like this not only looked painful but was. Sheila did not envy Yael or wish to be in his situation. What she disliked was having to clean up the mess. Course she would do it and with pride; she adored her work as a Starfleet doctor. Yet today everything was something different, something opposite to itself. As Yael’s hands reached out towards her he seemed to only manage to smear more blood down the front of her uniform. Bailey: Please don’t struggle. I know you are having trouble breathing but I’m going to need you to stay still Ensign. Sheila nodded to one of the medical officers nearby who then placed an oxygen mask over Yael’s face. It was one of those that fitted over the mouth and nose rather than having prongs to fit into the nose. Using the full mask allowed a struggling patient to take in more oxygen. Once the mask was placed Sheila only wished for a bit of relief. She would shoulder all the pain, all the hurt, the burning, choking, flaming pain as her own. If it was her’s not Yael’s then everything would be justified. Then maybe she would understand why she gave in and kissed him, not Yael, but him-him, a person, a man that she wasn’t going to mention. Yet they were the same man that had been consistent in her life. Her uncle had a profound affect. Bailey: Don’t talk. I only want you to concentrate on your breathing. Sheila too wondered how she was managing everything. To her, her brain had taken over and it was as if there were two people in the same body. Part of her was entierally afraid of messing up, of saying the wrong words. Shaking, numb, experiencing tight restrictive pain down her neck from intense hair pulling; hair pulling that currently wasn’t happening. A breathy voice making her take breath after breath in between each sentence. The other half was her normal unaffected self; a highly trained doctor. A doctor that knew a hundred percent what she was doing. Knew that her friend, if she could call him that, was going to make it out of the whole thing alive. Bailey: I’m going to talk you through everything I’m going to do. Just blink or squeeze my hand if you need me to stop. First I’m going to give you some pain medication. That should allow you to breath more easily. Then I’m going to run my bone regenerator tool over your ribs. That will allow the healing process to speed up a great deal taking the pressure off the lungs. Lastly, and this is the least fun, I’m going to have to insert a small yet fairly wide hollow needing into the space between your ribs. I need that extra air to get out from your lungs. You’re likely to have the tube in for a few days as a precaution. Some time in sickbay too I’m not taking any chances. To Yael Sheila must have looked like an angel what with the way her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulder illuminated by the bright lights around them. Bailey: ::Bailey reached over and gently squeezed one of Yael’s hands almost as a way to let him know everything was going to be okay:: Alright here we go. The young doctor turned her smile upside down at the pain both she and Yael were experiencing. Gratitude was a powerful tool which was likely why she matched the grip the Ensign gave to her hand. What happened next was just as quick as her arrival on the scene. The hypospray full of pain medication was administered. Before she knew it another blink and the other medical officers had managed to get Yael and her transported to sickbay. It was another moment as if her body was having episodes of absence seizures. The word went on around her while her body pressed pause. Pause was pressed. The movie skipped and then as if she was stopped from drowning, breaking the surface of the water, appearing out of a fog, body heating up making her dizzy, Sheila gripped her needle tight before plunging it into the space between Yael’s ribs. Relief was given, but not to her, as her patient took deeper breaths. Yael: ::weakly:: Sh… sorry… not being very… cooperative. Bailey: Tell me. Formalities. Now was not the time for them. Her brain was an upturned boat on the water. A boat with a hole, quickly filling with water. Slow, difficult to make stop. Yet Sheila needed to know why, what had caused the incident. Some life saving revelation could be revealed. Yael: Holodeck malfunction… the safeties failed, somehow. Took a rough blow… didn’t realize it was *that* hard. Tried walking to Sickbay. Didn’t make it. He tried reaching up to his ribs and barely glanced at the object inserted… and instantly pulled his hand back. Bailey: Don’t. I’ll take it out and then we need to take you in for surgery. My tools have been able to heal your injured rib yet it still needs to be fixed into place among other things. I’ll be putting you to sleep. I truly promise to do everything I can….. oO to make sure you don’t die. Oo Yael: Right. Yes. Do it. Sheila once again pressed a hypospray to Yael’s neck this time sending him to a peaceful sleep. For him the surgery would be over and done with before he even considered what was happening. For Sheila, despite her not being the one to perform the surgery, she would be there in the operating room the whole time acting as a damn fine scrub nurse; act as the one to monitor the vitals, organize the tools. Over the next 1-2 hours Sheila never sat down. She hardly moved from her spot between the monitor and the cart of surgical tools. She practically regretted it. During the whole process she had stood with her bad, left, hip jutted out, a way to shift her weight, yet by the end the whole area was a mess of painful nerves constantly firing; she could hardly walk even with her crutches. The use of her wheelchair would be required as soon as she had a free moment which was unlikely to happen. Frankly Sheila did not want to use her wheelchair. Not even an ounce of her wanted to appear weak. If somehow her problems became more important than those of her patient she would give in, make her uncle happy. At the same time her problems, her struggle was just as important. Bailey stood leaning against the biobed, painful pressure lacing through her hip, yet she ignored the irritation. Yael was slowly coming back into consciousness. Bailey: Hey, welcome back sleepy head. ::now she was starting to talk like she did to her two sisters as a way to comfort them:: Everything was good. Successful. You’re on some pain medication but I suspect you might not need them for much longer. Yael: Response Bailey: Yes you may talk, just be careful. We are keeping you here under observation for at least 24 hours. Yael: Response Bailey: ::air whizzed out of her lungs:: You need to be careful. Had me scared to death. I was in pain too. I couldn’t stop imagining walking away…. ::Sharp intake of breath:: Yael: Response Bailey: I’m sorry. I should leave you to rest. Yael: Response Lieutenant Sheila Bailey Assistant Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0 No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men - Sara Lance; Legends Of Tomorrow
  18. I love going on missions with my fellow writers. Exploring situations and seeing how our characters respond is definitely a wonderful experience. However, one of my favourite parts is seeing what people do with their personal arcs, and that allows me as a reader to follow along in their journey. Sheila's journey has been on going, but I love how Aly is giving us insight to a new sort of beginning along that journey. I love how she makes it easy to connect with her character, and allows us a glimpse of what it might be like to be Sheila. ((Sheila Bailey’s Quarters - Habitat Areas - Starbase 118)) Sheila had done it. Yes she had done it. She had taken the next step needed. Now however she wasn’t sure. Not in the way that she shouldn’t have done it but more so ‘I never thought I’d get this far’. She had been wearing her uniform as she walked back from her appointment at the breeders. Dogs that’s what it was. ‘Special dogs for special folks’. That was supposedly the woman’s motto. Basically a breeder trainer and with that she would have to come back in 6 weeks; training. The woman working with her had been extremely excited for it too. She had talked at length about how most only came in for a new pet which required basic training; sit, stay that sort of thing. But she did set aside a few select dogs for more complicated training. In such the basics including service dog tasks were out of the way before the new owners, handler showed up. That was Bailey. Her and her new dog would be a team. They might even be a team right now and on the first day. Now she had a list of supplies in her saddle bag, her hands wrapped around the handles of her forearm crutches and strung through one of said handles was the loop of a teal rope dog leash. If one followed the leash they would spot at the end a dog grey in color, thin yet strong, ears flopped over, soon to point up as the pup grew. The creature was a classic style of male Elaysian dog similar to the Earth Great Dane. The Elaysian dog was built almost as if it was a miniature version of a horse, built to run. Currently it reached Sheila’s knees but at full grown, at the year mark in about 6 more months, would reach between her hips and waist. Soon enough the pair stood at the door to Sheila’s quarters. Once inside the dog's leash was uncliped. Not a moment too soon did the young pup go racing through the living room then around the kitchen table. They nearly knocked over her stone fruit bowl. On the second lap they practically slammed into the counter sending one of her round fruit tumbling to the floor. Bailey: Hey! Slow down. Come here… come here…. The dog stopped, sat and looked at Sheila, their head held sideways. Bailey: I’m sorry I don’t have a name for you yet. The thin dog practically disappeared running around from the kitchen into the bedroom. Sheila was about to follow when out of nowhere they appeared again. Dragging behind them was one of her knitted blankets. Bailey: I guess you're trying to help. That’s your job huh? Carefully Sheila bent down to sit on the floor. Her dog, yeah her dog took that as a cue to put his head in her lap. Gosh was he cute at six months. Cute and soft. Perfect for petting. Bailey: I should give you a name shouldn’t I? Dragon? Okay not that one. What about Jupiter? Pluto? ::The dog lifted his head looking totally uninterested in each option:: Okay. I get it. They are a bit silly. ::Sheila continued to stroke the top of the dog’s head:: You need a name that is strong. What about Hamlet or Loki? ::The dog only put their head back in the woman’s lap. Either they were growing tired as puppies do or uniquely uninterested in each option:: No, no. You’re right I can’t name you after some character. Alistair. Alistair. ::The name was said in Elaysian sounding quite different from the other suggestions:: It means warrior or helper. With the final suggestion Alistair sat up completely on alert. That must have been it. The correct name or at least the name that meant the most. Of course it was. With a name that meant warrior, helper or even defender of the people. Alistair was the perfect reminder of why he was here. He was strong so she herself could be strong. Just from him dragging about her blanket, for her, it was obvious he was born to be of service; a bit more training and they would be set. There was no doubt that Sheila and Alistair would make a fine pair. Alistair was going to be the best service dog in training, the best companion. He might even be considered a respectable medical officer. Lieutenant Sheila Bailey Assistant Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0 -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "StarBase 118 Ops a Star Trek PBEM RPG" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to sb118-ops+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com. To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/sb118-ops/CAOop-PH5kNSxmNcnCRdtZE_awTGg0jmjk66z3-MvWRVbm8uiNw%40mail.gmail.com. Dog leash.jpeg 6 Month Elaysian puppy.jpg
  19. ((Starbase 118 - Marine Facilities, Lt. Meeks’ Office)) The typical day for a Marine involved many things, which included duty rotations, training, maintenance of equipment and the facilities, and whatever else needed to be done. For the company commander, the duties also included a ton of paperwork, reports, and recording all of the things done by the teams. For Tony, he felt he spent a lot more time doing the paperwork than actually doing the other stuff, so any chance to get his hands dirty made him jump at the opportunity. On this morning, Tony was at his desk (as usual), going over the training reports, checking on the progress of his team, and preparing future trainings based upon reports from the CIC. This allowed the teams to train for whatever may come, and prepare for whatever contingencies possible. He received a constant stream of messages over his PADD, and most of them only required a passing glance before they could be deleted and dismissed. One message caught his eye though, and he paused to read it a little more carefully. The message was from the last person he had expected to contact him, and even more unusual was the subject of the message. While it wasn’t unusual for requests to be made for training tutoring, there were a few people he never expected to make that request. After pondering the message, he tapped in a response accepting the request, and sent it. ((Timeskip - Later that afternoon, Holodeck 3)) Stepping into the dilapidated but usable gym, Yael found the program had supplied everything needed. Space, equipment, and the rudimentary padded floor. It was well equipped but worn, as if it had been used for years with hardly a cleaning. It was perfect. He was warming up, stretching, when the door to the gym opened again. Yael: Anthony! Thanks for coming. He’d asked the man to meet him here, and to be ready for some training. Admittedly, it might have been an odd thing for a counselor to say. But this would also give Ashley a good chance to catch up with the man and see how he was doing since their last session. Meeks: Of course, counselor. Happy to help. Yael: Is this okay? We could change programs if you prefer something else? Meeks: This’ll be fine. ::Looking around:: Your program? Looking around at the peeling paint, the air smelling like effort and sweat. He looked back to the Marine and [...]ed his head slightly to the side and smiled. Yael: I liked the ambiance. Meeks: Hey… ::Chuckling:: Whatever works. Tony sized up the Denobulan. The man was small in stature, which was not unusual for a Denobulan, but the typically passive nature of the culture intrigued the Marine. He wondered why a counselor, and a Denobulan, would have a desire to train in the combat arts. Meeks: So, what are we going to work on? The Denobulan hybrid slid off the pull-over and tossed it onto the floor aside them. The bruises on his arms and neck were probably still visible... gifts from his encounter with the Klingon from Verriar’s establishment… but thanks to Cadet Harper, his ribs felt good and he was walking fine. Now was time to choose a new aggressor… someone with the fortitude to literally punch past his defensive instincts. Yael: I need you to hit me. Now that was a request Tony had never had before. He had been asked not to hit someone, but to be asked to hit someone made him pause. Looking at the bruises that were visible on the man, he figured this wasn’t exactly the first time that request had been made by him. Meeks: ::Surprised by the request:: You want me to… what? Why? Yael: ::smiling again:: So I can learn how not to get hit. Meeks: Well, judging from those bruises, you’ve been getting hit a lot lately. The Denobulan tried not to smile suspiciously as he gave a quick thought to how he’d gained them. Yael: I’m pale. It makes them more apparent. Don’t let that stop you. Meeks: I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I help teach you how NOT to get hit. Yael: Also good. How do we do that? Meeks: The best defense is sometimes a good offense, but in absence of that, not getting your [...] kicked is better than the alternative. Ashley gave the Marine a good look now. He’d known the man would outclass him. He had a good nine inches on him in height, perhaps 80 or more pounds in weight? The blond hair, blue eyes, and friendly face were deceptive… if Meeks *wanted* to, he could simply flick him with a finger and knock him into next year's Bajoran Gratitude Festival. He had professional training though, and had probably taught before, seeing as how he was his unit leader. Yael: I’m not under any delusion I’m a heavy hitter, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t want you to go easy on me. Otherwise this is a waste of both of our time. Meeks: Oh, trust me, you’re gonna get hit... a lot. Don’t worry about that. Yael: ::taking a breath, steeling himself:: Okay. But if I cry, you can’t tell anyone. He joked with a light laugh as he stepped onto the mat. It wasn’t spongy by any means, but would buffer the harder hits and falls. Meeks: So, I have to ask. Is there a reason you are wanting to learn how to fight? A reason? Of course the Marine would want a reason. Semi prepared for the question, but still hesitating slightly with the answer, he certainly wasn’t going to give a long winded speech about evolving as a person. Yael: I’ve been through enough to know that… what’s the Human saying? Those who don’t carry a sword can still die upon them? Meeks: I suppose that’s true. Yael: I’ve got no experience at this. When it comes down to it… I have to depend on those around me, to preserve my own safety. I’m just trying to tip the scale. Meeks: I would imagine you would always have a security detail if you were on an away mission. Yael: Nobody wants to be a burden. That sounded a lot better than “Nobody wants to be a victim.” Meeks: I don’t think you would be a burden, but I get where you’re coming from. Yael: Shall we get started then? ((Time Skip - 23 Minutes)) Stepping to the center of the floor, Tony took a position facing Ashley. They stepped into motion and within a few moves, Tony had defeated Ashley’s advance and grounded him. This identified the counselor’s experience level, which was consistent with the basic training provided through the Academy. While this was essentially adequate as a foundation for self defense, as it related to Starfleet personnel under most controlled situations, the training was woefully inadequate for any real combat scenario. The pair reset and staged, facing each other once again. Tony explained some theories of the use of an opponent’s motion and inertia against the opponent, as well as assisting the defender using the forces applied by the attacker. After these explanations, Tony took the position of the attacker and demonstrated one of the theories at about half speed. Again, Ashley’s attempts to defend were easily overcome, leaving him facing the ceiling. Time after time, the results were the same, which was to be expected. Ashley was taking in the information though, even if he didn’t know it. Each reset lended a lesson, and the lesson was making it to action. With each reset, the effort Tony was having to take to floor his opponent was greater than the last. Unfortunately for Ashley, that might not have been felt by him. The sound of the body hitting the floor echoed in the rafters high above. A short yelp of pain that was more shock than actual pain. Panting. They’d only just started and he was sweating his choice already. Ashley stared into the ceiling for a moment, clenched his jaw at the spiders crawling INSIDE his skin. His lack of coordination was a real problem, but he couldn’t tell if it was that or the lack of skill that truly made him pathetic. He took one more breath and pushed himself up with a grunt. He gave a tug at one of his electro-stabilizing devices… they were firmly in place, it was his skin he wanted to claw off. Despite his internal struggle, he kept a relatively calm face… aside the now permanent furrow of his eyebrows. Yael: oO FOCUS. Oo Let me try that again. Meeks: You sure? Yael: I can get it. Meeks: Alright then. One more time. The end results were the same, but that would be expected considering the counselor’s experience level. There had been improvement though, even if Yael didn’t realize it. Tony had been instructing in hand to hand combat for a while, and had many students. He had learned to see the smallest changes in a person’s abilities, and there had been improvement. Meeks: Alright, counselor. I think that’s a good place to call it a day. Tired of his view of the ceiling, Ashley pushed up from the floor again, but remained sitting. Yael: So soon? Meeks: ::Tossing Ashley a towel:: If we push it too far, the learning stops. There’s no reason to get hurt here. The Denobulan was frustrated already, it was true. But too stubborn to give in to it, even if it was the smarter course. So he pushed, insisting. Yael: I can keep going. Meeks: Are you training for a prize fight tonight? ::Not waiting for an answer:: What you need now, is a hot shower and maybe a couple ice packs. That was a very firm “no” if he’d ever heard one, so he sighed in resignation, but he was unsettled and unsteady as he pushed up to stand, pressing the towel to his face to keep the sweat stinging his eyes. Yael: Okay … okay… ::giving in, he forced a smile:: … who am I to tell the unit leader “no,” right? Meeks: There’s always tomorrow. Let today settle in and we can come back to it. Yael: ::recentering himself:: How have you been sleeping, anyway? Is the medication helping? Meeks: ::Wiping his face and letting the towel settle on his shoulder:: Sleep has been hit and miss. I think it’s better though. The meds definitely help. Yael: Still dreaming? ::running the towel on the back of his neck:: Meeks: Not as bad. When they do happen, they're not in technicolor anymore. The dreams had come and gone nightly, but the severity was not as poignant. The perseverating thoughts were still there though, but were a bit easier to put aside. Suddenly, Tony realized the counselor had turned the tables, and the teacher had quickly become the student. Yael: Good. You’re on the right track then. I have a few other tricks up my sleeve, if you want to continue doing sessions. Meeks: Can I buy you a drink, counselor? Ashley blinked twice at that. What he really wanted to do was hit the sonic shower and claw his skin off. But if Anthony wanted to talk… now, while they smelled like this? Granted, Meeks had probably had to put out far less effort than he had. It could be important. He balanced the options, going to be alone and therapeutically screaming, or… helping his crewmate. He hesitated answering, but restrained said clawing and screaming. Yael: Now? ::unsure if he should, pausing briefly, but choosing:: Sure? Meeks: I bet wherever we go will smell better than this place. ::Smiling as he motioned to the room around them:: Yael: ::glancing around, and laughing lightly:: It *is* pretty ramshackle, isn’t it… ok. Lead the way. ((Promenade - Kael’s Pub)) Ashley carefully held his drink with both hands… they were shaking from the workout. In fact his entire body was vibrating with the leftover adrenaline. He’d put his pullover back on, and thankfully, the instinct to claw at the invisible spiders was lessening… more a dull hum now than an overwhelming wave. Being in public, with Meeks, made it difficult to let himself give in to it. He’d only wanted water… ice water… and he drank a bit greedily at first, leaving himself quickly with half a glass. Glancing over the small table at the Marine, he wondered. Tony on the other hand, ordered a pint of ale and a bowl of nuts. When the pint glass arrived, head of the ale spilling over slightly, cascading onto the table top, Tony collected the glass and took a long pull off the top. Yael: Was there something you wanted to say? ::pausing, but not really waiting:: If you’re not doing so well, it’s *ok.* There are other methods. Meeks: I think I’m doing better, Doc. I’m just not 100% yet. Yael: There’s an ultrasound therapy I was wondering if you’d like to try. Sort of a medical assist. It’s the little brother to electro-shock therapy. It helps the brain reset and form new neural connections. Meeks: Zapping my brain? Yael: It’s completely painless. I just have to give medical the word, and… He droned off slightly, as it seemed very much Anthony was thinking of something else. Ashley sent a hand up to rub his neck, fingers running over a few of his spinal ridges… he was a bit stiff and ached all over after being thrown around, and the ice cold condensation from the glass felt good against the heated skin. Meeks: It might be worth a shot. ::Noticing Ashley nursing his neck:: You okay? Maybe you need to see medical yourself. ::Chidingly:: Yael: Ah. ::laughing lightly:: No, I’m good. You didn’t break anything. I’m sure you were holding back for my sake. Meeks: So… you want to tell me the real reason we were in that gym today? There was a pause, a rapid moment of thought, and a forced smile. Yael: Was I that terrible at it? If you feel it’s a waste of your time, I understand. Meeks: Training is never a waste of time. I’m just looking for your motivation… your drive. Crap. Ashley needed to say something smart sounding. Yael: Just… I mentioned... improving my weak points? Well *that* sounded super convincing… the Denobulan hybrid internally facepalmed at having phrased it as a question. It was like he was *asking* Anthony to believe him. Meeks: Your position doesn’t necessarily put you into harms way, as a general rule. ::Nodding to the braces on Ashley’s forearms:: It looks to me like you’re trying to prove to yourself you can do this. Yael: ::leaning back, psychologically putting a little more space between them:: Is it that strange? He paused, glancing down at the ale in the Humans hands almost longingly for a moment, then continued. Yael: I’m pushing things, I know. ::glancing back up at the Marine, he gave a small smile that he hoped was convincing:: But it’s under control. Nothing to worry about. Tony watched and listened to the man. The words, the affect in the voice, the body language, all of what Ashley was saying in the totality of the communication spoke volumes. Tony knew and understood challenges, but what Ashley was facing was far beyond anything Tony had ever had to experience or endure. Meeks: Would it be too much to ask about the braces? What’s the story? There was an expansive moment of silence that dragged out into discomfort. Ashley had known that *someone* would ask eventually. Had at least half a dozen explanations prepared in advance to dismiss queries on the subject. But now that he was actually faced with the question… looking Anthony in the eyes… he found them all distasteful. Maybe it was because he was sitting across the table from someone he admired, but he didn’t want to hide who or what he was anymore. He had always hidden it… but wasn’t he becoming a different person? Could he emulate the bravery of a Marine, even if he could never fill those shoes? Yael: I have a neurological condition. It’s called Theorons. It starts with a loss of fine motor control. These are… ::he held up his hands, looking at the braces::... electro-stabilizers. They alter the signals sent from my brain to my hands, to control the tremor. Without these, I can’t buckle my boots, and it isn’t going to get better. He spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, but there was a growing knot in his stomach. But now that he’d started, he didn’t stop. Yael: I don’t tell people about it because I’m already the small guy in the room, and I’ve got a chip on my shoulder about it. People underestimate me from the start. I want to be known for what I *can* do. Not what I can’t. Trouble is… I grew up in the Federation, always protected… by people like you. So *I* don’t even know what I can and can’t do, and I’m trying to figure that out. He kept eyes on the man, trying to exude the confidence he didn’t feel… and waited. Meeks: ::Taking another pull from his ale, emptying the glass:: I think it takes balls to do what you’re doing. After signalling the waiter for another ale, Tony turned back to his conversation with Ashley. He took a moment and watched the man as he struggled with telling his story. He knew it was difficult for Ashley to give such intimate details, but his respect for his new friend grew by the moment. Yael: You’re… what? You’re not... Meeks: You gave me a prescription for twice weekly visits to try and get my noodle figured out. ::tapping his right temple:: Let’s do the same thing here. Twice a week, you and I will meet in that smelly ol’ gym. I’ll teach you what you want to know, for as long as you want to learn. Ashley felt something imperative but didn’t have the words to describe it. Balls? His brain had frozen watching Anthony take that last, long drink, motioning for another, and… the man had given not one shred of unwanted pity, or needed comforting at the knowledge, or apologized clumsily for what he couldn’t possibly control, or asked invasive medical questions, or treated him like he was *breakable*. None of the typical and terrible responses people always had. Meeks gave him instant acceptance with the ease of taking a drink. Yael: ::suddenly breathing… he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath:: You’re still going to work with me? Meeks: ::Thanking the waiter when his new glass of ale arrived, then turning back to Ashley:: I don’t give a squirt of snot about those things. ::Nodding to the braces:: Those are an obstacle, nothing more. Your… illness is only that, an obstacle. Yael: That’s right. The Denobulan agreed, and breathed, and the knot in his stomach unkinked. He took down the last of his glass of water, the ice having melted away. It felt good not to be made of glass. ~~~ Ensign Ashley Yael Counselor Starbase 118 Ops & 2Lt. Anthony Meeks Company Commander 1/292nd TMR D Co. Starbase 118 Ops/USS Narindra R238801IG0
  20. OOC: Kaycie's only been back with us a few weeks, but her writing makes it easy to get a sense of who Ashley is. Really enjoying getting to know her character. IC: ((Starbase 118 Ops - Promenade - Verriar’s Establishment)) Yael stepped past a nameless Bajoran and continued until he found what he’d been looking for. It was a rather hole-in-the-wall, seedy looking place, a bar, a gambling establishment, and the live Andorian Jazz was swinging from a small stage in the back, on the second floor… it was a little bit of everything, tucked away in a lesser-trafficked area of the Promenade. High above the entrance, a bright sign read “Verriars.” The clacking and jangling of a tongo wheel in the back of the establishment kept the noise level high, as did the music and the murmurs of all the conversations around them. As he walked in, his boots crushed some unswept glass, likely from a broken mug or glass. Two private holosuites were installed in the back of the establishment, and the drinks were ordered and delivered quickly. He wore plain clothes, civilian. Dark trousers, boots, a matching dark shirt, and a gunmetal grey vest with subtle gold lacing in its woven pattern. He’d worked hard for his uniform, so of course it was often what he preferred to wear, but anonymity was sometimes useful as well. His comm badge was on the underside of his vest, hidden from view. But it would be inappropriate to be without it. He gave a glance at a tray passing near him, at the brightly colored drinks. One was smoking with some dry ice concoction, another sparkled like tiny raspberry stars. Nothing here would be watered down. No. Not here for that. He took a seat at the bar though, and despite what he *wanted*, he ordered something else. Yael: Terellian Spiced Ale. The bartender was a Terellian woman in a delightfully bright purple get-up, so it seemed appropriate. The drink, despite the name, was not actually alcoholic… just decadent… and the Terellian only wasted a single of her four arms to offer a data padd, where Ashley gave his thumb print and sacrificed the credits. There was no tab at an underwater place like this. With another of her four arms, the glamorous bartender poured the drink and added the spice with expert proportions and, somehow, with grace, without even looking at the mug as she did it. She was a large figure, but moved with a precise knowledge of her space and her goods. The cold glass mug was then slid to him from a few inches away, and she smiled at him. Yael: Is this your place? Verriar: Why yes, it is. ::she smiled at him, her ridges wrinkling upwards on her nose:: And you’re new. With one of her free arms she produced a salt suck. A nasty habit, but still somehow enjoyable. She brought it to her tongue and licked it lightly. With a third arm she mixed another drink. He leaned on his elbows and smiled at her, enjoying the company already. Yael: Ashley. It’s a pleasure. Verriar: Of course it’s your pleasure. That’s what Verriar’s is *for*, darling. ::she paused, looking at him closely:: We don’t get many Denobulans in here. Too risque, they tell me. Yael: I’ll take that as a compliment. She smiled and lightly laughed, sliding another drink down the length of the bar to another customer who had run dry. Verriar: What are you here for? Yael: The company, no question. He smiled at her, and she laughed again. Verriar: Honey, my ex husband is *still* killing my boyfriends. ::she looked him up and down once more:: But some are *worth* the risk. I know *I* am. She laughed heartily now, licking her salt suck again. The Denobulan took a steady drink of his not-actually alcoholic ale, and found he liked it quite a bit. The spice stayed on his tongue, blossoming into a whole new flavour after the drink had already been swallowed. He could see the appeal… Terellians just did *quality*. Spices, diamonds, crude habits like salt sucks… among other bad habits... whatever the product was, you could bet it would be good. Turning, he watched the tongo board for a while, surveying the players. There were a few Bajorans, a Gorn eating a heavy looking meal of some sort of meat, and a small host of Klingons, along with a few other species. Of course, the tongo master was a Ferengi looking for marks… or, as a Ferengi might say, an opportunity for profit. Verriar: You’re not here to drink. Can I offer you something more enticing? She motioned to the back of her bar, no doubt where she kept the more illegitimate merchandise. Yael shook his head negatively. Yael: I’m not here for that. But I *will* take a holosuite, if you’ve got one? Verriar: Oh honey, I have *two*. Yael: You’ll make my day if you have something Klingon… some hopelessly romantic battle to the death? Verriar: Or something. ::she smiled, her hidden arm producing a box filled with holodeck program chips, and selecting one from the grouping:: Take this. Find a friend. And have fun. She paused as she held it up, then reached out a cautionary finger in the air with one of her free three hands. Verriar: This is no basic Mok’bara, and you’re such a wisp of a thing. Are you *sure* you can *handle* it? Yael: ::he grinned, closing his hand round the data chip:: Don’t you worry about me. I’m sure there’s an exclusion of liability waiver in the data pad I just signed. She smiled broadly again, pausing for one last moment, and then moved on to serve other customers who were filtering in. Ashley finished his drink and took his look around the room. There were two groups of Klingons, all who apparently knew one another. They were drinking and boisterous, but not out of control. He picked the smaller of the two groups which consisted of three armed men, waited, and listened. When they were drunk enough, but not too drunk, he lifted his mug… now empty, save a few drops clinging to the glass… and chucked it at the largest Klingons chest. It shattered on the tough leather across his chest and made him jump in surprise, black eyes locking on the small man who had dared to throw it, and became even *more* surprised. The tall Klingon, his black hair having caught a few of the remaining drops of ale, brushed off his leather and stalked over in three fast feet to stand over the Denobulan. The guy must have been seven feet tall, so quite literally *over* him at that. Klingon: You… *YOU*... dare throw your drink at *ME*? Ashley stood to face him at his full 5’7”. Yael: You’re being too LOUD! And you’re too UGLY to be making that much NOISE! The Klingons friends roared in laughter, and so did Verriar from the far end of the bar. The angry Klingon went silent for a moment as he glared down, his brain ticking in dangerously slow thought… this could now go one of two ways. Painfully… or slightly less painfully. But over the next moment the Klingons eyes wrinkled round the edges… as he smiled, and then threw his head back in a laugh, matching his friends. Klingon: This one thinks he’s a Klingon! His large hand came up to steady flat above Ashley’s head, measuring his height. Klingon: You weigh as much as a wet targ! The group laughed even harder, and so did the Denobulan. It was funny because it was true! He lifted the data chip to the Klingons face before he could lose his humor, and smiled widely. Yael: Ever fought the Battle of Klach D’Kel Brakt? The drunken Klingons eyes glazed over as he came to realize that this was an invitation, and he and his friends roared in excitement, finishing their drinks in one great gulp.
  21. Jamie has this wonderful ability to infuse humour among the drama and yet never does that humour ever undermine the overall tone of a dramatic and serious topic in a sim.
  22. ((Starbase 118 - Counseling Offices)) Being healthy was of major importance for a Marine, both to the Corps and the members of the United Federation of Planets they serve. Physical health was often achieved through good diet and an abundance of physical exercise. Mental health needed a special touch from someone who was trained to see the warning signs of psychological injury, and then provide relevant options to create a healing environment for the patient. Much like a cardiologist works on the heart, the psychiatrist or psychologist works on the brain. After the last mission, Anthony needed the brain specialist for sure. Leaving the turbolift, Anthony finished his coffee as he walked. The closer he came to the counseling offices, the slower he found himself walking, and almost had to push himself forward. His feet felt heavy and he felt his heart rate had increased. He didn’t know why he had such trepidation, but it was there. At the doorway to the offices, he stood silently. He hadn’t pushed the button to allow entry into the center, and for a long moment he just stood, staring at the doors. He was just about to turn away when the doors opened and there stood one of the counselors he was so afraid to talk to. Yael: ::surprised, suddenly and closely facing the Human man in the doorway:: Oh! Hello. Ashley had been reviewing the crew files and was just about to step out the doorway, but instead he stepped back slightly and looked up. The man in the doorway towered over the Denobulan hybrid. But he tucked his surprise away, quickly evaluating the knitted brows, dark circles, and long gaze in the blue eyes looking down at him. How long had he been standing out there? Meeks: Um… I’m Anthony. I think I should talk to somebody. Yael: Ensign Yael. ::quickly stepping back by an arms length:: Is now good for you? Meeks: Yeah. Now works fine for me. Yael: Please. Yael motioned for the man to enter the office, turning himself and making his way back into the office. Stepping into the office, Anthony followed the counselor to a very cushy office. The decor was sparse, as if he had just started moving in. Anthony didn’t know any of the counselors, so he wouldn’t have known that was exactly the case. Taking a seat, Anthony sat upright waiting for whatever came next. Meeks: Thank you for fitting me in today. Yael: It’s no problem at all. You can come to me any time, day or night. He smiled that disarming smile, taking his seat across the desk, and lifting the mug with his still-hot coffee. It was rather early for a walk in. Yael: If my memory serves me, you’re one of our Marine officers? Meeks: I am. I command Delta Company. Yael: How have you been sleeping, Anthony? You seem a bit drawn. Anthony didn’t think he looked that bad when he assessed himself in the mirror before leaving his quarters. He hadn’t slept very well since returning from the mission, which was only a couple of nights. He had hoped the pervasive thoughts, and bad dreams would clear up on their own. Meeks: Not very well, honestly… bad dreams. Tapping quickly on the computer next to him, bringing up the mans psych file. Anthony Meeks, Marine, a few awards to his name, exemplary service. All the typical stuff. He’d been in for the required assessments but had never come in voluntarily. Yael: I’ve read the mission logs for the recent engagement, with the Borg. ::pausing:: How did the mission go for you? Meeks: The mission went as well as could be expected, I think. We brought out a bunch of people who wouldn’t have made it otherwise. The resistance was pretty intense. To say it was intense was an understatement, and it felt like the only reason his team made it was because of divine intervention. There were a few moments where he wasn’t sure they would get out alive, or at least unassimilated. Yael: Were you injured? Meeks: Nothing our medical team couldn’t fix. A couple of broken ribs and a banged up shoulder. There were others with a lot worse. Yael: It sounds like it was quite serious. How are you feeling? Meeks: I’m feeling good. Back in the gym, training with one of the Academy cadets. She keeps me on my toes for sure. Anthony’s training sessions with Kherys Harper were something he looked forward to. They had made an ongoing “date” to train, which became a time where he could release some of the pent up physical energy he had. Meeks: The thing that’s really bugging me, Doc, is the dreams. I can’t get some of it out of my head. Isn’t there some sort of concoction you could give me to make ‘em go away? He knew the answer to that question before he even asked it. The whole reason for the counseling session was to talk about the problem and find ways to organize the thoughts and experiences in a way that would be sensible to his brain. He knew this from his medical training, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear at the moment. Ashley leaned forward on his elbows, the Marine the center of his attention. Yael: There are a few things we could try to help you sleep. However, they would be *temporary* measures. Far better to see if we can do some restructuring of your coping mechanisms, so that you sleep better naturally. ::pausing:: How long have you been active duty, Anthony? Meeks: ::Sighs:: I’ve been a Marine for a little over seven years, but this was my first real combat. Yael: This is the first time you’ve been injured on duty? Meeks: Other than really minor stuff, it is. There were always little things that happened, especially during some of the more intense trainings he had engaged in. There had never been any major injuries though. Yael: Have you experienced any abnormal jumpiness while awake? Intrusive thoughts? Meeks: Well, there are times I can’t stop playing it over in my mind. It’s the “what if” thing, I guess. If i’d have done something different, then I wouldn’t have had to do some of the things I did. Sometimes I just can’t shake it. Yael: Any hyper-awareness of your surroundings? Meeks: ::Allows a forced chuckle:: Hyper-awareness is what keeps me alive, Doc. Yael: ::nodding intently:: What are you dreaming about? If you don’t mind telling me about them. Meeks: The dreams. Well, really it’s like re-living the entire thing, but in pieces. It’s not always right though. Sometimes I win, but there are times… He trailed off, not wanting to think about what happened if he lost. Meeks: There were a lot of lives at stake, and losing wasn’t an option, regardless of the cost. Yael: Of course. Anthony felt like he had created a larger burden than he needed to by dumping all of this on the counselor. In fact, he almost regretted saying anything at this point because it bared a whole lot more of his soul to a man he had only barely met, and that was something he wasn’t very comfortable with. He knew however, it was a necessary evil. Meeks: I probably should let you get back to your work. I’ve taken up a bunch of your day already. Yael: On the contrary. This is *precisely* why I’m here. ::pausing:: I’m going to hold off on a formal diagnosis, but it sounds very much that you may have emergent PTSD. Meeks: Does it have to have a label? I really don’t wanna be that guy. Yael: I know you want to get on with things and get back to your normal activities, but I feel we should take this seriously. I’d like to get ahead of it before it potentially worsens and impacts your quality of life. ::pausing:: I’m going to recommend a short course of sedatives, to help you sleep. On the condition that you return for a course of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. It should help you process what’s happened, ease the dreams, limit your need for medication, and help steel you against future stressors, which… for a Marine, could be extremely useful. It involves a series of between 4 and 12 sessions, depending on how things go. Meeks: Therapy? Is all that really necessary? Yael: It’s a psychological weapon in our arsenal. And you want to use every weapon you’ve got to gain the advantage, don’t you? Anthony felt his stomach sink. The counselor was right, of course, and it would be a far cry from right for him to fight against it. Not only would it put his fitness for duty in jeopardy, but it would set a very poor example for his team if he didn’t follow his own rules. Meeks: Of course I do. That’s what we do. Yael: If it helps, think of it as psychological training. To become a Marine you went through Boot Camp, then a specializing school. They break you down, build you back up. That’s what we do. ::pausing:: With a little less of the breaking you down part. Meeks: ::Forcing a smile:: I appreciate the not getting broken down part. Honestly, I’ll do whatever it takes to get back on top. Yael: I’ll call in the sedative to the medical bay. They’ll either provide you a pre-loaded hypo-spray, or have to stop by in the evenings to administer the dosage. That is up to Doctor Bailey’s discretion. And I’ll expect you back here twice a week in the meantime. Meeks: ::sigh:: twice a week. Whatever you think is necessary, Doc. He liked the half Denobulan Dr. He felt like Dr. Yael had a real concern for his wellness, not one brought on by duty but by actual interest in how he was doing. Because of this, Anthony felt he was more inclined to do what the doctor needed him to do. Meeks: should we set a running date? My schedule is usually pretty open when I need it to be. Yael: Mondays and Thursdays, at 1300. Meeks: That will work. I’ll put it on my calendar. Is this going to require homework? Yael: ::smiling:: There will be some, nothing strenuous. For the next couple nights though, I just want you to get some solid sleep. Meeks: All right, I’ll see you then. Anthony left the room, and despite his trepidation he felt like he had a chance to make himself right again. Besides that, he kind of liked the counselor, which made it easy. Yael drank a bit more of his coffee and mused. Usually he got a *lot* more pushback from Marines, so it was nice to have one that saw the value in this type of self-preservation. He jotted down a few notes and ideas in the man's psych file while they were fresh in his mind, but for now he would avoid the dreaded label “PTSD.” Ensign Ashley Yael Counselor Starbase 118 Ops & 2Lt. Anthony Meeks Company Commander 1/292nd TMR D Co. Starbase 118 Ops/USS Narindra R238801IG0
  23. (Sheila’s Quarters, Starbase 118 Operations) The mission was finally over. Over. The word over rang throughout her head. It was a large weight off her chest. It had at first been a mission full of productive planning before turning into a chaotic away mission full of a cacophony of voices. Voices of other team members, of crew, of friends. Voices inside her head. Her uncle's voice mixed with her voice. She wasn’t even sure what to make of it so at her first chance she ran off. Sheila wasn’t the fastest runner in the bunch. She would have been faster in a race if she was given a racing wheelchair. No matter she ran. Her first thought was that she wanted to hide, but then she didn’t want to be alone. Sheila ended up at her quarters. It wasn’t the most ideal place to be given how much it brought back reminders of home. Right now she didn’t need more reminders. Sheila knew though that if she didn’t step through those doors she would never be able to work on moving past the uncomfortableness. Stepping through the doorway Sheila blinked at the white brightness. The room beyond was almost unrecognizable after spending so much time on a shuttle, all grey and metal. It definitely didn’t feel real. She had entered a different world that sat somewhere between her life living on Elaysia and her currently living on a starbase. A world that made her feel uncomfortable. Like her nerves were being poked with a red hot iron. A new and somewhat frightening sensation. Thankfully she was able to, albeit with no grace, make it to the kitchen table where she sunk into a chair. Sitting didn’t make it better, nothing seemed to. It was like she had reached a turning point. A place in her life where one heavy weight seemed to get endlessly replaced. Yes she was glad the mission was over but at the same time it left a new almost harder to handle heavy tight band around her chest. It took energy, took mental processing yet… Yet. That was always the most important word. Sheila used it now to tell herself that despite things being abnormally uncomfortable things would get better. Despite time getting away from her she would find reality again. Slowly, a fog pulled tight over her eyes, Sheila managed to rise from her chair. Her muscles were stiff needing a stretch. As she moved around she touched objects, taking a moment or two to feel the emotions each one brought her. The stone bowl on her kitchen table reminded her of her mother, Genevieve, how she would stand in the kitchen at home making breakfast despite her sadness. G Bailey: Come Jacqueline, I made your favorite. For a second she swore she heard her mother’s voice. It was a perfect likeness, the figure she saw and heard before shaking it all away. Entering the bedroom gave her a reflection of the mess her life was. She must not have had time to tidy up before the last mission started. Thankfully her bed had been untouched, her pink and green pastel knitted blanket laying perfectly on top. What wasn’t expected was the multiple pieces of paper that lay on top of that. On closer look the papers were drawings of her and her sisters. More of her than anyone else. Oh yes Sheila remembered these drawings. Her uncle had drawn them; obsessed. What stood out, jumping off the many pages was the way he had drawn them as human. They had eyebrow hair and smooth foreheads. It was like he wanted everyone to share in his vision; his sick obsessed vision. Coupled with that the drawings showed her as truly innocent. Willing to have been drawn despite the truth behind it. She hadn’t been willing at the time nor was she still innocent to her uncle’s reasons for having sat her down to be her model. She hadn’t been innocent since she was 13. The only good about the illustrations was the fact they showed how far she had come. They reminded her of a time she wasn’t willing to come back to. Made her want to get better. Not just for herself now or to show her uncle she was better than he made her but to prove to her younger self that there was hope. Carefully she found tape, hanging the art on the wall near her bed. Maybe one day she would add to the small collection. Add physical photos as well as artistic depictions of herself, more recent of course. Maybe she would even add photos and drawings of the crew, of her friends as a way to prove to herself that she was better. Maybe just maybe despite the band of tight restriction around her chest she would be able to loosen it. That things would get better. That she could take the bad, knowing it was bad, knowing that that part would never change, and find the good. Lieutenant Sheila Bailey Assistant Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0 No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men - Sara Lance; Legends Of Tomorrow
  24. OOC: I seriously think Jamie has us all fooled and is really a world famous surgeon writing under a pseudonym. IC: ((Main Sickbay – USS Narendra)) Why was it that every brain surgery came with a host of complications? Wyn was sure that there were brain surgeons in Starfleet and the Federation who worked in nice, tidy, well stocked hospitals and only saw patients on a set schedule. Wouldn’t that be nice? And yet that was hardly ever true on a starship, especially for traumatic injuries and surgeries. So much so that Wyn was starting to wonder if he could even function well in a nice, calm, proper hospital setting with a schedule and everything prepared. Foster: Good. I need you to keep an eagle eye on the vitals, increase oxygen saturation as needed, increase life support if the heart rate tanks, and don’t worry if the lights get dim in here. Maybe he was fed on raktajino, spite and high stress situations. Or maybe it was making him old before his time. Who knew? It wasn’t something he was going to dwell on right now. Harper: Yes sir. Every tool was in place and he started to maneuver forward to make the primary incision that sliced through the skull. No matter how small the tools got, the very act of punching through that dome that protected the most precious organ in the body was always a stressful moment. Foster: you’ll see a blip, that’s the craniotomy. Harper: Yes sir. He could hear her shuffle and settle herself in position as his antennae bent forward, fully absorbed in the delicate procedure of cutting and moving the tools forward into the cranial area. Harper: How large of an incision? Foster: As small as possible. But the break is in a difficult to reach location. I need to get the tools close enough to repair the artery and remove enough of the hemorrhage to take pressure off the brain. Harper: Blood pressure holding. . Once the skull was open, the tools had to make their way to the damage. This was done by navigation, making it quite like piloting a shuttle into the most fantastic region of all – a living body. It would be nice if they could refine transporters enough to get the tools there without an incision, but the sterile fields that insure people didn’t beam down with insects or pollen inside their bodies also prevented transportation of other objects inside a body. Wyn got quiet, navigating familiar pathways to get everything into place. Part of him hated how much he felt comfortable working inside people’s heads the other part was glad he had the experience. Foster: Alright, I found the break. ::From his screen it looked like a massive oil spill of dark green blood.:: I need to drain some of the hematoma to get at the vessel. Here’s where it gets tricky. There was a delicate balance in this. At the moment the internal bleeding had created an angry pocket of swelling that was affecting the brain tissue around it. But, the swelling had also helped to pinch close the broken vessel, drastically slowing the bleeding. That presented a terrible choice. He could close off the vessel, starting the countdown to brain damage, but controlling the bleeding. Or he could drain the hematoma, which would start the bleeding up again and likely cause a cascade-shock reaction. He couldn’t operate as it was, the area was filled with blood making it not only difficult to see, but difficult to work cleanly. Most surgeons would close the blood vessel and work keeping the body stable. Wyn had tried that before. Tried that with too many people who ended up changed after surgery, including one senior officer who had been his friend and after a difficult brain surgery where he had taken a similar option, arrogantly believing in his skill to be able to complete the procedure before brain damage set in, the man was irrevocable changed, and at one point stabbed Wyn in the back. He would swallow his arrogance this time. No counter. He could repair a body. He couldn’t repair brain damage. As the pocket of blood start to drain the blood vessel pulsed back to life and the vitals responded almost immediately afterwards. Harper: Blood pressure is dropping rapidly! 90/60! Foster: Administer a second dose of Konadine and prep full life support. He was way too calm about this as he focused in the chaos on repairing the root of the matter. Harper: He’s going into cardiac arrest! He knew. That was the gamble. He wished this didn’t happen with a cadet by his side. A longtime nurse or fellow doctor, especially who knew Wyn’s personality would have likely reacted more calmly. But Kherys was a sharp kid and this was a trial by fire that he had to believe she could handle. Foster: I know. ::Still too calm.:: Get a breathing mask on him and engage full cardiac support. The computers gonna have to do the work for him for a minute. Harper: ? He trusted she was working everything correctly. The brain still showed plenty of signs of activity despite the body fighting for life. The patients head was locked down, making Wyn feel like a tiny ship in the eye of a great hurricane. With one tool he was syphoning the blood away from the wound as it spilled into the surrounding tissue while with the other he slowly, carefully brought the break together and started to mend it. Foster: You’re doing good, kid. ::He offered with assurance.:: We’re almost there. All he needed was the life support to carry this guy for a few more seconds, then the brain would be OK and they could work on the body. Harper: ? He could hear the rising panic in her voice. Vulcan’s bodies were intrinsically connected with their brains. And half Vulcans – which this guy was – had drastically unpredictable reactions. His vitals were dropping, fighting, dropping. Disheartening. Wyn would love to say he wasn’t worried – he was. He had lost plenty of patients in his time. But he could watch the microscopic regeneration process complete, his focus away from the failing body. Three breaths passed and the finally the blood vessel in the brain was whole. Foster: Got it. ::He said with a note of victory, finally taking his focus up to check the vitals. And for a moment he swore. Harper had done a great job, but there was a mountain to climb yet.:: He’s hypovolemic. Compounded by that blow he took on the leg. We need to get blood in his system. He hadn’t even worried about the leg injury yet – it was one of those minor ‘I got caught and crushed by a random piece of debris things that could be fixed in five minutes.’ Sometiems that laser focus on the root problem made him see only the trees and not the forest. His dad chided him for that in life as well. Crap. Harper: ? Foster: Keep him in life support, and get the computer to analyze and start replicating his blood type. I have to get these tools out of his head and we’ll work on stabilizing his vitals and then patching that leg. Harper: ? Fortunately going out was generally much faster than going in. There was a preset route to follow back. He was careful to not bump, nick or touch any sensitive tissue, but he did start to move the process forward. Foster: ::Calm. The calm of someone who had done this too many times.:: You’re doing good kid. Harper: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Interim Chief Medical officer StarBase 118 ops "Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must" ~Julian Beck E239010ST0
  25. OOC - This sim has mention of abuse, not graphic. All thoughts and opinions are of that of my character. ((Sal Tybrim’s Office - Starbase 118)) Sheila would not deny that she was scared to talk to Sal. Sal was her commanding officer and about the 4 person she was going to tell about what happened. This time however she was planning to outright say it. It would make things easier. Plus she even had to tell them how the thoughts pretty much almost got in the way of her work on the mission. How she felt over run with panic. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle going on missions or even being in Starfleet but it was a matter of how much those feelings got in the way. Sheila stood outside of Sal’s office wearing her 1700’s style flats, a pair of black leggings and a dark sunshine yellow long sleeve sweatshirt. The sweatshirt had an image of flowers, mainly sunflowers, in the middle, with the words ‘Plant These’ [top] ‘Save the Bees’ [bottom]. The pink of her crutches complemented the dark sunshine yellow of her sweatshirt. Sheila rang the doorbell. Taybrim: Response Bailey: ::entering the office:: I’m sorry to be so forward. I want to thank you for meeting with me. Mind if I sit? Taybrim: Response Carefully Sheila took a seat, setting her crutches down on the floor. She was ready to go out and say what was on her mind yet she had to take a few deep breaths before she spoke. It rattled her brain to outright say what had happened to her. Bailey: I wanted to let you know of some personal details that could affect my work. So far it hasn’t but in this most recent mission I felt like it could have. She didn’t mention how it had affected her work during her appointment with Glaven but that wasn’t she was here to talk about. Taybrim: Response Bailey: I would like to mention this to my friend not my CO if that’s okay? She was asking for Sal to put away his CO persona for a minute. She hoped this would help him see the situation with compassion and not authority. She could do her job, that wasn’t in question. The question was how much of a problem it would be. Taybrim: Response Bailey: Thank you. My Uncle, Marc Clarence, was not a nice guy. Not nice to me. He spent his life physically and mentally abusing me and my sisters. During this mission I was reminded of those instances while fighting Klingons and treating Commander Galven. Reminded me of how I had failed. Taybrim: Response TBC/TAG Lieutenant JG Sheila Bailey Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0
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