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Lieutenant JG Foster - Nothing Sounds Good


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((Carnivale Wonderland - Deck 42, DS26))
::For a man who was born to a species that thrived on an inhospitable ice ball, Shar’Wyn Foster hated to admit that he was not particularly fond of snowstorms.
Adapted to them? Sure. Able to weather them? Certainly. Fond of them?
Not a chance.::

RENNYN: Ahh! Where are you? Wyn! ::He ripped one last piece of curtains in half, throwing one over his own shoulder, and using the other to block the blizzarding onslaught. He caught sight of the doctor's shape, and moved to wrap the material around him. The Andorian was shaking.:: Okay, if you're shivering, then we're all in trouble!

FOSTER: I’m fine. ::He lied evenly and reached a hand out and pulled the Trill towards cover:: This way! Over here!

::He huddled under cover with Rennyn, thanking the gods of the galaxy that the snow was so blinding that neither of them could see much of anything. All the better to hide the fact that he was standing stock sill, eyes screwed shut and teeth clench, shaking more out of fear than cold.
Because, of course, he was Wyn Foster. The well put together man this crew knew as a dashing genius doctor who had the answers they needed in times of trouble. Certainly not Wyn Foster the outcast blue orphan kid who had an irrational fear of windstorms. That would not do. Would not do at all.
Still, the howling of the wind as it ran through the narrow carnival stands, the vicious slapping of the tent against the supports, the sting of ice crystals as they froze the nosehairs of anybody breathing, it was enough to dredge up hints of memory deep within his brain.::
((15 years ago, Boston, Massachusetts, Earth))
The wind picked up as the night fell. By sundown the tree tops were swaying dangerously, and the fallen leaves kept slapping against the windows with a quiet rapid-fire tapping.
Wyn had been jumpy all night, just enough to keep Professor Foster wary of the adolescent Andorian, and wondering what was wrong. “Those windows could withstand a photon torpedo. They’ll survive a few sticks.” Cade Foster murmured in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
Wyn sighed, looking slowly back at his father. “You sure?”
“Positive.” The older human offered a light smile. Slowly he was rewarded with an echo of that expression on his son’s face.
At the tender age of twelve, Shar’Wyn knew full well that a little wind should not scare him. But, in his defense, this was the first wind storm he could remember. They simply didn’t have wind storms on starships.
Still, it struck him as odd. He had grown up on a starship: survived turbulence, attacks, even explosions and he had weathered it with style. And yet wind?
It unnerved him to the core.
And what he didn’t admit to his father was that the fear had nothing to do with something getting broken or falling over. No. The worst part about it was the sound. That horrible, low, mournful howling that chilled him to the bone. It was almost like a voice that stirred up strange memories, things that he didn’t recognize. And no matter how many assurances his father offered, it didn’t take away the feeling that he was being haunted by something he could not quite put his finger on.
He did not sleep that night. He lay down and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. But in truth he was terrified of what he might find if he slept. What sort of horrible dreams would come from the voices on the wind? So he trudged through the next day, half awake and half alive; and admitting to no one why he felt so terribly bad.
Because nobody should be afraid of a little wind. It was stupid, and childish…:
::Minutes felt like hours, just waiting for the storm to clean enough to move and act. Rennyn was simply enduring, while Wyn buried his antennae into the top of his snowy hair, wishing he could blot out the howls of the wind and the feeling that it was calling to him, trying to tell him secrets that were unspeakable.
Crying, screaming, yelling. Wind never had a positive voice to it. Only darkness and pain. And yet finally it cleared, and the whitewash of snow lifted::
RENNYN: Thanks. Where'd we put those Binars? ::He looked around for them.:: Under that snow drift? Or did they run out?

FOSTER: I never saw them run out… ::looking frantically around:: But I don’t see them in here, either.

RENNYN: They were the last ones in here. I don't want to leave anyone behind. ::He caught sight of the Vulcans helping the Binars away from the tent and pointed.:: There they go! Let's get out of here!

FOSTER: Double time! She’s coming down!

::Adrenaline kicked in and both of them started to run. The combination of exertion, panic and bitter cold make their breath burn as it was sucked into their lungs, turning to an unpleasant stinging sensation deep in the chest. As they cleared the tent it rumbled and collapsed behind them, leaving both the doctor and the pilot gasping for breath::

RENNYN: Holographic snow. Press one button and we'd be back to pleasant weather. What is going on with this program??

FOSTER: I’m no engineer, but if I had to give a technical guess, I would say that it is … messed up. Bad.

RENNYN: Let's find Blueheart and the others. ::Something large and furry ran past them in the dark and the lightly blowing snow. It was the source of the smoke smell. Up close, it smelled more like singed hair.:: Was that--? Nahhh...

FOSTER: Good plan. ::pause:: and… don’t ask such questions, Ren. Trust me, we don’t want to know the answers.

RENNYN: I will be happy to get out of this makeshift holodeck just as soon as someone opens the door. ::Ren wrapped his piece of curtain around himself a little tighter.:: Look, I see everyone over there.

FOSTER: Me, too. ::looking:: Well, they look all right, let’s get over there.
::And halfway in between starting and getting there the snow stopped. It went from blizzard to clear in less time than it takes a hungry dog to beg for food. Which was strange enough… but then the whole landscape started to reform. The ground went from a flat field to rough terrain. Dark trees clawed their way up from the desolate blackened soil and scratched the sky until it bled deep orange fire.
Boulders rocked the land, jutting up at odd angles and sending officers flying. Wyn shifted his stance, his antennae flickering like a cat’s tail as it tries to balance on a ledge while he reached out to steady the person nearest to him.
FOSTER: I feel the earth move under my feet…
Lieutenant JG Shar’Wyn Foster
Medical Officer
USS Atlantis
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