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PNPC LT Melvin Martinson - To The Stars

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I am really enjoying the progress of this side story!
((Bridge, USS Glenn))
It was clear they were the last to arrive and the Captain gave Mel a look he was all too familiar with. He just smiled wryly in return. He let the others crowd in towards the tactical station overlooking the fore end of the bridge as the Captain began giving her presentation. He stayed back closer to the turbolift and the small accessway fore of it. A small pinch of Aine's sleeve held her back and closer to his chosen location.

As much as he loved the Glenn, this presentation had been seen by him probably hundreds of times. He really didn't want to sit through it again. And as far as he knew, Aine had never been on a Galaxy before, he was ecstatic to show her some more of the hidden gems rather than the grand features.

Monroe: Welcome one and all, I am Captain Monroe and I want to welcome you aboard the USS Glenn.
As the Captain brought up the display on the viewscreen, Mel gave Aine's sleeve a tug. Her head turned towards him and a slightly perturbed look came across her face. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head towards the accessway. Aine's eyebrows furrowed in annoyed curiosity.
A couple sharp jabs with his head towards the accessway again trying to silently convince her to come with him. He could tell she was annoyed with the idea as her lips pursed. Nonetheless, she looked back towards the Captain and when she wasn't looking, he gave her sleeve another tug and the pair hurriedly made their way, unseen to the accessway.
He took her by the hand and led her down the ramp. The deck below was darker lit than the bridge. Many had no clue, but here there was an officers lounge for bridge officers. Little more than twice the area of the bridge adorned in plush furniture and various species of plants provided by the botany labs on the Glenn. It was a place for stressed and weary officers to get away for a few minutes. Not many ships had them, but Galaxy's were not just any ships.
He knew they'd have no company here. The Glenn's crew was mostly on 118 enjoying their leave with skeleton crews working in shifts.
Aine had broken his grip and made her way to the windows. There she stood a few feet in front of him, her arms crossed, staring off into space.
Sherlock: ::thinking back to her time on her previous posting:: Not even the Excalibur had something like this. You all are really pampered.
Martinson: The entire outer rim decks nine and ten are lounges. There's a lot of places on these babies to get away.
He moved to just inches behind her, looking over her shoulder. The front of the saucer was like a horizon, falling off in the distance. He always felt this view gave one a good perspective on the massive size of the Glenn.
Martinson: I thought you might like this view the most. I remember the first time you got to tour a ship while we were at the Academy. There was a point you fell behind because you were just standing there staring out the port.
Sherlock: ::half a smile curled:: I remember that. Earth had never seemed so small before.
There was a long pause. He wanted to say something, anything. But he knew better. He knew to let her just enjoy the moment.
Sherlock: The lounge on the Excalibur had these massive windows. They were angled up and away. Sometimes, if there was no one else there, I'd lean on them. When you looked down and there was nothing there, it felt like you'd fall into space.
The mention of falling away prompted him to move closer to her. His arms slowly wrapped around her and under her crossed arms. A part of him was suddenly nervous.
Sherlock: You know, I'm still mad at you.
Martinson: Are you?
Sherlock: ::a grinned now fully formed:: Yeah, I am.
Martinson: Ok.
His embrace tightened ever so slightly. He thought she must feel some comfort as her neck relaxed and she rested the back of her head on his chest.
Martinson: What was that line from the song you used to sing? The one I tried to learn? "Rockin' to a realtor, Joe co lomsa" or something like that?
He could feel the silent laugh through his arms as she shook her head in disapproval.
Sherlock: You were so bad at this. You're Irish is the worst.
Martinson: It really is. But to be fair, it sounds more alien than alien languages.
She playfully elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed in response.
Sherlock: ((OOC: spelling this phonetically so those that can't read Irish can sound it out...sorta.)) Rachin tee na railta, da choe coe lomsa.
Martinson: I'd travel to the stars, if you came with me.
She leaned her head back once more. He missed this, though he wasn't going to say it aloud. There was comfort in old familiarity and it was clear to him she felt something like that too. He didn't speak again, he'd ruined too many moments in the past that way. There they stood, staring off into space, silently.
Lieutenant Melvin Martinson
Federation Inter-Trade Negotiator
USS Glenn
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