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Doz "Gramma" Finch - Ebb and Flow

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While I remember and no-one has beaten me to it: ever since Doz joined the Gorkon, she amazes me with her wordplay and great sims. So far, each of her characters is based on someone and with that person in mind, she really makes her characters come to life.

Now what amazed me in the following sim was the mix of emotions she put me through (during my lunch break, no less…). First there was the emotional part where we get a glimpse in her past, and then with a swift move she had me laughing at my desk with the rest of her sim.

Amazing work, @Doz Finch, keep going. 


((The Cellar Bar, Near the Warehouse, Outskirts, Witherington, Indre III))

Finch’s demeanor had shifted subtly but surely over the last day, spent mostly in the company of the one known as Lark, and briefly with the other one known as Trouble. The bulk of the shift had happened once the colonist Imul had been introduced. Her cold and watchful quietness had, through some need and necessity to survive, given way to an emphaticness. It was neither overbearing nor obstructive to the mission, but she could tell that the shift had been noticed by the younger fighter and Bajoran who led their cause, whose glances towards her had grown taller and wider and more frequent in those last few hours, like an invasive anemone.

Feeling eyes in the back of her head was one of her many personal knacks; a woman didn’t spend most of her life in a corrupt penal colony, filled with amoral guards, and dangerous criminals to not develop such an ability. As the weather continued to pummel, she had moved carefully down a set of wet steps towards the door leading to the cellar, feeling those eyes goring into her, and had entered it with her weapon raised. Sometime during their walk from the barn and through the many fields that separated them and the it, she had taken the disrupter back from Imul, eager to feel its haughty steel against her aged skin, eager to pry the roof of its barrel with her cloudy eyes, eager to claim it fully as her own.

As she moved through the cellar-bar, filled with the nose-tingling scent of alcohol, she’d almost released it, startled a little by the presence of a spike-tailed rat. But sense had kicked in just in time. Any place a rodent felt comfortable enough to wander about in was enough of a sign that the place was safe, and so she said:

Finch: ...This’ll do the job.

Tahna: Lure them out, get them tipsy, lock ‘em in here to drink themselves to death.

Tahna gave them a grim-smile, but as she and Imul began to descend into the cellar, the unmistakable sound of a Cardassian shuttle filled all of their ears with its leaden hymn. The other two turned, and Finch moved a few steps closer to them, heavy face peering out through a gap beside Tahna. The shuttle had moved over to a boxy building nearby, seemingly readying to park itself beside it.

Imul: That should be the location of the warehouse.

As they stood there, three heads looking up into the sky at the slightly shimmering and rain-drenched shuttle, mist whipping around it, Finch’s mind went back to her idea of taking it, picturing its internal design, envisioning the men stationed in and around it.

She felt Tahna’s glance, and looked back at her through her brown eyes, the constellation of stars within them faded.

Tahna: And that will be our supply delivery.

Finch: Mm, in the nick of time.

Her words were punctuated by the sound of a distant explosion, causing all three of them to duck once again. The shuttle, typically big enough to carry prisoners, slowly turned in place, floating above its desired location, until a billow of smoke in the even further distance beckoned its attention.

The smoke, hauntingly visible in the darkness, carried cries that could be heard for miles. Whether Cardassian or colonist or Skarbekian cries, she couldn’t tell.

Imul: Something must have happened.

Tahna: Let’s hope that was one of our explosions, not theirs.

Finch: Mm, and it was a big one. The Spoons will no doubt be needing more than a few of their men to investigate it.

Imul: This might be our best time. Those at the warehouse might be called away, maybe there’ll be less guards now than at dawn. ::He raised his hands.:: Only one way to find out.

Finch: ::she nodded, almost stirred:: Imul is right—strike while the iron is hot.

The guards would have had their attention divided, leaving their weakest to look after the warehouses’ landing points. The ebb and flow of their routines interrupted just enough for Finch, Tahna and Imul to steal what they needed to steal.

Tahna: Right. Bring the alcohol, in case some have stuck around.

Imul: I have them.

Tahna: We need to move quickly, there’s no telling how long that explosion will keep them distracted. Rhita said if we can get in, his folks will make sure we can get back out. I’d like to believe that, but don’t let your guard down.

Imul: Ready when you are.

Finch took one last dark glance at the cellar, absorbing its dusty confines potentially one last time, before turning back to them with a swift nod.

Finch: Lead the way, girl.


((Near the Warehouse, Outskirts, Witherington, Indre III))

The journey from the cellar to the warehouse wasn’t unlike those they had been making throughout the day. They passed all the usual, horrid sights; street-lamps atop crushed cars, trees burned and uprooted, craters pocketing the streets they quickly ran through, and barely a colonist in sight. Which during the curfew only made sense. But that didn’t stop the curious from peering out of window curtains, and sheepishly closing them in a flash whenever one of them noticed and looked back.

Lark led the way, taking Rubin—the mongrel—and his natural reactions to his environment very seriously indeed.

As they moved through the streets, avoiding the fragments of patrolling troops heading in the direction of the big explosion, Finch momentarily wondered what had happened to the girl, to Lark, to bring her to this point. The obvious was that she was Bajoran, and so had likely lost her home, or family members and friends, those she loved to the Cardassian occupation. But how deeply had it affected her? Would it haunt her forever? Was she cursed to spend eternity fighting enemies alongside the Maquis, because she had nothing else left? Couldn’t the girl move to another part of the quadrant and start anew, instead of throwing it all away on a hopeless war?

As Finch’s beady brown eyes bored into the plumage of the back of the girl's head, those were the thoughts that scratched at the innards of her mind. Tahna’s situation reminded her all too familiarly of her own, thirty years earlier. When her entire life had been turned upside down, and she lost everything, and everyone. Remnants of the girl she used to be barely existed anymore, not even safely tucked away in her dreams. All that remained was nightmares, and the ghost of the girl she used to be looking back at her in the besmirched surfaces of anything that could reflect.

After a few minutes, the slight and wet slaps of their shoes slowed down, as they came a stone-throws distance from the metallic warehouse. It was relatively small, which may have been advantageous for them. Guards stood outside of it, noted by Tahna’s quick and quiet voice;

Tahna: ::quietly:: I can lure them away like we planned, if you can get in past the building’s security system. Or…I can try to talk them into letting me walk right in, you two follow after.

Imul: We should try to stay together.

Finch: Mm, he has a point. Any other options?

Tahna: Shooting is always an option, just not my first choice.

Finch: ::stoically:: But it may be the only one.

Imul opened the bottle of kanar and handed it over to Lark.

Imul: You’ll need this.

The mongrel bounced at Lark’s side, which was probably a good thing. They watched as they moved forward, Finch’s attention gazing over to the other sides of the building, noting its fences, and any other routes in.

Imul: We need to help her. Let’s go after her and pretend we’re drunk and we no longer remember where our house is. At least it’ll get us closer to them.

Finch: …what!?

Imul’s idea nearly floored Finch. The woman’s head twisting around to look at him, eyes bulged and drenched in the pouring rain. But before she could protest his idea, his arm was already proffered, as if she had any choice at all. He launched them both forwards, barely giving Finch enough time to conceal her disrupter inside her gray garment, and tailgated Tahna’s approach towards the guards.

Finch looked and felt completely out of sorts, small body jittering and jolting next to him with every thrashing of his performative slew.

Tahna: Response

Finch: ::grumbling:: I hope you know what you’re doing, Imul.

Imul: My kingdom for my house.

He moved the pair of them past Lark, intent on stealing the guards attention. Finch shot the young Bajoran an alarming glance—eyes now ballooned to extremity.

They inched closer to the guards, her dull heart suddenly resurrected with a hard thump inside her ribs.

Finch: ::mumbling:: If they don’t kill us, I’ll kill ya me’self… ::her accent thick::

Tahna: Response

Guard 1: ::to the other guard:: Look.

Guard 2: You shouldn’t be out here.

Imul: My friends, you wouldn’t know where my house is, would you? ::He turned the empty bottle upside down.:: I need a refill but well… ::He motioned towards the street.:: It is gone, all gone…

Finch: All gone. ::she repeated, awkwardly pretending to lose her balance:: Poof!

Guard 1: ::laughing:: Poof!

Guard 2: ::grinning:: You’ll have to find your own way back, little man.

Tahna: Response

He moved closer, seemingly ready to strike one of the guards with the bottle. So that’s the direction he was heading in.

Imul: Or maybe you can join me for a drink? Don’t… ::He smacked his lips.:: Don’t you have some of these bottles stored inside?

Finch eyed the weapons clasped in the guards hands, then went back to her pretend drunken stupor. Thankfully they seemed entertained, but the fact remained that it was past curfew hours, and time was ticking before their sense of duty kicked in.

Finch: It’s strong stuff…let's get more. ::she said, gripping onto Imul for balance, ensuring that it hurt his arm just a little bit.::

Guard 1: ::laughing:: Is it now? Maybe we should take them up on the offer, what do you think?

Guard 2: Yeah, maybe we should…

Tahna/Imul: Response

The second guard peered behind them at Tahna, a speckle of unease draped on his face.

Finch’s heart punched at her ribs again.

Finch: What I'd give to be back in our cellar, surrounded by the stuff. ::she inclined her head to Imul::

Guard 2: ...Surrounded by it?

Guard 1: ::to the second guard:: We are running low. We could go with them for a few minutes, couldn't we? then head straight back?

Tahna/Imul: Response

The guards responded with curiosity, but the second one shifted his eyes to Tahna again. He was onto something.

Finch slowly turned her head around and looked Tahna dead in the eyes.

Tahna/Guards/Imul: Response

Doz Finch, "Gramma"

As simmed by,

Ensign Doz Finch
Engineering Officer
USS Gorkon
Edited by Samira Neathler
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