Popular Post Bryce Tagren-Quinn Posted May 24, 2023 Popular Post Posted May 24, 2023 Exploring the Skarbek world has been exciting and a great way to explore different facets of our characters, taking them to places we haven't thought of before, and scrambling maybe existing parts of their "regular" versions. @Doz Finch - I have truly enjoyed reading about SkarDoz ("Gramma"), and seeing the world through her eyes, and the transformation she's undergone along the way. I love the introspection, particularly at the beginning of this sim, and how she relates to her companions. Very well done! Kudos to all of you, @SevaReeshe, and @Tahna Meru for bringing forth such an enjoyable and amazing scene! Quote ((Niu Hotel, Borrel District, Witherington, Indre III)) Age was a fickle thing. For so many it was a trophy of acumen. As if somehow, somewhere along the line, a person who had reached a certain number of years and had the accompanying throng of wrinkles had thereby achieved immaculacy. Forget everything a person may have done in their life, whether good or bad, great or insignificant—if they were older, then they were just right. It wasn’t to be considered, questioned, or even argued over in a championship of debating Tellarites. God help anyone who had the audacity to even try. But it was fickle. Like a brilliant sun bleeding through the besmirched window of a shuttle, it sometimes had the tendency to block the aged from seeing what was right in front of them. As Finch stood on the precipice of the communications centre, with two young Bajorans next to her, readying themselves to infiltrate a room within which any number of dangers awaited them, that was the thought that drifted through her own old mind. In the presence of these witting, and sometimes unwitting young women, so much of who she had become had been reflected back to her, forcing her to look inward at herself, at her choices, her thoughts, her actions, her stubbornness. Is this what it had taken? A brush with death? The impending and adrenaline fueled scramble of a firefight in an old beaten down hotel, in which they had no time to think or acclimate, and no time at all to do anything other than attack and defend. A fight in which she had felt bizarrely alive, for the first time in so long, and in which she had to put her trust and faith in those two young Bajoran women, despite neither of them having gone through what she had gone through. Yet, did that matter? Did time or age matter? Misery, grief, the emptiness… anyone could live there, whether decrepit or of youth. Desolation was a house with many rooms. Maybe it had been something more than that. After all, she had looked death in the eye many times before, and never quite made his acquaintance. Why, then, was it different this time? She could feel it again. The thrum of her heart, inside her chest full of webs. Aye. Perhaps those women would never see the many facets of who she was, or who she had been; she couldn’t be cut open like a tree and examined, or photographed like an eroded coastal cliff. All they could see was that which was visible on her face, which was so often detached, or read in her actions, so often hard-hearted. But none of that really mattered. As long as she did her bit, and helped them all to stay alive long enough to free that colony. Somehow her little detour with the Skarbek Maquis had given her more of a purpose than she ever thought was possible, outside of Vrekil... perhaps she was more than just a solitary old woman, and an ex-convict with strange connections and questionable tricks and skills, on the run from a man she called Norström. Perhaps indeed. Seva: G-go! They hurried in, their weapons armed and spewing concentrated bullets of heat. The initial sight before her was hazy, as a shimmering machine full of small lights with a busied operator took centre-stage, her beady eyes dizzied as Seva took out her guard, and Lark hers. Slightly delayed, her own guard had a moment to turn and lift his weapon with a sharp intake of air, only to be winded in the stomach by the barrel of her rifle, and shot harshly through the base of his chin and out through the back of his skull—her actions swift and almost automatic. His body fell into a heap with solemn exhale, and Finch turned around, her face dripping with sweat and her mouth quickly blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. It was almost too easy—and it was. The sounds of proliferating voices filled the air, coming from the ramshackled corridor that they had only just vacated. Tahna: Get down! Lark dived toward the lock interface, shooting blindly into the corridor as she did. Finch: ::ducking to the wall with a grimace:: How many are there? Seva: Response Tahna: Gramma, can you cut off their access? Lock them out? Finch: I’m no Doodle, but I’ve picked my way out of a fair few locks before. ::nodding:: I can only try. Here, Seva. Hold this—::throwing her the rifle::—and don’t break it. I’ve waited a damn long time to get my hands on one of those. Seva: Response As Seva took the rifle off her, Finch’s eyes darted to a number of screens in the room, her tongue as usual sliding across her thin bottom lip in thought. She approached a few of them, head flicking left to right, gnarled fingers tapping away to try and figure out what one controlled access to the doors. Meanwhile, Lark took stock of the main communications system in the room, seemingly thinking ahead. Moments later, she hesitated, eyes squinted at a lilac symbol on a beige background. Fiddling with it a few times, the doors to the room clicked, before the oncoming Cardassians reached it, their fists banging against the doors with all of the same frustration their fellow troops had had only minutes before. Tahna: Everyone okay? Seva: Response Finch: Glowing. Radiant as I’ll ever be, now that I’ve locked out those brutes. ::she huffed amusedly:: I’ll give that little Ferengi a run for his money yet. ::turning to Lark, eyebrows furrowed:: You’re hurt. She approached Lark and gripped the part of her arm not grazed, lifting it up to get a good look at it. Tahna: Just grazed me. ::She pulled the burnt jacket back over her shoulder with a wince and a wry grin.:: I’ve had worse. Good work, both of you. Finch: ::grunting, eyes flicking between her graze and her face:: Mm. At least wrap it up with this. She pulled a cloth out from inside her jacket and tied it around the woman's arm, perhaps a little too tightly, giving it a stiff nod of approval. Tahna/Seva: Response The banging of the Spoons outside the comms centre intensified, spurring them all into action again. Finch: I’ll crack on with the radar, see just how far this thing reaches. Tahna/Seva: Response Finch: It’s a sophisticated bit of machinery, this. ::she scoffs:: Makes a bloody change. Tahna/Seva: Response -- Doz "Gramma" Finch Associate Skarbek Fixer The Maquis As simmed by Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon C239809SH3 2 3
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