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[Last Round 2008] Preparations

Alana Devar

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(( Commander Brunsig's Stationside Quarters ))

::Methodical. Organised. Cuff links right side in. Cuff links left side

in. Pull formal jacket on and tug at sleeves.

::Look in mirror. Straighten formal jacket. Frown. Pick up comb and

straighten down two tufts of hair that keep threatening to make you look

like the devil. While you're at it, check hair for grey.

::Turn around, and let the music take you. Barak-Kadan, the veritable Don

Giovanni of Klingon Opera. After a minute, speak.::

Brunsig: Computer, music off.

::The music abruptly stops. One more look in the mirror, then turn and


(( Lieutenant Commander Reynolds' Personal Quarters ))

::Rushed. Disorganised. Earring right side in. No idea where left one is.

Dash around office looking for it while assistant tries to finish tying

back of dress. Finally find it underneath coffee table. Earring left side


::Look in the mirror. Fuss with dress. Frown. Consider rearranging hair,

but catch sight of Tsao's poker face and decide more than life's worth to

ruin her handiwork. Fuss with dress again.

::Turn around and let Tsao inspect appearance. Earn an approving nod. Feel

like a lamb to the slaughter.::

Reynolds: I guess I'm ready to go.

::Pick up clutch bag. One more look in the mirror, sigh, then turn and


(( The Promenade ))

::Proceed without hurry. No need to hurry as there's plenty of time. See a

few of the station staff. Geeva. Reed. Ramirez. Scowl at him. Nod at

the others.

::In your mind, hum the last tune of Barak-Kadan. Then realise, with

annoyance, that you were humming it out aloud, and that Ensign looked at you

oddly. How will you do in a diplomatic situation if you can't even keep you

mind on walking quietly, [...]it?

::You pass a bar. Why not, you think. You've got at least fifteen minutes

before you're supposed to be at the doors of the opera.

::Enter the bar, and hold up a finger, indicating a shot of whiskey

synthahol. Not, by any means your drink of choice, but you're on duty after


(( Elsewhere on the Promenade ))

::Proceed in a barely concealed fluster. Try not to trip over stupidly long

outfit. See a few of the station staff. Geeva. Ventu. Webb. Avoid Webb.

Faint smile at the others.

::In your mind, go over the plan for the evening. Then realise,

with embarrassment, that you were mumbling to yourself and just earned a

very odd look from a passing Bolian. How are you going to be a decent spy

if you can't even think quietly?

::You pass a bar. Can't hurt, you think. Maybe you can trick your brain

into gaining some Dutch Courage from the synthahol.

::Enter the bar, and hold up a finger, indicating a shot of whiskey

synthahol. Something's better than nothing, and you're hoping for the

placebo effect, after all.::

(( In the Bar ))

::You take a sip and look around you. Thousands of people on a massive

station and why do they all have to be in your face? Frown at a crewman

looking at you. He looks away quickly.

::Drain the glass, and ask for another. Klingon opera you can stand.

Dealing with people, you can't.::

(( Elsewhere in the bar ))

::Knock back synthehol. Wrinkle nose. None of the flavour, none of fun.

You wonder why you bothered in the first place.::

Reynolds: Another, please.

::You remember some quote about insanity being the repetition of the same

action while expecting a different result.::

(( In the Bar ))

::You drain the last of the fluid and grimace. They can put a space ship

hundreds and thousands of times the speed of light, but they can't yet make

a passable whiskey synathol.

::You stand, and move out.::

(( Elsewhere in the Bar ))

::Polish off another. Decide you really should get going. Sigh. Slide off

barstool and nearly trip over hem of dress. Decide to murder Tsao later on

in the evening.::

::Pause outside bar for a moment. You debate the best place to meet with

Ramirez before heading inside.::

((Outside the bar.))

::As you leave, you bump into someone. You turn to scowl to see it's...

((Outside the bar))

...Walter? Even as you take a step away, you can't help but think...

((Outside the bar))

...that she looks lovely tonight, her hair swept back and...

((Outside the bar))

...he really does look *good* in a suit.::

((Outside the bar))

Brunsig: Commander Reynolds.

Reynolds: Sir.

((Outside the bar))

::Just for a second as you depart, you look over your shoulder. Then mind

back on the job.::

((Outside the bar))

::A few steps down the corridor and you steal a glance over your shoulder.

A small smile, a shake of the head, and a mental reminder to yourself that

you really have more important things to be thinking about tonight.::


Commander Walter Brunsig

Executive Officer, Starbase 118 Fleet Operations

Commanding Officer, USS Hargraves.


Lieutenant Commander Quinn Reynolds

Chief Intelligence Officer

Starbase 118 Ops

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Guest The Envoy (Ventu)

I'm glad to see this entry. I was going to do it myself, but here it is!

I don't think I've ever seen second person ever used so effectively. One of the best pieces of writing I've seen, period.

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