Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

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Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

July 04, 2019, 03:35:08 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Arboretum Terrace | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @Numen

Of all the places she had discovered aboard her new vessel, Hathev had found she approved of only a slight few. Her quarters, of course, were adequate and she was therefore content with them; the same could be said of her office. The Below Decks Lounge had been an experience outside her usual remit and not one she would be looking to pursue further, and the main medical bay with which her office adjoined was similarly an area she would only enter if necessary. There had been little cause to traverse the bridge or the various conference rooms and lounges afforded to the officers of the ship, and her knowledge of other major areas of the ship were also limited due to their visitation being unnecessary to perform her duty.

Other than her office and her quarters, therefore, there was only one area of the ship which she could say she found pleasant. The Arboretum was well-kept and tidy, with a neat symmetry that was aesthetically and intellectually appreciated. The apparently more enticing offer of shore leave on Aldea meant the arboretum was usually quiet, with few other occupants to distract her, and the general environs lent themselves to thought and contemplation. As Hathev approached the one-week anniversary of her arrival aboard the Theurgy -- a dubious honour, and a day she would not mark, and yet a date that she was still aware of -- she found herself in need of a calm place to perform the latter activity. A change of scene from her office was warranted as it would keep her brain stimulated and avoid falling into ennui as a result of too long spent in a single space; furthermore, she enjoyed the perspective offered by the Memorial Terrace, the ever-constant reminder of the losses suffered by her patients and her responsibility towards the disparate crews now occupying the same ship she served.

The quietude had another benefit in that it all but guaranteed she would be unmolested by company during her time in the Arboretum, and there was one individual aboard the ship at this very moment whose company she considered it prudent to avoid until a later date. She had considered it prudent from the moment she discovered his presence, and his low rank meant she had little duty or cause to ever re-evaluate such a stance. They would encounter one another eventually, of course, and she had no doubt they would both behave with the utmost professionalism; there would be no detriment to their duty or their working relationship. There was no reason to seek out such a meeting, however, and so she was glad of the opportunity to minimise the chances of such an unnecessary inconvenience occurring.

On arrival in the Arboretum, she took a turn around the gardens before settling herself with her PADD. Before the destruction of the Bellerophon, she had been reading a most informative study on memory production and retention in emotional species before and after trauma; she returned to this now, finding her place quickly and picking up where she had left off mere moments before the red alert had been sounded. A most curious turn of events, to find herself rereading the same pages on the very vessel that destroyed the one prior, while seated metres away from the memorial plaque commemorating the crew felled by her new compatriots.

It had been during the memorial service that she realised Triss would have been notified of her death. The Federation had little way of knowing who had survived the destruction of the Bellerophon, and she would have been classed as missing in action; Triss had been the wife of a Starfleet officer long enough to parse the meaning behind those words. It had been an unwelcome revelation. They had not been on speaking terms for some time, even before Hathev had returned to duty, however she had not intended her departure to be so final.

She wondered if Triss had mourned her.

No matter. Such concerns were trivial. She refocused, returning to her reading once more, and yet she found she had difficulty focusing; perhaps another turn around the gardens would revive her. She stood smoothly and with purpose, walking with a stony determination to clear her mind. Any other thoughts were best left behind her, where they belonged.

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #1 – July 08, 2019, 12:24:09 AM

att: @fiendfall

It was a casual collision. The human woman rushed out of the Arboterium, tears in her eyes and her breath choppy. So centered was she in her own emotional turmoil that she hadn't noticed Seren's presence and she rammed herself against the Vulcan, resting her hands on his chest and soaking the front of his long copper tunic. Of course, the counselor had not been monitoring her, obscured behind the door lintel, lurking. Of course Seren had not taken a step into the room just as he had seen the woman look away, so she would not notice his presence until it was too late. Obviously, he had held her so that she would not fall, and the brush of the skin on her wrist with his fingers had been absolutely casual. After all, she was taller than him and could have knocked him down, which could have made that both of them fell to the floor. Perhaps, for a second, he had forget that he was far stronger and sturdier than the human, despite his svelte frame. A convenient omission.

She had apologized, waving her hands, shivering and struggling to collect herself. The human looked like a crew member who had experience with Vulcans and had made praiseworthy efforts to repress her emotional outburst. She had excused herself again, stepped back as she clasped her hands. A compulsive and unconscious movement, which tried to appease that mental tingle she had barely been aware of. Seren maintained his imperturbable semblance, his behavior never left his species' nonchalance. But his pulse quickened in his veins as he savoured the emotions that had seeped into his mind from the slight connection. Sorrow, grief, an utter devastation, and an emotional ache that might have stirred his organic heart, if it were still in his torso. But the mechanical device that replaced it kept on beating unperturbed, with no change of rhythm, in spite of how his mind trembled, relishing those emotions that he could not feel on his own. Apologies and explanations were traded again and, in just a few seconds, Seren found himself alone again.

Then, when no one could see him, he brought his hand to the wet spot on his chest. That place where the tears had soaked his robes. The Vulcan glided his fingers through that residue of emotion, like an addict trying to cling to the last wisps of his drug. This time, however, he felt naught. Seren, like most of his species, was a touch telepath and he needed direct interaction with another living being in order to activate his skills. The young man looked at his wet fingers as he spread them out and clenched them in one fist. Regardless of how long it had remained frozen, even though half of himself was no longer who he had been, his imperfection was still there. A depravation unworthy of a proper Vulcan. A compulsion he cannot get rid of.

Seren dropped his hand to his side, drying his fingers with the fullness of his robe. Perhaps that disconnection he experienced with his own body had made his defect even more pungent. Perhaps his inability to feel himself fully in his own body made the urging more acute, despite its undignity. The Vulcan took a deep breath and resumed his trek to the Arboretum.

His footsteps led him along one of the least traveled paths, far from ponds and flower beds, far from leaf canopies overshadowing small nooks and crannies where people could rest, with benches and grass spots. Seren was well acquainted with the Arboterum and its shady footpaths. He, like all of his kind, hardly slept. A few hours of rest and meditation supplied all the repose that his body needed, which allowed him to use the quietest hours to walk through the areas of the ship that were normally full of crew in absolute solitude. That was something that appealed to his quiet temperament and that allowed him to ponder in motion, on a different stage than his rooms or his office. A way to keep his senses occupied and avoid alienating himself when faced with spaces visited a thousand times, without the chance of an unnecessary encounter that he didn't desire, nothing that would interrupt the flow of his thoughts unless he holds them himself. A kind of ritual that provided him serenity and inner calm.

As he let his strides lose him through the myriad of small trails that faded among the foliage, Seren rummaged through the hidden pockets of his sleeves and extracted a small copy of Surak's teachings. It wasn't the book he had brought with him on board, a handwritten copy that had accompanied him since he had left T'Karath. It was a newly replicated paperback, a handful of leaflets that tried to emulate the one that had burned with part of his quarters. Paper without history, without soul, that mimicked what he had lost. But the words, the words were the same. The lessons, the teachings, were there, transmitted from Surak without change for generations. And so, Seren immersed himself in the reading, in search of a peace and tranquility that eluded him.

When he raised his gaze, 17.01 minutes later he spotted her. He knew she was on the starship, of course. And naturally he had tried to avoid meeting her, despite being the Department Chief. She had made no effort to reach him either, which had led them to that very vulcan circumstance of not dealing with the elephant in the room because there was no reason to disturb it. And given that they had at least a century to ruminate on how to handle the problem (or whether if there had need to deal with it) unless some fortuitous circumstance led to the death of either of them. So Seren closed his book and just observed the Professor. He hadn't seen her in years and, as expected, her features had barely changed. Perhaps there was something in her posture, a je ne sais quoi which suggested exhaustion, as if her circumstances weighed heavily upon her, so much so that they caused small cracks in her unperturbable mask. She, like he had done barely a few minutes ago, read something with deep attention, but where he had chosen a parchment copy, she favored a padd. Two different approaches to the written word. Two ways of understanding the world. Two different characters, whose differences went unnoticed except for the keenest observer. In the eyes of an alien they were just two Vulcans, their attitude the same, imperturbable, whose differences were merely physical. Seren saw much more. The conflict that had kept them apart for so many years was still bleeding between them, like a deep and fresh wound.

In that instant, Hathev raised her gaze and her hazel eyes caught on to Seren's dark ones. She remained motionless. He remained as still as he had been until then. Their glances kept intersecting. Neither blinked. None of them moved. For long minutes, Seren pondered the prospect of folding his hands into his wide sleeves and simply turning his back on her. To leave to another place, to another part of the ship more hidden, more discreet. One that she didn't know, a newcomer as she was. But with that meeting, that unexpected serendipity, their tacit agreement to not contact each other had been broken.

So, given the age and rank difference, there was only one solution left, in accordance with tradition and decorum. Seren took a step forward, straight posture, perfectly measured body angles. He raised his left hand and spread his fingers in the traditional greeting of their folk. Yet instead of the predictable greeting, he merely uttered one word. A word full of respect and, at the same time, that could be regarded as offensive, knowing what brought them together and what kept them apart.

“k'war'ma'khon”

OOC:
k'war'ma'khon → as close as family, but not genetically related
From here

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #2 – July 15, 2019, 10:57:30 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Arboretum Terrace | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @Numen

She did not know what caused her to bring her eyes up, or what led them to alight on the face they found. A vague sensation that she was under another’s scrutiny, perhaps, or perhaps the air currents had shifted minutely, disturbing her repose. No doubt she could have analysed the moments leading to her actions and reached a scientific conclusion as to the cause, were she so inclined. She was not.

She did, however, know the cause of what followed. As she met the placid gaze of her fellow Vulcan, her respitory system seized, leading to a shortness of breath and irregularity of cardiac contraction; this, combined with the increased adrenaline production her system was exhibiting, darkened the edges of her vision as her vast intellect bent towards the single individual whose gaze she was caught in, unblinking and unmoving, muscles locked.

Kireil. Her son. Her child, her flesh and blood, her baby she had borne and loved and raised and lost. It had been-- years, years since he had allowed Triss to kiss his cheek, since he had nodded at Hathev, before turning to wave with a smile tugging at his lips. He’d struggled to stand still for the transporter, energy and enthusiasm barely contained; and then he had been gone, beamed aboard the USS Eulabeia. Within ten months she would no longer have a son.

This… was not him. Oh, he looked similar -- the hair (close-cropped), the eyes (warm), the skin (smooth), even the fineness of the facial bones… But this was a true Vulcan. Her son’s presence was writ large over Seren’s features, but in stature and countenance he was absent: in expression, in personality, and in reality. In appearance they were twins, but in all else, Kireil and Seren were polar opposites, despite the commonality on their faces.

She had avoided this meeting for a reason. There was little purpose in reopening old wounds; she and Seren were colleagues, nothing more, and acknowledging their shared history would achieve nothing other than to serve as a needless reminder of how much had been lost in the intervening years. From what little she could read upon his face, Seren seemed equally displeased to have initiated this meeting; there was nothing to be done, however. This moment had been approaching ever since the ensign had been awoken from stasis, and although it was unfortunate she had been caught at a moment when she was somewhat maudlin, perhaps it was well that they were to deal with the issue now rather than wait.

As was proper, they would greet one another, exchange acknowledgements of each other’s presence and proximity aboard the vessel, and perhaps make an observation as to the time passed since their last meeting. Then they would part, offering a final wish for prosperity, and their future interactions would follow much the same outline. There was no need for anything more significant, and she had no desire for it. There was nothing to be gained from such pursuits.

Hathev took a moment to recentre herself as Seren approached, and in a short moment her composure had been entirely rebuilt, in an exertion of her iron will that had not been necessary for some time. With the return of her control, she was able to regard Seren dispassionately, observing him from a removed and logical vantage. He did truly share much with her son, but just as much of him was his own mother’s: cool and detached, impartial, proper. He had changed only slightly in the ten years since she had last seen him; he had always been developed beyond his years, and the book he held in his hand spoke to his continuing dedication to Surak that had consumed him even as a child. The tight control of his expression she had expected; his greeting, however, she had not.

‘k’war’ma’khon,’ he said, and Hathev found herself taken aback once more as this son who was not hers greeted her with an acknowledgement of the family they had once been.

Her predictions had been wrong. Seren had broken protocol. The script she had carefully constructed for herself, precariously but perfectly balanced like the game of kal-toh they had once shared, fell to pieces in the face of Seren’s greeting. He was the very last individual she would have expected this behaviour from; what could he expect to gain from it?

‘orensu,’ she said finally, offering the most minute of nods in acknowledgement. A fitting greeting, she considered; both admonishing the boy for his breach of decorum with a reminder of his youth and inexperience, and harking back to their previous relationship, to the relationship she had hoped would continue, but which had ultimately done more harm than good.

Her son was not here, however. Reminder though he was, Seren was his own person, and conversing with him could no longer damage her efforts with Kireil.

She regarded Seren levelly, calmly, without the earlier complications that had clouded her vision. ‘How go your studies, t’nash-veh orensu?’

OOC:
orensu = student
t'nash-veh = my
from the VLD

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #3 – July 23, 2019, 10:01:47 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

She didn't anticipate that he' d greet her in that fashion. Just as he had foreseen. It took her a second, but she responded to his greeting with correctness. But she drew some distance between them. Student and teacher. Young and Elder. Liutenant Comander and Ensign. The most rational part of his brain considered that it was the most convenient solution. In so doing she admitted their mutual connection, but at a suitably detached level. An elegant and logical arrangement. But, for some reason, it disappointed him. Perhaps it was due to the human female's emotions, which still lingered in the back of his brain, rather than fading entirely. Maybe it was an unsatisfied need that he had been repressed for so long. He didn't know the answer, but it was an unpleasant feeling. Disturbing. Something that curled up in the lower part of his stomach, just over his mechanical heart as though it were a physical weight. Even though whatever it was, it was the opposite of agreeable, it was fascinating. Mostly due it come from within him, repressed and, still, there. So Seren embraced the thrill within himself. He had established the game-field. Hathev, the game rules. All that was left was to develop the match. With or without that... thing.

Outwardly, his face remained undisturbed. Just a small nod, a sign of acquiescence towards the separation she had imposed. A precise reflection of the subtle movement she had made. After all, Seren had been, for a time, her pupil. And imitation was a proper way to show respect. So to learn.

Like a decade ago, Seren moved to Hathev's left, slightly behind her, in deference to her age and rank. None of them vocalized the willingness to continue their walks through the arboretum, but despite this, they began to move in unison. As if an invisible force had pushed them to resume movement. As the older woman raised her question, Seren kept the book he had read in the hidden pockets of his sleeves, inane as it was at that moment as a result of the new circumstances. When he extracted his hands from his sleeves, his fingers trembled slightly, still craving for contact, looking for more. Seren endeavored to conceal that tremor, that outward sign of his flaw, as soon as he could. He intertwined his fingers inside his wide copper sleeves, obscuring his hands from Hathev's inquisitive gaze.

"My studies made an adequate progress, savensu," he confirmed, filling a decade-long absence of contact with that short phrase. "The circumstances that forced me to interrupt my service prompted me to focus on more compelling duties before being subjected to cryostasis," he explained, his voice serene an monotonous. With no further details, as he did not know to what extent Hathev was a participant in the threat of parasites, how much of what she had been told had motivated her to serve on the Theurgy, or whether she was simply practicing her profession on the rogue starship due to a mixture of moral obligation and lack of other options. If he hadn't been present at the initial stages, which motivated Captain Ives to flee Earth, if he hadn't been an unusual witness of the parasites presence in Starfleet High Command, he would have considered the Dreadnought defection a grossly illogical act. A senselessness characteristic of a sick mind. But Seren had been present, from the very first moment, and although the very nature of the threat they faced defied all logic, he could not deny it.

Aside from this, his own reference to his transit through the ice prompted him to turn his neck back and forth, so that the carbon tessellation that replaced his skin cracked with a strange, unnatural sound. Seren slowed his steps for a brief moment, trying to suppress that feeling of not belonging to his own body. This small change of pace widened the distance between him and Hathev, barely a step, but it spoke loudly of his slipping control for the one who was attentive to details.

However, Seren rushed to close the gap and quickly settled into the place he had previously occupied quickly. A mere slip. Just that. Invisible in everyone's eyes. Or so Seren said to himself, in an attempt to convince himself.

OOC:
savensu → teacher

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #4 – August 04, 2019, 03:14:48 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Arboretum Terrace | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @Numen

She had acknowledged him in the most personal way allowed by proper behaviour — her student, acknowledging something of what tied them together — and now Seren seemed to accept the lines drawn between them, both separating and joining the two. His newfound adherence to decorum signalled a return to normality, to the expected. He had always been a well-behaved Vulcan boy; his break from this had been somewhat startling. Though years had passed since their last meeting, in which time much had changed, she had been surprised to find him so altered; however as he fell into step the polite distance from her it seemed his earlier behaviour was likely to be an isolated incident.

Had she been a being less inclined to logic, she might have tried to send him away with little contact. This boy with a ghost on his face. However as they began to walk, and as Seren summarised the past few years of separation with appreciable brevity, Hathev found herself interested to hear what the boy had to say. Perhaps ‘student’ truly did not encapsulate everything there was between them; she was unused to such uncertainty, words failing to properly categorise the exact nature of their relationship. Furthermore, that relationship had changed; she was now not only teacher but direct superior in their shared profession.

The string of events that had led them to this point was almost unfathomable in its unpredictability. Would that she had known Seren was serving aboard the Theurgy. Was Selv mourning the loss of his son to a rebel element just as she had done hers? He would be wrong to do so — the Theurgy was no terrorist organisation, they were not true renegades biting at any who came close and threatening a hard-won and tenuous peace with their selfish tantrums — but from such a distance and with so little truth provided he could hardly be expected to fathom the reality of the situation.

She regarded Seren quietly, noting that he had fallen slightly behind her pace. She slowed slightly, allowing him to regain his previous position; in mere seconds he was once more at her side as if nothing untoward had occurred. Curious.

‘You are now well?’ she asked smoothly. ‘And your father, what of him?’

Would she have asked such a thing were he a normal student of hers? If she had met their parentage, perhaps. Would she have been so interested in the response? Doubtful. It seemed an unfortunate fact that she could not stray from. Indecorous as Seren’s address had been, it was not entirely incorrect. She herself shared nothing with the boy beside her, neither blood nor history beyond that of student and teacher, and yet the convoluted web of lineage and forged relationship made him more to her than simply a child she had once taught. Were a patient telling her of this confusion she might have considered it a natural result of the resemblance shared between son and student, yet she knew her mind was not so weak as to create a cuckoo of Seren. This was no emotive transference, no psychological surrogacy, and it would be illogical of her to dismiss it purely on the grounds that it was uncomfortable and improper. Such rules bore little meaning if they did not serve the circumstances.

Were they human she might have apologised for not meeting with him sooner. But she knew such things were unnecessary for them, and so: ‘What do you make of this vessel and her crew?’ she asked, curious to hear his response. ‘I would not remain on board were I not persuaded of the captain’s intentions, yet I am only recently become involved. You have served for somewhat longer, correct?’ Then, in case he mistook her meaning: 'I ask for your analysis, not your dissent. I bear no true ill-will to any aboard.'

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #5 – August 10, 2019, 09:36:57 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

As their steps led them slowly along the paths of the arboretum, Hathev asked him if he was well at the time. Immediately afterwards, she asked him about Selv. Seren allowed himself to stare at her for a couple of seconds, as he wondered what would have led her to raise such queries. "My physical condition is adequate," he plainly replied. It wasn't a lie, since the medical personnel had taken great trouble to restore his health. However, it didn't fully explain the emptiness and disconnection he was experiencing with his new organs. Perhaps it was an invitation to request assistance in this regard. "I am still adjusting to my new organs. It is a more laborious process than I had initially estimated," he finally admitted. It wasn't an easy statement for Seren. Pride was illogical, but Seren was still reluctant to ask for help. After all, there were many crew members on board with more compelling problems than he did. What he suffered was only a temporal nuisance, something he would solve on his own, eventually.

With that idea firmly rooted in his mind, Seren proceeded to answer the second question that the professor had raised. "My progenitor's health was perfect the last time I visited his household, after the Theurgy returned to Earth following its Romulus mission." Seren made a measured pause in his speech. Shortly thereafter, the crew of the Theurgy had intercepted the Starfleet Command transmission where the parasites presence had been discovered. Ives' reaction had been quick and decisive: the Theurgy had left the Sol system and had begun its long fled. The one that had marked all of its crew as defectors and Federation traitors. Hathev was well aware of that crucial moment, and if she was not, that pause would help her to fathom the exact moment the Ensign was alluding to. "Selv was planning to travel to Vulcan this trimester." He hinted, without looking at Hathev's face. The reason for this was obvious, even more so for his chief, who had been involved in such junctures with Selv in the past. "I will take care to let him know that you have asked about him, I am certain he will be fascinated by this affinity..." he said. Perhaps, with the burden of age crushing her human wife, Hathev was looking for another individual to touch fingers with instead of her. That frivolous fact made Seren feel uneasy. Despite his bond with Kiriel, it was obvious that the products of the Hathev-Selv association were imperfect to say the least, and he hoped that Professor's interest in the Sociologist would be mere pleasentries derived from a prolonged contact with humans. The mere prospect of thinking about the alternative almost dyed his pointy ears all green. A circumstance that he only avoided thanks to his complete self-restraint and control over his biological functions. Nevertheless, even though Hathev had belittled the epithet, his chief seemed determined to keep being his k'war'ma'khon as well as his savensu. But there was something else that irked him: "I hope Triss retains an adequate health" he then asked, in a very human fashion. It was nonetheless a good way to remind Hathev that he knew she was a married woman. And that he didn't condone that display of lack of commitment.

Meanwhile, their path had led them to one of the small ponds spread around the arboretum. Seren knew this one well, since that small, anodyne water mass, gathered in a corner of the deck, housed specimens from Lake Yuron. The lake was located in ShiKahr District, from where he came. He had only visited the lake on one occasion, alongside Selv, before they finally departed to Earth, leaving behind their homeworld. The Ensign halted his strides on the shoreline and scanned the still surface. It was calm and unchanging, barely broken by some plants that resembled water lilies, and the roots of some Favinit plants that sank in the water, eager for food that was scarce in the region where they had evolved. If Seren were an emotional creature, perhaps he would had experience some kind of nostalgia while observing this small model of his native planet. But the counselor wasn't devoted to those emotional fragilities. Homesickness was illogical and therefore had no place within him. It was there, in front of the pond, when Hathev required to know his analysis of the crew's condition.

Seren took his time before he offered an answer. He stared at the undisturbed water surface for many long minutes, hands crossed on his back and thin eyebrows darkening softly his eyes. The rest of his stance was flawless, his back straight, his feet firmly grounded, neither too close together, nor too far apart. As stable and immutable as the surface of the pond. "I have served on this vessel since its maiden trip, which coincided with my Cadet Cruise." He finally confirmed. To be assigned to one of Starfleet's prototype ships was a privilege. That the captain chose to keep Seren on board after graduation was an even greater luxury. "My experience, therefore, is with the original crew members, who joined the crew between its launch and the moment I was put on cryostasis." He nuanced. He could speculate about the new additions to the crew, but these would be deductions based on reading their profiles and the few sessions he had performed with his new patients. "Captain Ives knew how to string a crew toguether, how to create a group that was bound together by loyalty to hirself. S/he is a fine officer, although hir actions do not adhere to logic on every occasion, hir intuition has always been accurate. S/he is a charismatic leader, with the pros and cons that implies." The pond's surface was perturbated with a single wave, as if a tiny creature had crossed the limit between air and water. Or as if the Vulcan's voice had disturbed the delicate balance that kept it static. " As for the rest of the crew, as on most starships lately, consists of numerous veterans from the Dominion War, as well as many freshmen with little or no experience. The former have previous issues, traumas and disorders that have been exhacerbated due to the stress to which they have been subjected. The latter have had to mature and develop faster than recommended, adopting attitudes and habits or shortcuts that are not necessarily healthy. As a rule, they are people who experienced a great suffering due to the circumstances in which we were involved. The Starfleet has branded them as traitors and they are worried for their families and acquaintances. Even so, they are striving to preserve the spirit of this institution, to become the best version of the officers they wanted to be," he explained in a solemn tone. When he ceased his speech, he turned to face Hathev and uncrossed his hands, to let them drop to his sides, like a student that is consulting a professor. Only then did he look into Hathev's hazel eyes again. "However, I have concerns about certain actions that have been taken in my absence. The reading of the logs of these past months testify about extraordinary situations that have required exceptional actions, but as far as I have been able to evaluate I do not consider that the extent of these measures was considered in detail. Some of the crew members' deeds have been merely inexcusable under the lens of logic, and even from an emotional point of view. I am perturbed by the moral drift they can suggest," he acknowledged. Seren blinked only once before he continued to speak.

" Furthermore, I have more concerns about the effect it has had and will have in the future to have joined so many crews with such different backgrounds on the Theurgy. Crew members and officers who have only some notion of the magnitude of the threat we face in an indirect light". As it was the case with the woman standing in front of him. " Rescue and shelter all those in need is the moral duty of Starfleet's officers, but not every rescued crew member who has joined the Theurgy did so by choice. And remaining on this vessel, under the circumstances to which it has been subjected because it is the only option they had could lead to sudden tensions that are not easily predictable. I do not know every traumatic circumstance they have experienced and the records of some crew members are, to say the least, fragmentary. But events like the creation of the Devoted of Morali make me wonder that some are outright unstable elements that can jeopardize the cohesion of the crew as a whole". The counsellor remained silent for twenty-three seconds and, finally, his eyes turned again towards the pond as he intertwined his fingers over his chest. "The crew has a strong foundations, but they are poorly knit and have been deeply traumatized. They need rest and bond with each other to form a cohesive group, rather than an amalgam of officers forced to work together. If this does not occur soon..." Seren said no further. The conclusion was logical and Hathev could easily reach it. They walked on the edge of the abyss and, if they kept advancing in the present circumstances, their steps would become more and more unsteady, until they precipitated into their downfall.

OOC:

Vulcanusu
k'war'ma'khon → as close as family, but not genetically related
savensu → teacher

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #6 – August 18, 2019, 01:42:29 AM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Arboretum Terrace | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Numen

Hathev had not read the medical report of Seren’s injuries and the procedures that followed. Such information had been unnecessary; the ensign had undergone all the proper tests and had been released from sickbay and cleared to return to duty, and there had been no concerns raised by his superiors. The time and effort she might expend on reading such information was better used elsewhere, and she had duly turned to such matters more in need of her attention. This caused her to be somewhat surprised to hear from Seren the extent of the surgery he had undergone, and she regarded him with more of an analytical eye than before. Were there any outward signs of such a dramatic event? Could any of his strangeness in their meeting be attributed to this recent upheaval?

His assertion that such surgery took adjusting to was curious; in an emotional being some tumult of feeling after such a change might have been expected, but a Vulcan did not form such an emotional attachment with their internal organs. Seren meant physical adjustment, of course, and yet with modern medicine being as it was even that was unusual.

‘Speak with Medical should you require further assistance,’ she instructed. ‘Request counselling if necessary, particularly if your injury was obtained in a traumatic event. I trust you are capable of judging with such things.’

Perhaps she should have studied the report; she had little understanding of the circumstances surrounding Seren’s stasis and surgery. Would she have read the report were it for an officer with whom she was not familiar? Busy as she had been, she doubted it. No, she had not treated him any differently, however she now found that doing so put her at a disadvantage in this moment. She had behaved as was correct, and yet she disliked being so unprepared for this encounter.

Seren’s analysis of his own health had been perfunctory, and he now took longer on the subject of his father. By his wording it was clear he disapproved of the question; interesting that he would begin their meeting with a breach of decorum such as he had, only to question her own intentions when she bridged the gap between them in a far more acceptable manner. She wondered if it was mere hypocrisy that prompted such behaviour — were it any but Seren who spoke so she would have been inclined to believe it, but the boy had always displayed a Vulcan orthodoxy that was traditional almost to extremity. Could the interim between their meetings account for such a change? Or perhaps it was merely the symptom of the assurance of the young, an adolescent Vulcan with all the judgement of an elder yet offered with considerably less grace and discernment.

His comment on Triss swayed the balance of Hathev’s determination. Clearly it had indeed been hypocrisy with which he spoke, and the childish petulance he now displayed in his pointed reminder was hardly appreciated.

‘My wife’s health current health is unknown to me,’ she said with a sweeping brazenness born of offence. ‘I shall convey your concerns to her, should we speak again.’ She considered making a further comment, to disabuse Seren of any notions he might have, but doing so would edge her ever-closer to a topic the discussion of which would yield no positive results. There was no need to touch such a subject, and she would not do so without due cause.

The pond waters by which they stood were undisturbed in a perfect approximation of the gardens on Vulcan made inadequate by its surroundings. For although the entirety of the arboretum offered a calm that Hathev could certainly appreciate compared to the other areas of the ship, it could never hope to replicate the beauty and intellect of such gardens on Vulcan, and the attempt to do so only made the futility of such an effort more apparent. It was something she had learned from her long years on Earth, and the reason her contact with other Vulcans even as a professor had been limited. So often they clung to reminders of their homeworld, attempting recreation of it in their homes, their mannerisms, their speech, and to what possible purpose? She herself retained her culture, her decorum, her traditions — of course she did — yet she was not so self-deluded as to believe the replication of anything from her home on such a planet as Earth would achieve anything but an attempt impoverished by its surroundings. To live amongst other species as she had, Hathev had learned to carry her culture in herself and express it in new ways; anything else was a farce.

She watched Seren, standing at the edge of the pond and regarding the waters himself. What manner of expatriate had he become, she wondered.

Of course, such a question was irrelevant, and thus she turned to his judgement of the crew they now shared. When he answered, his analysis was detailed and comprehensive, and she appreciated his knowledge on the matter. The ultimate conclusion he drew was one she shared and had been advocating for since her integration into the crew, and much of the information he offered she had already gleaned through other means, however this was the first opportunity she had been afforded to hear the professional judgement of a fellow practitioner, as neither of her direct subordinates were much more acquainted with the vessel than herself, and she was most glad of it.

‘On this we are agreed,’ she said, acknowledging the unspoken conclusion to his sentence. ‘My own experience supports your judgement. It is good to hear you judge the values of the crew to be in line with those of the Federation; I must admit it is there my experience diverts, yet had I not cause to believe the same as yourself I would not be aboard this vessel in my current capacity.’

She joined Seren in gazing out over the pond once more. ‘I have become something of an advocate for one of those disparate crews,’ she said. ‘Our meeting with the crew into which we are now enfolded was inauspicious. Hostility remains, and for logical reason. I concur with your assessment of Captain Ives, and am glad to hear it is supported by one more familiar with the man than myself, yet you are also correct in the supposition that there are others within the crew who may have become damaged by the stress and trauma they have suffered during this ordeal, leading them to engage in actions inadvisable or inexcusable.’

Exhaling, she turned to continue their perambulation. ‘It behooves us, therefore, to single out these individuals and treat them before they are afforded any further opportunities to enact such damage upon others. Should you have any doubts regarding an officer’s ability to perform their duty, you will follow the proper procedure to report it. We cannot suffer any further atrocities to be committed on our watch.’ Such words were likely an exercise in redundancy; she knew Seren would have enough experience and understanding to be aware of such things, and his analysis of the crew showed him capable of reaching such judgements by his own merit. Yet if she was to engage in repetition she considered this topic to be one worthy, and in this matter she would rather risk inefficiency than misunderstanding.

‘Any suggestions you may have shall be welcomed, as shall any further concerns,’ she said, extending to him the same opportunity she had her assistant chiefs. Perhaps she would not have been so ready to offer the same to another ensign in her department, yet she did not consider it improper; she was familiar with Seren as an individual and as a student, and thus she knew the depth of his intellect and analyses. She trusted the judgement of her assistant chiefs because their rank, experience, and position demanded such trust; of Seren she had greater understanding, and although she did not anticipate agreeing with him on all points his judgement thus far had been sound. She would gladly offer him an ear should he wish it.

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #7 – August 22, 2019, 06:36:45 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

Hathev's insinuation that he was unable to seek for assistance irritated Seren, although his face remained hieratic and his body posture was both flawless and restrained. Seren knew his logic was faultless, and asking for help was the most reasonable procedure if necessary. His trouble was that the assistance he needed wasn't of medical or psychological nature. His new tissues functioned correctly and he followed a longer than usual meditative routine to preserve his inner balance on check. The kind of obstacle he faced could only be comprehended by another Vulcan. Seren was slightly displeased by her shortsightedness. For a second, Seren abandoned his impeccable posture and tilted his head left and right. In doing so, his outfit's collar shifted a bit, exposing the synthetic tessellation that rose up his neck, covering the extent of his wound.

His slight annoyance lingered there for a time as Hathev spoke again. Despite the controlled tone, his former professor seemed offended by the fact that he had reminded her of her duty to her wife. And how unfavorable it was that she took an interest in Selv beyond what was socially appropriate. Yet she was his elder, in a certain manner. Seren remained quiet for a few minutes, still staring at the pond. "My apologies, savensu, if I have been disrespectful to you," he quietly said. As a rule, Seren would not apologize. His behavior was impeccable and, therefore, he had no need to exercise such an idle practice. However, there was no point in depriving Hathev of that excuse if it helped to bring his relationship with Hathev back to the way it had been before... Kiriel incident. Before everything that happened between him and Hathev. Even though the error of her actions that had led to such a dire outcome, Seren still valued Hathev as a professional and as savensu. It would be auspicious for both of them to cultivate a fluid professional relationship. It was the most logical course of action for the sake of their patients and peers.

When the ensign concluded his examination of the state of the crew, his commanding officer endorsed the examination. For his part, the young Vulcan simply nodded in acquiescence, valuing that both of them agreed on a professional level. He cherished the deep knowledge of his chief, and admired her on a working level. The verification that they both agreed in their judgments was an appropriate circumstance. Then, Hathev referred to the unspirited manner in which she had come aboard. Seren folded his hands behind his back one more time. In his sessions with Mr. Trent he had spoken at length about how her former starship had been destroyed. The discharged XO remained unable to accept the consequences of his actions and, even worse, he kept to dodge the issue and blamed other crewmen in his charge. Even one of those who perished during the Battle of the Apertures. It was a disturbing behavior but Seren was concerned that Hathev's perspective might not be entirely impartial regarding that action. After all, she was one of Trent's crimes survivors.

"Some animosity from the Bellerophon survivors is a logical response to the circumstances in which they became part of the crew," the young man corroborated. "If you need my assistance as a therapist with any of your colleagues, have no hesitation in requiring it. I have been part of the Theurgy since it was first launched, but I am not involved in the events that brought you on board," he stated. In addition, both he and Hathev knew that Vulcans were seen as keepers of truth. Something that was right. Vulcans were able to lie, but to do so was illogical most of the time. " Besides, you can give them my credentials, which would make it easier for them to trust me," he added, referring to her experience as his instructor.

It was then that the woman restarted her walk, departing from the lakeside. Seren followed her with no turning back or lingering there longer than necessary. That little piece of Vulcan was just an imperfect fragment of their home planet. A distorted reflection of where they belonged.

Once they both were back in motion, their measured steps synchronized seamlessly, as if they had never halted. Hathev took the floor again, requesting that he report any behavior that might be harmful to the crew and then offer him the chance to present any suggestions or concerns that he might have. Seren remained silent through the space of twenty-five steps, prior to speak his mind. "Mister Carrigan Trent" he eventually said. "I have been overseeing his sessions for days now, with no improvement for the time being. I have increased his mandatory sessions from three weekly sessions to one per day, due to my concern about his mental stability. He shows some disturbing symptoms of stress, paranoia and narcissistic behavior typical of an ill-balanced human. He is also hostile during therapy, distrustful and reiterates in misguided thoughts to avoid accepting the consequences of his deeds and he blames others for what happened under his command. In other circumstances I would have removed him from service after the first session but I have indications that he may try to end his life in those conditions," he stated in a professional manner. "To aggravate the situation, the captain has entrusted Mr Trent with the IT Department and we have no other crew on board who can act as such, to thew point I have been informed. If I dismiss Mr Trent from service for mental illness, I may undermine the confidence of the rest of the crew in hir judgment, even more so after the experiences to which s/he was subjected on the Versant. I have not been off the ice long enough to know the details of that imperative need for an onboard intelligence officer, but if it is truly so imperative, removing him from service can jeopardize our mission and the safety of the entire crew," he explained. "This has evolved into a lose-lose situation. No logical approach is suitable," he confessed. He knew that the treatment was fresh and they had barely had any sessions. In fact, counseling consisted mainly of waiting and patience. But the situation around Trent was overly fragile. "I know that I was entrusted with Trent's treatment instead of assigning it to you through your involvement in the events that triggered Mister Trent demotion, but I need your advice." Seren fell silent and remained silent for long minutes, searching for the proper way to word his next petition. "Any other suggestion or concern is unproductive at this point, given that I need a more in-depth experience with the department and our peers to do a thorough and proper analysis." He fell silent again for a while, and finally he inquired. "However, I would like to request your assistance on a personal matter." Unconsciously, the young Vulcan opened and closed his hands.

OOC:

Vulcanusu
savensu → teacher

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #8 – September 02, 2019, 03:10:09 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Arboretum | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Numen

Hathev had spoken in such a way as to acknowledge Seren’s professional capabilities and allow him the control of his own treatment; she had neither pried into his business inappropriately nor removed his agency by ordering him to one course of action or another. And yet it seemed her words were not taken with the meaning she had intended to imbue within them. Misunderstandings between Vulcans were rare, logical communication being both honest and comprehensive, and yet as she watched Seren twist his neck to and fro, the most minute of micro-expressions on his neutral face, she realised there was more to his words than she had originally perceived — although to what purpose he had concealed this meaning, and what this meaning actually comprised, she could not be certain. Was this secrecy, this reluctance of opacity, caused by the matter at hand being particularly private? Was Seren disinclined to share such a thing with her? But if so, why the disappointment when she had not parsed the necessary meaning from his words?

She was used to such mind-games, a mental match of three-dimensional chess, from her more intelligent patients; from one such as Seren, it was unexpected. How much of his strange behaviour could be attributed to the years intervening, how much to the recent changes he was, apparently, having difficulty with, and how much to the lingering, unspoken distance between them that they were both so dutifully circling around so as to avoid its disturbance… It was impossible to judge.

She remained silent on the matter, simply watching him for the moment. He certainly seemed subdued as they continued, even going so far as to apologise to her — he truly had changed, she thought with something akin to amusement. She remembered his cool logic at their first meeting, whereupon he had chastisted his father for offering apologies that were, he deemed, unnecessary and illogical. She approved of the fact that he had clearly taken her following lesson to heart; but the very fact he considered it necessary to utilise such techniques with her spoke to the rift grown between them. He was attempting to appease and mollify, to manipulate her to be more receptive to his words; did he think she would not recognise such an intent?

‘I have never required your apologies, Seren,’ she said calmly. ‘Your clarity of mind was compromised; if you read any deeper meaning into my enquiries regarding your father you are mistaken.’ They had been speaking at cross-purposes for perhaps the entire length of their meeting, Seren scrying for meanings she had not intended and certainly not concealed; while she had been blind to his own hidden messages. She would not suffer this to continue; if inelegant bluntness was required for proper communication and understanding, she would surrender her neatness of expression for such an aim.

Nevertheless, the change of subject, when it came, was welcome. On this, at least, they were agreed, freed from the bonds of inter-personal communication and relationship and focused merely upon the professional. Whatever may have come between them, it seemed they trusted and valued the other’s judgement; she had not been concerned, and thus could not feel relief, yet her approval acknowledged within it how precarious this outcome had been.

’My thanks,’ she said as he offered his assistance. A formality only; they both knew she in her remit as Chief could and would designate treatment of subjects to her subordinates if necessary, and yet the boy’s logic was appreciated.

They turned away from the lake and all its imperfections, and Hathev was glad of the movement once more. Similarly, she was interested to hear her student’s concerns, and was pleased that he was content to bring them to her as she had requested. That they involved Mr Trent was unexpected; she had, of course, been aware that Seren was treating the man, although she had played no part in that decision personally, instead referring it to her assistant chiefs. The less involvement she had in the matter, the better. Of course, she herself was a professional and a Vulcan, and as such her own opinion of the man would never inform or influence her treatment of him; within the remit of the counselling office he was as any other patient, and even out in the other areas of the ship he was a Starfleet officer and commanded all the respect of that title. Nevertheless, the code of ethics did not allow for a Vulcan counsellor, and she would not have the rules bent on her account.

Would it be a violation of those for her to offer advice in this capacity? Had any other of her subordinates requested this of her she would have referred them to Ejek or Williams; but advice shared between Vulcans differed from that of an inter-species conversation. Even if the Vulcan in question had not been Seren, she might have considered responding; that she had a familiarity with the professionalism of the boy, and that their previous relationship had been one of student and teacher, cast the current situation in a different light.

’I trust you shall take anything which I say in the knowledge that my involvement in this matter is not advised,’ she said. ’Nevertheless, we both know our professionalism is hardly in question in this matter. Thus my assistance is yours.’ She considered his words for a moment. Another might have been tempted to separate Seren’s diagnosis from the context in which she knew of the man, and yet to do so would be to overlook important data. Rather, she simply decoupled her existing judgement and regarded the facts as she understood them from a dispassionate angle.

She did not envy Seren his patient. He had been correct in his assessment when he said that no logical approach was suitable; his only options were damage mitigation, not outright avoidance.

’The question at this juncture,’ she mused, ’is whether having Mr Trent continue to act in his capacity as Intelligence Officer offers more potential benefits than it does risks.’ She would offer advice only broadly, and avoid specifics of diagnosis or treatment. ’If you consider his remaining on duty to pose significant risk, then you have little choice but to remove him; I daresay having an unstable Intelligence Officer of questionable judgement could be more dangerous than having no officer fulfill that role; nevertheless I, like you, am not familiar with the intricacies of the situation, and thus if you lean towards that course I would encourage you to discuss the matter with the First Officer or Captain before taking action, that you may do so in full knowledge of the consequences.

‘Of course, removing Mr Trent from duty may jeapordise any rapport you have built with him thus far, and thus damage his recovery in the long-term. Yet if he does not make significant improvement quickly, then the risks posed by his poor judgement may remain for an untenable length of time. Weigh the sum of each decision, the results both immediate and abiding; when faced with two imperfect options, you must choose whichever course you deem to have the lesser potential for harm.’

She nodded slightly as Seren admitted to his own lack of knowledge. ’You need not act for the moment. Gather the data you require.’

A moment passed in silence, and Hathev considered the matter closed. She was content to walk in quiet, Seren lost in thought beside her. When he finally spoke, however, it was to voice words unexpected.

She did not falter in her pace, but regarded him neutrally. Was this, perhaps, the matter he had intended to touch upon in their earlier conversation, that he had been disappointed when she had not parsed even its existence, buried within his words as it had been.

‘My assistance is yours if you desire it,’ she said simply. Whether he did indeed desire it, she could not tell. It may have been that he himself was still weighing the respective pros and cons of engaging with such a matter. Some uncertainty on his part would account for his unclear means of communication. ’Speak your mind.’

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #9 – September 11, 2019, 12:56:31 AM

Attn: @fiendfall

For a brief instant, Seren came close to declare that 'demonstrations of gratitude were illogical' when his savensu offered him a brief 'thank you' for his offer of assistance with the rest of Bellerophon's survivors. A sort of reflection of one of the first conversations he had with the counsellor, many years ago. A refraction of the phrase regarding apologies that Hathev had pronounced barely a few minutes ago. However, that statement could be considered contradictory to his own excuses just minutes earlier, a crack in his adherence to logic in order to forge new bridges between himself and Hathev. Despite that small deviation from proper behavior, that license to permeate the conduct of species less adept to reason, Seren considered that it was worthwhile if he succeeded in establishing a certain status quo with his savensu. One that would allow both of them to bypass the schism that had stretched between them so many years ago. For the sake of the operation of the department and their patients, common or not. So, as he had accepted the serene scolding, he acknowledged the gratitude, with a slight nod and his silence aquiescence.

After that, the dialogue was channelled into strictly professional parameters, which made the exchange more fluid. Both Vulcans respected each other profoundly on a professional level, as a mentor and trainee, as well as both being fully committed to their shared occupation. Hathev's initial warning was recognized with another sober nod. It was gratifying to see that she kept the ethical limits of counselling well defined and she adhered diligently to their maintenance. That she shared her opinionwith him was due, naturally, to their Vulcan condition and to the depth of their interpersonal experience as therapists. While Hathev exposed her assessment of the subject, Seren kept on walking beside her, even though he crossed his hands on his back in an attentive attitude. As expected, the words of his savensu were analytical and accurate, while at the same time they gave him a new perspective to reflect upon.

His eyebrows sank faintly over his brown eyes as Seren lightly tilted his head forward, barely a sketch of a gesture, but which those who knew him well knew that it meant that he pondered deeply about something. Indeed, if he removed Trent from his position at that time because he considered him a risk to himself and to the rest of the crew, the most likely outcome would be a significant initial worsening in his emotional state. Besides that, it could also jeopardize whatever motivation Ives had to put him in that role, which, given the hazards that such a deeply dangerous crewman as his patient posed, must be of vital importance. The vulcan had tried to establish contact with the captain to find out the details of his patient's assignment, in order to have a broader understanding of his responsibilities and the difficulties that would entail both maintaining him as well as removing him from his duties.Unfortunately, the captain had departed two days ago on an away mission and there was no certainty that he would return on the next day, so those questions were off the table. Moreover, keeping Trent on a daily therapy regimen enabled Seren to maintain a certain degree of control over his evolution and behavior, despite the slow progress of the sessions. This would allow him to postpone the decision indefinitely, or force the officer away from the service if he observed a sudden change in his mood that could endanger his health or the health of others. Furthermore, there was much truth in Hathev's words: any action that the patient considered hostile (or gravely hostile, since the human had a level of paranoia such that he saw aggressions where there were none) would seriously undermine the counsellor's relationship with Trent and with any therapist who would replace him in the furute if it were the case. Worse still, it was likely to be highly harmful in the long-term and would have more deleterious effects on his psyche and that of the crew members working with him in the foreseeable future. "Your logic is sound,savensu" Seren finally declared out loud, as he returned to raise his chin at a perfect ninety-degree angle with his neck. "I will take your analysis into consideration to make a decision," he added. However, Seren had already made a conscious choice.

After that exchange, the silence spread again between them as a living creature. Not the serene and calm silence of two Vulcans in a stroll, but rather somehow expectant and uneasy. Finally, Seren made his request and Hathev turned to look at him. There was no expression on her face and her words were straightforward. And so she agreed to assist him before encouraging him to explain what his request involved. Seren halted and glanced at his savensu without uncrossing his hands, but without speaking as required. After the conversation and despite her inadequacies, Seren realised better that Hathev was the right person to assist him in what he needed. Whether or not she was able to fulfill her role. At last, Seren disentangled his fingers and intertwined them again in front of him, hands hidden deep in his sleeves. " As a result of the surgery I have undergone, I am unable to perceive my artificial organs as a Vulcan should. My control over them is minimal and equivalent to what a human would possess." he explained succinctly. If Seren were an emotional creature, his words would be awash with shame at such a lack of discipline, but the ensign was a Vulcan and, therefore, he was above such pitiful considerations. He simply described the problem, without any emotional bias.

"A parental melt could assist me in reconnecting with my new synthetic heart and other devices that are not within my command, as well as in re-establishing my inner balance. Since I have no relative on board and the chances of being in contact with someone from my Household in an acceptable period are limited, you are the only person at my disposition who could perform it." He finally made the request. A mind melt was something intimate, something that some Vulcans rarely shared outside the family or their closest acquaintances. A parental melt was something even more private, a guide from a mature mind to an infant or a young member of one's own family, in which the parent guided the descendant into his or her own mind or rearranged it in a manner he or she considered most convenient. His own mother had used this technique assiduously with him in his first decade and more sparingly thereafter. Selv, on the other hand, had used it very sporadically and only under Seren's requirement or when his stability had been seriously compromised,, alleging his decision to have Seren develop his mind autonomously, without being tampered with in any external fashion. The ensign doubted that Hathev had extensive experience in the technique, given Kiriel's emotional drift, but he did not have many other choices. In other circumstances he would deal with this problem with meditation if he could not have the attendance of a relative, but given the prevailing situation and the crew's pressing need for counselors he couldn't afford a delay of several weeks while working on the issue. Thus, his savensu, his k'war'ma'khon was the most logical choice.

OOC:

Vulcanusu
savensu → teacher
k'war'ma'khon → as close as family, but not genetically related

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #10 – September 20, 2019, 12:22:30 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Arboretum | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Numen

Seren appeared to receive Hathev’s advice in the manner it had been intended, a fact she was glad of. Her student seemed satisfied with her judgement of both the situation and Mr Trent, and, having acknowledged the correctness of her logic, cogitated upon it accordingly. Hathev was content with such a reaction: neither dismissive nor overly-influenced, it displayed a contemplation on the part of Seren that she appreciated.

Once more, it would seem they were of a mind when it came to professional matters. Just as she had agreed with her orensu’s analysis of the crew they now shared, it seemed Seren likewise respected her judgement on this matter. As professionals, then, they were pleasingly in tune; it was only on other fronts that their communication broke down. It was a shame that the unity of mind and respect they enjoyed here could not be extended to their other topics of conversation — but then, perhaps she had been misguided in her belief that they should ever broach such topics. There was no requirement for such discussions, and she would never have opened such courses of discussion with any of her other subordinates, or indeed any of her erstwhile students.

Seren, of course, occupied his own particular space amongst those groups. Perhaps he had been correct in his assessment: k’war’ma’khon indeed, as he had said. For better or worse, there was a familial aspect to their acquaintance that could not be teased out from amongst the roots of their other facets. There was a terrible inevitability to their discussion of such matters — to the discussion of the wedge driven between them, of the catastrophe that had destroyed Hathev’s familial nucleus, the shockwaves of which had been felt even by Seren, separate as he was. It could not be avoided indefinitely, and yet even in this knowledge Hathev had no desire to hasten its arrival. There was little that could be gained by such an endeavour.

For the present, then, she would content herself with remaining distant from such topics. Or, she would have done, had Seren not raised a distinctly personal matter — and not only raise it, but directly request her assistance in loco parentis. With this topic initiated, it was no longer logical to assume such a dispassionate relationship at the expense of any they had previously enjoyed; in this moment she could no longer cling to her carefully-delineated roles of student and master. By the very definition of Seren's request, she was forced to accept the familial connection between them he had invoked from the outset of their meeting. Seren showed his youth in this, but his logic, at least, was sound.

Additionally, she now understood the issue Seren had alluded to earlier in their conversation, when he admitted his synthetic organs were giving him trouble. The boy had always carried himself as the epitome of control; it had not occurred to Hathev that such a basic thing as bodily command might give him difficulty, even after a traumatic surgery. Jurisdiction over one’s anatomy was one of the most basic lessons a Vulcan could learn; it was a school of study as varied and detailed as emotional regulation, and though not as vital to Vulcan experience and survival, it nevertheless constituted an important facet of their existence. For one such as Seren, whose control surpassed even that of Hathev, and who had been trained in such self-mastery since an almost indecently young age, to lack control over himself in this manner was almost shocking.

More unexpected, however, was his request of a parental mind meld. She was, of course, familiar with the practice, and yet it was one she herself did not particularly approve of. The pursuit of control was a noble and necessary one, and yet the employment of telepathy to any other end than data gathering unsettled her. Using such a technique upon the mind of a child, not yet fully-formed and therefore unable to avoid imprinting upon whatever external mind it was that touched upon it, struck her as extremely dangerous. No Vulcan should be denied their journey to self-mastery, and no individual should be moulded in the shape of another.

Hathev herself had been subjected to such a practice only rarely during her upbringing, and it was one she had avoided with Kireil until it was too late. She had attempted it only once, on a single disastrous occasion; never again.

For Seren to ask this of her… He could not know what he did.

She paused in their perambulation, turning to regard Seren levelly. ‘You can achieve this effect in no other manner?’ she asked. Telepathic treatment could become something of a crutch, a perceived easy fix, if one was not careful; even Seren’s logical acumen was not infallible to such a thing. Nevertheless, she could not fault him for wishing to use the method of most efficacy to rectify this particular issue; she herself had not experienced lack of bodily control since childhood, and the prospect of returning to such a primal state was daunting.

Hathev was not now and had never been Seren’s parent. Therefore that he had asked her to perform such a thing, despite the imperfections of the arrangement, spoke to an acute concern in her student. This, more than anything else, she found disconcerting; yet she kept it tightly battened that Seren did not read such a thing into the lines of her face or the inflection of her words.

‘You grow desperate, orensu,’ she said, tone carefully neutral. ‘We are both aware I am hardly the ideal candidate for this matter, for a number of reasons.’ She kept her eyes upon Seren that he did not infer emotion into her avoidance of his gaze. ‘I trust that you have considered all possible implications, and that all other avenues have been either attempted or discarded as options.’

She paused for the briefest of moments, turning over her words in her mind before continuing. ‘Do not mistake me, I do not refuse to aid you in this way. If you are certain this is the most logical course of action, I am content to assist.’

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #11 – September 29, 2019, 01:16:37 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

Hathev paused in her stroll through the Arboretum and turned to regard Seren. The young Vulcan halted in unison and remained undisturbed under the scrutiny of his savensu. After all, the request he had presented her was unusual. Although his outward appearance remained as immovable and restrained as should be expected of someone like him, Seren noticed how a sting of anxiety seized his core. As his new heart, alien to his government, rushed its beats in the lower part of his rib cage. For his part, Hathev's expression remained flawless as she stared at him. Perhaps there was a slight tension in her depressor supercilii muscle. Perhaps she showed a minimum retraction in her left risorius muscle. Those were barely drafts of a facial expression, but based on them, Seren could deduce the hesitation that his superior officer felt at his suggestion. The displeasure she felt towards this mere concept. Nevertheless, Hathev did not take long to ask the question Seren had been waiting for.

"I had planned other means and techniques to achieve the same effect, indeed. None of them can ensure that I regain control over myself in less than 326 hours and 24 minutes devoted to meditation without external interruption," Seren affirmed, as he looked at Hathev without even blinking a single time. In fact, that approximation was quite optimistic: so far the ensign had encountered more obstacles than advances in his endeavours to solve the issue. The continuous barrage of emotional outburst comming from his patients and the rest of the crew around him made the young Vulcan need to invest extra time in maintaining his own inner stability and emotional repression. And this made the shameful compulsion that he was trying to control even more demanding than usual. These two facts only magnified the time he needed to regain mastery over his misguided organs, and at the same time, they only became more acute due to the same lack of self-restraint. "In addition, my assistance is required in the Department, or they would not have requested that I be taken out of cryostasis," he reasoned. It was logical to assume that Hathev herself would have requested more therapists, given the severe understaffed state of the Counseling Department, so using her own logic to support his request was the most convenient course of action.

Hathev's next warning came almost as a reprimand, even though neither her stance nor her expression suggested anything about it. It was to be expected, given that it was, indeed, an ill-advised arragement, in the knowledge of her deficiencies with regard to the formation and guidance of his half-brother, but Seren's options were very slim "There is no desperation in my request, but rather a rational reflection in view of the options available and the extraordinary nature of your presence aboard the Theurgy." He explained calmnessly, without showing at any moment any offense for the fact that his savensu has chastized him of owning a primitive and inappropriate emotional state. Seren suffered the consequences of a lapse of mastery over his bodily autonomy and the craving that had haunted him from his earliest childhood, but he was far from having been dragged along by his emotions like an ordinary human being. or other primivive specimem. He simply suffered a slight setback that Hathev could solve and that would help him to readjust and repress... the other thing. "In spite of the derived problems that may arise and the inadequacy of some of your abilities to overcome my hardship, it is the most logical and efficient course of action." asserted the ensign. His dark eyes never left her hazel ones. His stance remained undisturbed, his voice firm and without any pitch change. The ample sleeves of his tunic hid the slight trembling of his intertwined fingers. "If you have no further hesitation regarding the procedure, I request that you establish a location and time to carry out the melt," Seren required, endeavoring that nothing in his voice or posture should reveal his eagerness to carry out the melt as soon as possible. A good part of him attributed this avidity to his eagerness to regain an inner balance that he should never have lost and that made his performance less efficient. A small, vocal part of his brain, which Seren tried to silence as soon as he could, knew he was anxious for intimate contact with another mind, beyond the emotions he had snatched from unwary crewmembers. Seren, the ultimate epitome of Vulcan logic, always ready to make decisions on his own, Seren who had rarely needed any guidance or assistance during his formation or career just wished to be guided.

OOC:
Vulcanusu
savensu → teacher

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs] Far From the Tree

Reply #12 – October 10, 2019, 09:05:11 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Arboretum | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Numen

He had been offended by her ascription of desperation to him, she could tell in the tight restraint with which he replied. She should have known he would deny such an accusation as vehemently as his control would allow; truly, she had not meant insult by it, but perhaps it was too much to expect one of his youth to acquiesce to such language. She had forgotten his eagerness to prove himself to others of their species, and of the compulsion of the young to present themselves as controlled beyond their years.

'It was intended as acknowledgement of the difficult situation in which you now find yourself, not as admonishment, nevertheless it was out of turn,' she clarified, nodding her apology.

Seren estimated more holistic treatment to require only a few hours shy of fourteen days to complete; it was little wonder therefore that he requested an alternate method of correction. It was logic, not impatience, that spurred such measures; this she knew without question. The department would, of course, spare him for this time if necessary, as it would spare any who required medical leave, and yet doing so would drastically lessen the efficacy of the department as a whole; worse, it would have negative consequences for the treatment of those currently under Seren's purview, not least of whom was the aforementioned Mr Trent with his unstable psychological state. To further undermine this delicate procedure when there was an alternative course would be foolish.

For all that she might yet think of him as such, Seren was no child. He had grown into an adulthood and served aboard this ship in the capacity such an age afforded him, and while his mind and understanding might still require maturing, in biological terms at least it no longer had the elastic mutability of childhood. A parental meld would, therefore, be significantly safer at this stage; the risk of altering anything vital within the frontal lobe would be infinitesimal. No, in this situation the cause for concern was different.

Mind melds could sometimes result in a certain amount of psychological transference, particularly in cases where one or other of the participants aimed to give or impart something to the other. In this case she would be assisting Seren in re-establishing his control by bringing his psychological state more into line with her own; the risk, therefore, lay in the possibility of her leaving imprints of her mind upon Seren's. Due to his brain being fully-developed at this stage these imprints, even should they manifest, would be minimal and impermanent; nevertheless the prospect of leaving something of herself within Seren was certainly not something she might consider to be ideal.

Secondly, when she had previously attempted such a procedure it had been unsuccessful, and although she understood the situations to be vastly removed, her lack of accomplishment in this matter was certainly a factor to be taken into account. She had little experience, and this would render the primary risk all the greater as it would significantly increase the probability of failure, and of the manifestation of side effects after the fact.

Such concerns were not trivial. And yet she had, only moments before, imparted such wisdom to her orensu: 'When faced with two imperfect options, you must choose whichever course you deem to have the lesser potential for harm.'

The likelihood of the parental meld succeeding lay, she posited, at 78%. This was an imperfect calculation based upon imperfect and incomplete data, and could thus have a variance of up to 12% in either direction, placing the range between 66-90%. Hardly infavourable odds and yet when it came to something of such importance she would have vastly preferred a probability above 80%, and with a greater level of certainty than this nebulous range. Treatment by meditation would offer at least 99% probability of success; and yet so too would it offer danger to Seren's patients, among whom were the Investigations Officer and the new Chief Tactical Officer of the ship.

Should the meld fail, or should Seren suffer side effects in the form of transference, the damage would be minimal and impermanent. The same could not be said of the potential damage to his patients should he be unable to treat them for two weeks, or to their relationship should said patients be moved to other counsellors for that duration.

No, despite the risks, the course was clear. She nodded curtly in acknowledgement of Seren's words; they were in agreement once more.

'Very well,' she said. 'I concur with your reasoning. I shall be available to administer the procedure between 2300 and 0200 on any night of your choice, and we may do so in my office or your quarters as is your preference.' Such decisions she would leave to him, more familiar with his own mind and its needs as he was.

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #13 – October 23, 2019, 02:41:12 AM

Attn: @fiendfall

Hathev acknowledged her misstep in bestowing on Seren an emotion that had never been there, and the youngest Vulcan nodded in appreciation of that deference. Shortly thereafter, the Chief Counselor immersed herself in deep reflection, with high likelihood, pondering the merits and drawbacks that Seren had been weighing over the past five days. The ensign had little doubt of what the outcome would be if she only assessed the pragmatic aspects about his suggested solution, in fact, he had tried to herd the conversation towards those elements, so that they weighed more than the woman's past experiences in her decision. Seren had no specifics about that event, but given his brother's temperament and how vocal he was about his savensu deficiencies, he didn't need too much to deduce that it had been a disastrous experience. For both. Even with all this and with the limited avalable options in his side, Seren had done his best to convince his current superior to perform the melt. Now all that remained was to wait until she made the same decision herself.

In spite of the certainty that it was the best course of action and that Hathev would agree with him sooner or later, he couldn't prevent that the anxiety of the uncertainty curl up in the lower part of his rib cage. His unruly heart, oblivious to his intent, rushed as the silence thickened, so much so that Seren grew concerned that his companion might hear such embarrassing sound. However, as so many times in the last few days, his attempts to govern the mutineered organ were unsuccessful, and added a burgeoning irritation to the pot of his emotions. An imbalance of his inner calm that he couldn't allow himself, given the risk of losing his outer control as much as he was losing the inner one. It could lead him to make an unacceptable mistake, such as frowning.

The way out was clear. Seren folded his hands again behind his back, with the fingers of his left hand stroking the familiar outline of the Teachings of Surak paperback he held there. His mind withdrew into itself, in search of an inner immobility that was so elusive lately. Yet his body kept moving at the same pace, one step behind Hathev, as it was proper. His dark eyes tracked the familiar forms of the Arboretum, the well known vegetation masses, the many times traced paths. Consciously or not, his savensu was guiding them to one of the exits, which, whatever the answer she would give, was highly convenient and would allow him to retire to his quarters in search of a well needed meditation. Satisfied with this, Seren focused a good part of his consciousness exclusively on keeping his breathing stable and placid...

... until Hathev replied positively to his request. The young Ensign felt his heart leap in the lower part of his chest, which thwarted all his previous attempts to slow-down his cardiac beat. "Then we have an agreement." He asserted, trying to hide the slightest treacherous tremor in his voice. " Delay the melt any longer is pointless, I will wait for you in my quarters tomorrow at 2347 to perform it" declared Seren. That would give him enough time to prepare for the ceremony after his shift and ready his new quarters for the visit of his savensu. Shortly after she accepted the time and location, they both exchanged customory 'life long and prosper' and departed on separate ways. Somehow, Seren's insubordinate heart was lighter when the Arboretum door hissed to close behind him.

Seren had made few changes beyond the Starfleet standard in the new quarters he had been assigned after the previous ones had blown up in one of the attacks while he was in cryo-extasis. The few who had visited these quarters had defined them as austere, even though the young Vulcan still needed a few adjustments to render them to the bare necessities. For the time being, he had removed all superfluous decoration and furniture, retaining only the bed and personal workstation. The original sitting area had been replaced by a meditation mat with two replicated candles. The entire section was illuminated by a window on the right, while a banner with a long vulcanusu script hung on the back. The workstation had a perfectly arranged stack of pads on its right, and on the shelves behind it, next to the replicator, there was hardly anything more than the paperback copy that had accompanied him to the Arboretum the previous night and a few calligraphy supplies. A ka'athyra rested at the foot of the bed, held in a traditional support that also served as a practice chair. The lute was perfectly aligned with the nearby furniture, so that it was neatly centered but without touching any surface that could detune it. Every element of the room that stepped out of the Starfleet standard had the reddish-brown tones that the Vulcans favored, except for a plant that occupied with the shelf adjoining the bed, the only living being in the room apart from the young Vulcan. However, the vegetable looked determined to abandon Seren soon and its leaves dangled limp and wilted over the edge of its pot. The flower that had once adorned the top of the plant hung from a thin brown stem and only retained a single petal, still fragrant, of indefinite color.

Seren brushed the moribund shape of the flower with his fingers and thought for a moment if it was appropriate to cut it or if it was preferable to let the plant get rid of it at its own pace. Finally, he decided to make the decision after Hathev's departure, once his inner stability was assured. Taking special care to control the length and cadence of his steps, he repositioned himself by the window, not getting into the meditation area, but not standing in the musical practice spot. His dark eyes wandered beyond the hull of the ship, in the dark, star-filled confines which showed the window. Given the position of the quarters in the Helmet, the planet that gave name to the system was out of sight, as well as the star around which the bodies of the system were ordered. This meant that the window only projected into the room a cold and dim starlight. That and the candles were the only light in the room, so Seren was hugged by an almost sacral darkness. A meager glimpse of the tabernacles and hypostyle halls that had dominated his earliest childhood and that, even in those days, brought peace to mind.

The day had been a long and strenuous one for the young counsellor. Despite the deep meditation to which he had submitted after his meeting with Hathev, a sort of restlessness had taken hold of him since the early hours of the day, thinning his patience and dulling his sharp intellect somewhat. He had struggled to maintain a tighter control over his features and his interactions with others, which had led him to behave 'stiff, arrogant and rudely, the typical Vulcan with a stick up his ass that no one can stand' as one of his patients had described him. The highpoint of the day had been the session with Mr. Trent, which had ended in an unpalatable ruckus. For a minute, Seren had thought about the convenience of contacting Security or performing a Vulcan neck pinch on the intelligence officer, but the human had stormed out his office before he was able to make a decision. After such evidence of his lack of mental alertness, Seren had retired to his quarters and had spent the rest of the day in meditation or re-reading Surak's writtings. And fitting the room for his savensu's visit.

He was much more centered at the time, ready for what was to come. And, notwithstanding that calm and impeccable outer control, his heart beat arithmetically in his chest, betraying an anxiety he thought he could not feel. Seren took a deep breath and prepared to wait the few minutes left until Hathev made her arrival.

OOC:
Vulcanusu
savensu → teacher
Ka'athyra → vulcan lute

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #14 – October 31, 2019, 02:06:42 AM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Hathev's Quarters > Seren's Quarters | Deck 10 > Deck 15 | Vector 02 > Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Numen

It had been just under twenty-four hours since she had met Seren in the arboretum, and in that time she had been unable to find any greater appreciation for the procedure she had agreed to perform upon the boy. Following the senior staff meeting, having no other appointments to call upon her time, Hathev had retired to her quarters for an interlude of sustenance, study, and preparation. In the time afforded her she had perused several articles by eminent Vulcan academics on the topic of the parental meld, its benefits and risks, and the various techniques and approaches that might be taken. Some thinkers she recognised from her previous study of the topic; others seemed to have published their papers in the interim.

There was little consensus, it seemed, the primary debate revolving around the question of how much force to apply. Some believed a strong direction was essential to the meld, asserting the control and certainty the child lacked, while others advocated for gentle suggestion and encouragement that the child could learn for themselves. Each school of thought made a strong argument; Hathev found herself unable to discern the view she herself favoured.

Inconveniently, she also found the focus she required to do so was determined to elude her. As the hour for their arranged meeting drew closer, Hathev's eyes were increasingly drawn to the timepiece upon the wall with a frequency that was as frustrating as it was unnecessary. She remained perfectly aware of the time at which she would need to leave, and it hung over her with a dark anticipation that was, frankly, illogical. It was not nervousness, of course — such a thing was impossible for her — but merely an active trepidation that sought to remind her of its presence whenever possible. Eventually she was forced to put her reading to one side and retreat into meditation, clearing her mind in preparation for the trial it would soon undergo.

When the time finally came to exit her quarters, Hathev was as calm and controlled as ever. She travelled briskly to Seren's abode, arriving a few seconds earlier than was ideal; she took this time to steel herself one final time before announcing her presence.

'Dif-tor heh smusma,' she said in greeting as the door slid open, her hand raised in a perfect example of the traditional salute. Invited across the threshold, she stepped inside and cast an analytical eye over the surroundings.

Seren's quarters were compact, neat, and orderly, uncluttered by unnecessary furnishings. Those that did remain were carefully positioned in accordance with the most optimal mathematical principles of angle and arrangement. The only item which was unusual was the plant adjacent to the bed; in its presence it was reminiscent of the verdant grove she recalled thriving under Selv's careful cultivation, but that is where the similarities ended. This plant shared nothing of the healthy green enjoyed by Selv's dependants; rather, it seemed sickly in hue and pallor, and malformed in posture. Seren may have inherited his father's colouring, but the man's botanical skills he had not.

She came to a stop in the middle of the room, turning to face its occupant once more.

'Have you preparations to make?' she asked. 'Once you are ready, be seated,' she gestured to the area the boy had designed for meditation, 'and we shall begin.'

They had waited long enough; there was no purpose in prolonging the inevitable. She would complete the procedure as efficiently as possible and take her leave; extending the session was not an option she relished.

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #15 – November 05, 2019, 05:30:04 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

The chime of the door came just at the agreed time. The young Vulcan's breath paused for a few split seconds before he turned around. A degree of hesitation? Absolutely not. Trepidation? Perhaps. Seren couldn't fully confirm it. He had no time to analyze this unusual beat of emotion. But he disliked its presence, its ambiguity and the uncertainty it brought with it. " Come in" he delivered without any inflection, his voice not betraying the turmoil that his heart betrayed.

The door slid to the side with a hiss and, almost before it was fully opened, Hathev delivered the traditional greeting. "Sochya eh dif" said Seren, and he held up his hand in response with a perfect imitation of her gesture. "Your presence is valued," he then added as he lowered his hand to turn the greeting into an invitation to enter. The woman didn't waste any time in illogical dithering and stepped into the austere room. She stood in the middle of the compartment and her dark eyes ran through it quickly. An examination of his quarters was to be expected, both as his superior officer and as his savensu, and Seren waited quietly for her report, hands crossed behind his back.

Hathev's gaze lingered a few milliseconds longer than necessary over the deteriorated plant next to his bed and the young man's jaw tightened up a bit. Experience dictated that a household ought to contain a small oasis of greenery, whether in the form of a garden, the feral balcony that Selv maintained, or at least a single specimen of the vegetable kingdom. However, Seren was losing the battle against the orchid, determined as it was to succumb, and that Hathev noticed this defeat against the sessile being made his heart leap under his ribs. Seren recognized few emotions from his earliest childhood, but he had been very well acquainted with the one that now grew within him. He felt mortified. His fingers flexed fractionally against his back as he took control of his emotions and reduced them to nil.

Finally, Hathev shattered her silence, without provide a report from her inspection, and Seren focused on her words. He didn't answer immediately to her query, but reflected for a few seconds before he nodded. " Everything is ready," he affirmed before he made his way to the meditation area. His soft suede boots made no sound as he walked. Neither did they when he got rid of them and placed them under the work station, perfectly aligned, ready to be recovered as soon as needed, but without disturbing Hathev's trajectory at the moment she moved to join him.

Soon, Seren was seated on the third of the mat closest to the wall, with his back perfectly aligned with it but without touching it, and in ninety degrees with his bent legs in the standard meditative pose. His long garments folded around his figure without an unnecessary wrinkle. Seren moved the lamps slightly to place them in the center of the carpet and then placed a hand on each of his knees. The young Vulcan felt a tremor threaten to seize them, but he pushed his fingertips against the joint of his legs and froze the treacherous movement. A few seconds later, only his breath betrayed that he was not a Vulcan-shaped statue.

"I am ready. Proceed." He claimed with a stern and controlled voice. Immediately thereafter, Seren shut his eyes and tilted his head over his left shoulder, presenting Hathev the melt points of his face.

sochya eh dif → peace and long life→ a greeting or reply to the "live long and prosper" greeting/farewell
Savensu → teacher

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #16 – November 12, 2019, 08:15:50 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Seren's Quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Numen

After only a few moments’ consideration, Seren affirmed his readiness; it seemed he was of her mind in that niether wished to delay the procedure, and thus Hathev appreciated the boy’s preparation. With a ritualistic care, Seren removed his shoes and positioned himself correctly upon the floor mat; if anything unusual came to pass, Hathev did not observe it, occupied by her own ministrations as she was. In a moment, she had removed her own footwear and joined the boy upon the mat, arranging herself as was proper, straight-backed and still, an arm’s length away from Seren’s own position.

Upon the boy’s second confirmation, Hathev nodded slightly in acknowledgement. She would perform the procedure as was correct, with efficiency and precision, and upon its completion there would be no need to discuss such matters in future. Her previous experience in this matter meant little.

Thus, with a slight outletting of breath, Hathev raised her hands to Seren’s face, fingers finding the qui’lari with a firm touch. She allowed her eyelids to fall closed, focusing her senses on the anchor points of her fingertips, the muffled sensation of another mind, milimetres out of reach; Seren held himself apart for the briefest of heartbeats, and then -- he let her in.

Crossing the threshold of Seren’s mind, she was struck by its orderly control. Of course, careful categorisation of data and cultivation of memory was to be expected of a Vulcan raised in a proper manner, and yet the sterility of Seren’s mind outstripped any Hathev had experienced before. Were she given to imagination, she might consider these stark halls akin to those one might find in an artificial life form, were such things telepathically capable; but of course she was not given to such things, and thus drew no such comparison. Instead she merely viewed it with a restrained curiosity, taking in the extreme mental cleanliness which could only be achieved by the stripping and deletion of any extraneous detail or information from his memory banks.

She observed his emotional centre, noting that it was not so much controlled or repressed as non-functional, entirely disabled; she had never seen such a thing, such total adherence to emotional removal that it surpassed even Surak’s teachings. Moving closer to examine such a thing, Hathev found a slight distortion, a shadow or imprint of a logic non-native, spectral fingerprints of a mind not Seren’s own; it shimmered, elusive, and she was unable to make out the extent of its influence on Seren’s brain functions. Nevertheless, simply knowing of its presence was enough to disquiet her; that one could carry something of another within their own psyche… Was Seren even aware of such a thing? Should she bring up such a matter with him; indeed what could such a thing achieve?

She sensed Seren’s waking presence, his eagerness to solve his complaint; almost reluctant, Hathev turned her gaze away, allowing herself to be led by Seren. Her observations had taken only a few moments, and yet they had been incidental -- indeed, irrelevant. She was here for one purpose only; she could not allow herself to become distracted. The ethical and psychological implications of what she had witnessed were relegated to the back of her mind; she would consider them at another time.

Following Seren’s lead, she found hereslf at the epicentre of his issue. Here she discovered no throbbing mass of pain or confusion as she would expect in one of her patients, but rather a quiet, empty space, devoid of movement or colour. Tendrils of control spiralled out from Seren’s mind to his body, connecting his physical functions to his mental faculties and bending them to his will in a complex spiderweb of sinewy netting and power.

Here, at last, she found the problem. The web was damaged, several threads hanging loose and disconnected. They floated aimlessly where they had been severed, the replacement body parts refusing reattachment. Biosynthetic implants were only rejected by the host body in extremely rare cases; they were the pinnacle of modern medicine and emulated biological matter in every way. However even the slightest change in biochemical make up could upset the delicate balance of control wrought within Vulcan physiology; furthermore, re-establishing control would require intimate knowledge of the function and behaviour of such parts, most especially where they deviated from their predecessors. That Seren had lost control over such things was to be expected; that he had been unable to regain such control was, while perhaps not unusual for most, most unusual for one such as Seren who demonstrated the clinical mental organisation and iron will she had observed only moments before.

Hathev moved closer, examining the space around the new body parts; the mental area appeared almost enflamed, as if something within them or within Seren resisted their presence, their connection to him. Most likely this was caused by Seren’s attempts to bring them under his control, his repeated failed attempts exacerbating the issue.

First, then, to balm. Hathev focused upon the area, sending soothing waves of cool, controlled calm, regulating her breath. It was Seren’s heart that appeared the most injured, and she concentrated her efforts here; after a moment, she moved to observing his heartbeat, willing her own to beat in accordance with it. Seren’s heart was a little faster than it perhaps should have been, beating an unruly tattoo. She controlled her own carefully, that they were identical save for a few irregularities in Seren’s heartbeat; she willed hers to beat steady and strong, providing a regular baseline against which Seren’s syncopated rhythm could be compared -- and which Seren might match, if only he had the strength to do so.

She instructed him thus, with only the tiniest of mental motions necessary to convey meaning. It would not require extensive power to bring his heatbeat into concord with her own, the re-establishment of control less taxing now he had a clear focus and intention; yet he would have to do so carefully that he not worsen the damage he had already wrought with his failed applications of control. He could not approach this forcefully, attempting to compel control; rather, he would have to coax obedience through his understanding of these new parts of his body. She could only hope she had sent enough calm to engender such necessary gentleness in him.

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #17 – November 19, 2019, 01:42:05 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

Only seconds had passed with his eyes closed when Seren felt Hathev's fingers upon his face. The experience was quite different from what he had previously undergone, it wasn't the severe and rigid contact that T'Ra had applied towards him, nor the soft and phlegmatic contact of Selv's mind, moved more by duty than by a real desire to shape his mind. Hathev's cold fingers rested firmly against his skin, but with a certain degree of gentleness. It was almost tender. His Savensu's mind frizzled against his skull and, for the briefest of the moments, Seren instinctively resisted the intrusion of that alien mind in his own. However, he soon broke down the natural barriers that he had erected around his ego and surrendered to her invasion...

Seren opened the doors of his brain and let her pass, over and above his memory, reasoning and higher functions to the very core of his mind.

Hathev's intellect took shape there, in Seren's mind eye assumed the same form to which he was used albeit somehow more perfect, more acute. He, for his part, remained shapeless, the way he was accustomed to inhabit his own mind. While she lingered around his inner self, curious about the usually hidden corners of his mind, he fluttered around her, like an invisible presence. He allowed her to familiarize herself with the environment of his mind for 87.46 seconds, but when she focused longer than required on his emotional center, Seren grew impatient. He had no fear that she would discover anything unusual there: it was just an atrophied portion of his mind that had no interest in their current task. A negligible part of his psyche which he could have mercilessly severed if he had taken the last step of the kolinahr ritual and which remained there only as a memento of what his patients endured, a source of reference for his interactions with them and little else. If there was any point of interest of concern there for his Savensu, Seren was unaware of what it might be.

For a moment, the notion that Hathev had discovered the hunger he had hidden (and nurtured) for so many years unsettled him. Seren had sharpened his prowess to conceal this deficiency from Selv's explorations a long time ago, and from references he knew that Hathev was less adept at the technique that occupied them than his father, so such prospect was negligible. But... what if he was wrong? What if she had uncovered a part of him that he was not willing to disclose? Seren's disembodied presence flickered around Hathev's mind, urging her to move forward and perform the duty for which he had allowed her full access to his mind.

Not surprisingly, as logic dictated, she agreed to his wordless request and proceeded to immerse herself in the intimacy of his brain under his attentive guidance until she reached the core of his control over his body. He observed the impairment in his self-management network through Hathev's eyes and grimanced at the extent of the disruption he was unable to fix. Out of his mind, in the physical world, his face shrank under Hathev's fingers. Expression muscles, almost dwarfed by lack of use, snaked gently beneath her fingertips. In his chest, his heart increased its rhythm, outside his control and hers.

The woman finally started to handle the matter that had led them both to such a situation. First, she relieved the irritating sting that the lack of control caused in his psyche. Then, with an uncanny composure, she shifted the erratic heartbeat to her own, until she succeeded in quietening it under acceptable, steady and firm parameters. After a week plunged into the disarray of a heart without restraint, Seren could feel the peace of the grip on his heartbeat, even though that control was not entirely his own, but emanated from the other mind that shared his brain at the time. Less elevated minds could say that he felt relieved by this fact, but the truth was that he just felt the gratification of the return of his peace of mind, of the serene and logical stillness to which he was accustomed.

At that very moment, Hathev coaxed him to take charge over the organ in accordance with the guidelines she had drawn up. He took a moment longer than necessary to comply. There was no fear or doubt in that brief hesitation, but a study of what she had done. A clinical analysis of her actions to emulate them. After twenty-six extra heartbeats, Seren grabbed the torn edges that connected his mind to his new synthetic body and tried to reconnect them. Nothing happened. There was still a gap between the two extremes. Their torn edges were too disparate and did not adjust to each other. In his attempts to re-establish the connection, his heart raced wildly once again, at first beating vigorously and rhythmically, as if he were subjecting himself to strenuous exercise. He demanded calmness from the unruly organ, but only got the opposite effect and the heartbeat became erratical and arrhythmic.

As so many times before, Seren tried to impose his will on the syntetic heart through the use of force. However, this time, he had the framework that Hathev had provided him. With it as a mirror, he prepared to placate that insurrection within his own body. Seren pushed, tightened the loops of his control around the organ, drowning the heartbeat, making it more and more muted, quieter... until it stopped entirely.

Out of his mind, Seren gasped. His chest rose but it was only the muscles that ruled his lungs that displaced his rib cage. The artificial organ that controlled the flow of his blood through his body had halted and, as stubbornly as it had beaten his own compass previously, at that moment it refused to beat.

Savensu→ teacher

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #18 – December 01, 2019, 12:06:39 AM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Seren's Quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Numen

As Seren's heartbeat calmed beneath her ministrations, Hathev could feel the spreading calm encircling her orensu's mind, the tension held within and worsened by his attempts at self-imposed regulation now loosening and uncoiling. If she could assist in his search for peace, Hathev was glad of it; her own internal physical workings had not gone unchecked or uncontrolled for over a hundred years, and the thought of once again returning to that primal, childlike, chaotic state was daunting to say the very least. Seren's entire lifespan did not amount to so much as even half that time, and yet for one as controlled as he the loss of such a thing would no doubt be similarly displeasurable. Thus the ability to ease such suffering for so much as a moment was something Hathev would readily offer.

The artificial heart safely regulated in time with her own, it was time for the transference of arbitration from one to another. The message was clearly conveyed, and yet for a moment Seren displayed an uncharacteristic hesitance to comply, taking the span of no fewer than twenty-six heartbeats to respond. When finally he moved forwards, Hathev lessened her expenditure of effort upon the organ until the control over it lay entirely in Seren's mental hands.

Where before he had hesitated, now there was no such trepidation — or perhaps it had been merely the time necessary to complete a study and formulate a plan; certainly it remained true that he did not engage in the same activity now, and indeed instead displayed a disappointing lack of foresight and wisdom. Rather he acted immediately, ignoring the necessity for gentleness in favour of attempting to reapply control in much the same forceful manner as he had no doubt employed before, and which had left him nothing but frustrated and enflamed. The carefully-regulated beat of his heart became erratic once more as he tried and failed to wrestle it into alignment with his desires, the mental space built around them beginning to shudder in accordance with his exertion, tremulous undulations rippling through the cords of control webbed between mind and body as his entire being bent towards an aim it could not hope to achieve in such a manner.

No, she instructed sharply, and moved to regain control of the organ once more; and yet it became clear Seren's grip upon his own heart was too strong, his mental faculties too well-honed to allow intrusion where he did not desire it, her own telepathy too dependant on the goodwill of others to demand obedience from him. Thus she could only watch as he struggled fitfully in a petulant attempt at control.

Gentle: an attempt at guidance, hovering, encouraging. To this, at least, Seren appeared to listen, pausing in his fruitless machinations for a moment in order to establish something more of an internal calm. However the tautness of his mental connections did not subside; instead, he drew them together around his heart, tighter and tighter, forcing it to quieten in recognition of his dominion, strangling the organ into submission.

Her lack of power in his mind already discovered, Hathev could only watch, unable to assist Seren or prevent his actions; yet although such a method of control was not her desired approach, there could be little questioning the results, and indeed who was she to arbitrate the correctness of such an action? Seren had been raised more traditionally than she necessarily agreed with and yet she could not dictate that such a way had been wrong, and nor could she expect him to conform to her ideals. If Seren wished to explore alternate methods, she would offer her expertise on the matter; otherwise she would have to content herself with allowing him to utilise his training as he had been instructed in childhood. He was an exemplary Vulcan, and had proven himself more than capable of proper control; she would do him the courtesy of trusting his judgement in this.

Perhaps it might seem that he exerted too tight a grip upon his heart, but he would do so no more or longer than necessary; he was practiced in this, and while the exact specifications of the organ might have been new to him, he understood his own biology well enough to know its limits. He did appear to be pushing those limits now, judging by the quietness of the heart's beat, the slowness of the rhythm; yet perhaps he merely wished to establish his control as completely as possible, and once he had done so he would, no doubt, re-implement a more proper beat, at a more appropriate tempo. Certainly the speed was almost concerning, the pace so slow as to be akin to what one might expect from an individual in tow-kath, rather than one conscious as Seren was now. As it grew even slower and more muted, Hathev had to strain to sense each beat, each slight uptick of movement, focusing all her mental faculties to sense the next.

It never came.

The noose Seren had fashioned of his own threads of control was drawn tight around his own heart, which lay still and quiet. Unbeating.

Distantly, her waking ears caught Seren's struggle for breath. The boy had stifled his own heart, and now it sought to kill him.

Hathev moved to action immediately, with an uncharacteristic speed and lack of forethought. Move, she ordered. She could not act if he would not allow her, and yet even before the command had formed in her mind she was pushing Seren away, bending her will upon another's psyche in an act of mental and telepathic strength she did not possess, forcing the foolish child away from the tangled, silent remains of his heart with a protective ferocity and desperation she had experienced only once before, all that she might save him.

The lines of his control cut deep into the organ; there was no loosening them. The space around her began to spin, slowly at first and then faster, rotating dizzyingly without any sense of balance as Seren's body fought to survive without a pulse. There was no time; the boy would expire of his own foolishness if she did not act.

With a swift, decisive movement, she severed the bonds tied around Seren's heart; that she even had the ability to do so without Seren's assistance surprised her, and yet there was little time to dwell upon such a thing. The threads of Seren's control now removed, she worked on the heart itself, enveloping it in a gentle aura, coaxing it like a sick child, working upon it with tenderness and determination and faith, faith in Seren's strength, in her own abilities, in the cosmic logic that had drawn them together once more, here, to this place and time.

Live.

She could not allow herself to perceive any other future.

Fortunately, she was not compelled to. Within the swirling vortex of Seren's declining psyche, Hathev and the heart the only constants, the single focus of stillness within the storm, she had little concept of the passage of time, nor of how long Seren's heart had lain in her phantom hands, still and silent. She only knew that when it beat once more, something within her impeccable control slipped briefly.

As the world slowed its spinning, Hathev retained her hold of the boy's heart, lest relinquishing such a thing disturb its beats once more. Finally, the space came to a gentle stop, and she felt Seren's body and mind settle with it.

Never do that again, she commanded with a stony significance, her newfound mental strength granting her the ability to impart sentences rather than mere words or feelings. You... You must never do the like again.

She took a moment of mental space, drawing together her faculties and control, smoothing out her own heart beat. Then, finally: Are you well?

orensu -> student
tow-kath -> healing trance

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #19 – December 07, 2019, 06:34:48 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

"Move"

Said his savensu's voice within his mind chambers. Seren's consciousness turned to that imperious order, bemused on a certain degree. As much for the unsavory outcome of his endeavour as for the perilous situation in which he found himself... and for the unrecognized vehemence which Hathev's order had exposed. Seren remained still, his invisible hands holding loosely the stationary organ. What was that? What was that abrupt blaze that was enlivening her? It was an emotion? Impossible. And if it was... which one was it?

Seren had no time to waste in such lucubrations, as he was abruptly removed from his hovering position over the static organ, and tossed into a corner of his own mind, his government over the circumstances expropriated from his conscious mind. The young man remained there shyly, gazing at Hathev's performance upon his own body, unable to interfere. Over and above his broken heart, the young ensign felt a sharp pang of... something, something primal and basic that he did not understand, something that he could not comprehend, as he had not observed or studied or measured something like that before. Beyond the mental plane, the corners of his lips twisted into an odd grimace, the muscles of his face so novel in such venture that they were unable to shape a readable expression.

When she severed the loops that allowed him to retain the artificial heart under his rule, everything in Seren staggered, both inside and out. His physical body leaned to the left so that he placed all his weight on the hand holding his Qui'lari. In his innermost being everything acquired an insubstantial, ethereal and surreal appearance, even for the mental space that Hathev and he shared at that time. The young Vulcan had only experienced that on a single occasion, a time that had been split into two periods divided by months in the ice. Seren was dying. One more time.

"Live"

His savensu instructed him to survive, and although her voice had command on it, there was also tenderness and reliance in him, and on the logic underlying the whole incident. It was as a lamp amidst the blackness, a heat spot in the desert's frigid night. What was that? Was it concern? Was it his teacher's interest in his well-being, in maintaining him alive? It was.... it was... it was that of which Kiriel always had disposed and which he so ferociously had rejected what he was perceiving? He had no idea. He didn't know what had moved Hathev to react that way. He did not know the unreasonable motivation for such an effort to save his life, beyond the logic of preserving all existence. It was something that he had never experienced but that he cherished... and he was concerned about betraying it from the very moment he became aware of its existence, even without being able to give it a proper name.

So Seren endeavored to revive that heart-substituting device and coaxed it to beat once again. He attempted to emulate his savensu even though it was a time-consuming and inefficient exercise, or at least that was his first impression. The edges of his intellect faded, frayed, and smeared as he struggled to lure his heart. Everything seemed to slow down, quieten and crystallize, increasingly sluggish...

Then his heart started to beat again. Once. One more time afterwards. Controlled and steadily, as if nothing had happened. Seren felt his connection with the organ, tender and fresh, different and more fragile than it had been. Even with that slight inspection Seren knew that his rule over the transplanted organ was weaker than it had been before the accident and yet more solid than it had been after the operation. It was dissimilar, with more margin for error, but the mere fact of recovering his reign over his heart made him be overcome by a vast calm. Almost as much as the certainty that, despite his misgovernment, he would live. His outer eyelids fluttered and his face, twisted until that point relaxed and assumed the neutral and stern expression that was characteristic of him.

"Never do that again. You... You must never do the like again" followed Hathev's caveat, her admonition blatant in the wording but not in her tone. There was a new strength in her mental voice. Hathev had always been a person that Seren had held in high regard, due to her expertise, her professionalism and her status... as well as the strange bonds that linked them. However, the recent developments had deepened that reverence. "I will do everything I can to ensure that this situation does not recur, en'ahr'at," he said. Hathev didn't fit precisely into the term, but Seren decided he should adress her by it. As a token of gratitude.

For the very first time in many years, Seren assumed shape within his own mind, not a faithful reflection of his corporeal body shape, but as an accurate projection of his psyche in all its perfection and imperfection. "My physical condition has improved substantially as a result of your ministrations," he replied. "I..." Seren fell silent, he made a break of 4.5 seconds, attempting to articulate what he wanted to say. However, there was no logical way to do it, so he was compelled to use a less logical approach. "I thank you for your help in this endeavour. And I request an acquittal for the distress that my attempts to regain control might have caused you," he added formally as an apology.

Out of his mind, his fingers twitched in his lap, the craving he hid longing to taste that feeling of protection that had emanated from Hathev. Yearning to touch, feel and parasitize. Seren closed his fingers in his lap as his mind gradually yet steadily raised the barriers that would block the melt and prevent Hathev from exploring further in his mind and discovering something she did not need to know.

Savensu → teacher
Qui'lari → mind melt points
en'ahr'at → godparent

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #20 – December 19, 2019, 11:17:34 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Seren's Quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Numen

She held his heart with careful hands, gently, gently, feeling the pulse shudder through her as it beat once more, her own heart— erratic. A breath; she worked to calm it. She had been distracted, in another's mind, and in that moment her own biology had absorbed something of the unruliness she was here to solve; nothing more. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her being, left from the ungraceful haste with which she had acted to save Seren's life, from the desperation she— But of course, it had been mere logic which drove her actions, a mere desire to preserve all life as was right and proper, and a healthy knowledge of the expedience necessary to do so.

Her psyche shivered, and she held it still. Contemplating futures already averted was nothing more than a waste of time, and thus she spent no effort on such a thing now. However the mere knowledge of how very close the boy had come to facilitating his own demise, and the risk he might potentially pose to himself should he be so foolish again, was enough to pin her in place.

Of course, she thought distantly, it was only logical that such an event reminded her of another. Then, too, the fact that Kireil had survived had not meant she would not eventually lose him. That Seren yet breathed did not guarantee the continuation of such a fact.

But Seren would not make the same mistakes as his brother. She would not allow him to.

Dimly, she felt his presence at her side and, after a moment of reluctance the meaning of which there was little need to dwell upon, she relinquished her hold upon his heart, moving away that boy and body might re-draw the lines of their relationship once more. She hovered over them, watchful as the two came to something of an understanding, she ready to intervene lest Seren attempt to cause his own premature death once more.

He did not. She endeavoured to soothe the flutterings of concern within her; it was unfounded and unnecessary.

At the very least, Seren appeared to understand the gravity of the situation. It was with a reverent seriousness that he replied to her exhortation not to repeat such actions. A reverent seriousness, and a word she had not heard since leaving Vulcan. En'ahr'at. It touched something within her, something long lain dormant but awakened tonight, something which had compelled her to act and lent her the strength to do so. She had little desire to examine such a thing, yet thankfully there was no requirement to do so: she knew what she would find.

This epithet with which Seren now referred to her was not strictly accurate, but it was not strictly inaccurate, either. It spoke to that unnamed thing within her, gave it shape, legitimacy, made it real.

Seren was not merely her subordinate, nor merely her orensu; her very presence here, in his mind, reflected that. To deny such a thing? Truly, that would be illogical.

His next words reassured her that he was, physically, unharmed; as if to demonstrate such a fact, they were delivered in conjunction with a physical manifestation the like she had not yet perceived in Seren's mind. His figure shivered with reflections; she saw herself, refracted a hundred times, and remembered the imprints upon his mind she had discovered before. Surak had never required this.

The boy spoke again, offering both his thanks and an apology, and Hathev was momentarily taken aback. She knew Seren considered such things to be illogical (as they were) and unnecessary (as they should be); she of course engaged in them occasionally as a means of social lubrication but there was no need for such things here, with another Vulcan, and one with whom he was intellectually connected at this time. Why vocalise what she could already understand?

Of course, she found herself replying. Her ability to convey sentences had been retained, it seemed; a rare power for her in a meld, and one she would now utilise gladly. She filed away all the pertinent information lest further study of the anomaly shed any light on how she might replicate it elsewhere; however from a preliminary study she anticipated her findings to be clear: that this was a power limited to Seren's mind, or perhaps indeed this specific instance of his mind, a power granted by their connection, and by the moment which had only just come to pass.

Whatever the cause, she would not waste such an ability. It was with care that she formulated her next conveyance. However even as she began to do so, something within the refractory prism of Seren's being caught her attention, something so overwhelming she was surprised at how thoroughly she had overlooked it, or perhaps there was little wonder in that, she realised, as she watched it become shrouded, retracted, pulled away and secreted, only to bloom elsewhere and the process to repeat, a push and pull like the tides, Seren bleeding it out even as he tried to contain it.

She reached out to him, her spectral fingers passing through him until she found the billowing something she sought; and then, slowly, she slid it from him, until it lay in her hands, shimmering and shapeless, appearing to breathe, appearing to press itself to her, this thing the child carried within him.

What is this? she asked, reverent. Had she not seen his emotional centre, the decrepit, lifeless wreck of it, she would have called this a feeling, she would have called it alive.

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #21 – December 21, 2019, 11:48:04 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

Seren was unable to conceal it. For that first time in his life, the thing that had accompanied him for so long had been uncovered and detached from the center of his mind in order to be analyzed and studied. Seren's form flinched and shuddered and seemingly fragmented even further, littered with pale glints. He had lost his grip over the situation, he had given too much authority to Hathev within his mind, and he had been unable to hide that mistake, that aberration that lurked in the dark corners of his psyche, always hungry, always prowling, hidden and disguised until its starvation became too pressing, its need too overwhelming, and Seren had to nourish it like a living creature, like a sentient being independent of his will, starved and helpless. Shame made the white rooms of his mind tremble, darkened as they were filled with shadows, with corners and nooks and crannies.

But as much as the embarrassment about that thing, that creature, weighed on him, Seren couldn't refuse to answer Hathev. Not there, not with his inadequacy curling up in her metaphorical hands. Seren watched it where it was, at the mercy of his savensu, his en'ahr'at. The thing seemed almost pleased to have been discovered, to be recognized by other people at last, like a wild animal being stroked for the first time, that enjoys the experience. In spite of everything, Seren was leery of it all. What if Hathev decided to pull it out? If he decided to eradicate that part of him? Seren had little appreciation for that, for the need it instilled within him. And, at the same time, was it not an integral part of him? Wasn't it something that defined him, something that was as much his own as his skin and his hands? Would he be better off without it or would he just be a mutilated version of himself? And, if she didn't eradicate it... was he doomed to be a lesser version of himself or would it finally allow him to progress towards something better?

Seren had no idea, and that uncertainty made him uneasy. But he couldn't get rid of it until he answered Hathev so, after that long pause, he finally spoke. " That is part of who I am, and, at the same time, it is everything I am," he described. It was an ambiguous definition, but it was the truest one. Or almost. "And, at the same time, it is so foreign to me that I have not given it a name," he tried to elaborate. " It is ... K'shatrisu" it was a poor and partial definition and Seren's whole being seemed to reject that conceptualization. However, what lay in Hathev's hands appeared to curl up, pleased to have, at last, a real name. "I cannot explain it. But I can show you it, en'ahr'at" he suggested.

Out of his mind, in the soft twilight of the room, Seren's left hand slipped from his lap. His fingers twitched in anticipation before they rested on the back of Hathev's hand, the same one she was pressing against his qui'lari. When his fingertips hovered a few millimeters from Hathev's pale skin, he hesitated. He had never shown this to anyone. Never. Not like this, not being aware of what was going to happen. But she wanted to know, and he had to submit to her will.

The moment Seren's hand came into contact with Hathev's, K'shatrisu abandoned his almost lethargic state. It stretched and leapt and probed into the chinks of the alien mind like a hound after its prey. It left no trace in its trail, eliciting no pain or other repercussions. His savensu was aware of its presence solely by virtue of sharing her mind with him at the moment. When the thing achieved a contact with Hathev's emotional center, it clung there, it dug and thrust itself firmly into it, it pierced the layers of mental barriers, of training and self-control, and it drank deeply from what it found.

The inside of Seren's mind lit up suddenly. All the empty walls of the caverns in his mind swirled into reflections of the emotions that ran deep into Hathev's psyche, brightening everything in their path, embellishing everything with the feelings that ran deep under her skin, turning Seren's mind into a different landscape, beautiful, bright, a construction of her emotions and the experience he had of them. Seren had names for some of the feelings that percolated from Hathev. He lacked names for others. But he cherished all of them and how they warmed and shone in his inner void. His new heart slipped momentarily from his reins and beat swiftly, joyfully, for a few seconds.

Seren brushed his fingers away from Hathev's skin.

And everything just went off. Everything went back to the way it was. Crystalline, white, sparkling, orderly.

Perfect.

Hollow.

Seren's form trembled, the colorful reflections of the emotions of his savensu still reverberating a thousand times in the complexity of mirrors that formed his being. K'shatrisu returned to its initial location, not quite satiated, but appeased for the moment. It purred softly in Hathev's mental lap, its form more defined and shaded, almost solid. "No one knows this. I kept it concealed from my mother at T'Karath, and later from Selv. And from everyone else. I have learned that no one ever notices when..." Seren's mental image opened and closed his fingers. Out of his mind, his true fingers trembled on his lap.

Savensu → teacher
en'ahr'at → godparent
k'shatrisu → foreigner, one who is from a foreign country or place; an outsider
Qui'lari → mind melt points

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #22 – December 31, 2019, 01:33:48 AM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Seren's Quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Numen

The energy she held sunned itself in her hands like a cat, stretching and reforming itself, curling into her touch, sparkling with the colour that had been absent from his mental architecture thus far. She held it carefully, and with no small amount of fascination, and raised her gaze to view Seren's refractory shape, questioning.

He took a long while to answer. When finally he spoke once more, it was to issue a riddle the like she had not expected of a fellow of their species: This is part of who I am, he said at length, and, at the same time, it is everything I am.

His name for the being she held did little to assist in her understanding: K'shatrisu. Foreigner. Outsider. Alien. One who does not belong. One who does not understand our ways, our customs. One who brings their own world with them, into ours.

I… do not understand, she said, hesitant. Yet for all her confusion, it seemed the energy she held recognised its name, responding by curling itself and seeming to vibrate slightly with happiness at being seen.

What was this she held?

Seren offered to show her.

Within his mind as she was, his touch upon her physical hand was muted so heavily as to be almost unnoticeable; she recognised his movement only dimly, as one in a dream. K'shatrisu was far more sensitive. The energy recognised the connection at once, blossoming up from her hands, growing in size before her, sending branches of light and colour spreading outwards even as it sent tendrils wrapping around her hands, holding her in return. The response was immediate and unexpected; had Hathev not regained her composure, she surely would have nearly dropped the being in surprise.

And then one of the bright boughs touched her own being, and she felt it enter her own mind, spreading, spiralling, chasing, leaping, until it found what it had came for; it clamped itself there, a limpet, a leech, teeth digging deep, and then—

Seren's mind was bright and warm with colour, luminescent with emotion, with feeling, whorls and helixes, spheres of light, dazzling in their beauty, spinning and dancing before them, around them, through them, lighting up Seren's mirrored being into a thousand shining pieces, with reflections that seemed to have a life of their own, or perhaps a life of his own.

This had come from her? How could that be true?

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it vanished; the pressure of Seren's touch lost, the tendrils of light retracted from her mind, and the brightness of the landscape faded back once more to the stark whites and greys of yore.

Only in Seren's being did the colours remain, broken and refracted, shimmering and shadowed, but there yet, dancing featherlike over his features. K'shatrisu appeased and lethargic once more, its form more solidified than before.

She turned her gaze back to Seren, and he spoke.

No one knows this.

Truly? she asked, surprise colouring her words. She considered for a moment before speaking once more; she had not intended to speak of such matters before, but now… She had little choice. Your psyche bears the marks of much external interference, orensu, she said. You have hidden K'shatrisu from all those who have reordered your mind?

She endeavoured to remain neutral with such statements, but a meld was hardly a one-way connection. Seren would no doubt sense her distaste for such things, and her disapproval for the extent of such methods used upon the boy.

Could K'shatrisu be a consequence of such meddling, she wondered? With his emotional centre all but destroyed — not controlled, as Surak required, but essentially removed, lobotomised — had not the boy been forced to turn to other methods by which to relieve his emotional needs? Needs which did not merely vanish simply because his parents had manipulated his mind almost beyond recognisability.

K'shatrisu was not correct for Seren to retain within him, that much was clear. Yet it was merely the symptom of a wider problem; were she to ignore such a thing and merely mandate the boy remove the compulsion from within him, she would be doing much the same thing as Seren had himself done as he attempted to compel his heart to beat correctly without first establishing the necessary connections.

You cannot be free of K'shatrisu until you are master of your own mind, she said, gently. Follow. And she led him out of that room, back along the hallways of his mind, until she found once more the corner where lay his bruised, discarded, lifeless emotional centre. Only now did she recognise its state as the one in which, only moments before, Seren's heart had lain.

You must rebuild your connection here, she said, placing her spectral hand gently, lightly, upon the husk before them. This is the root.

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #23 – January 04, 2020, 06:50:54 PM

Attn: @fiendfall

Seren nodded earnestly at Hathev's inquiries as he took the strange form of K'shatrisu between his arms. "Most of the pruning of my mind was done before I was aware of its existence," he said, disregarding the subtext that suggested Hathev's distaste for how he had been raised. What it was, was, and his savensu judgments had no place in something that could no longer be reversed. However, Seren's mental form flickered for a moment, like a bird ruffling its feathers in a thousand shimmering reflections. While his words remained accurate, a part of him suspected that that anomaly within him was what had impelled T'Ra to put him in charge of Selv. Yet she had never explained the reasons that had led her to designate him as unsuitable, nor had his father disclosed his insight into the matter. If Seren ever sought to know the reason behind that, he should pilgrimage back to T'Karath and commune with her katra, something he was far from eager to pursue. Seren had doubts that even now, when life had abandoned her and the needs of body and livelihood no longer burdened her, he would be marginally suited to the standards she had set for herself and her folks.

"Those who melted with me after discovering it did not possess the mental fortitude to detect it or to force me to disclose its existence." He later explained. Hathev must be aware that Selv was a mediocre telepath at best, as she must have seen his mind too. At least once. In his case, father-son interactions had been more democratic than Seren had previously experienced, and while the sociologist had mended and guided, he had never imposed himself on him or reformed him as T'Ra had done prior. Seren felt a certain form of appreciation for these exchanges, particularly in remembering them as something that had allowed him to connect with Selv's gentle, pliant katra, even though he would never give voice to those memories.

"That you were able to disclose it has been... remarkable en'ahr'at, with a 95% likelihood to be correlated with the inherent mental instability of the prospect of my demise." He added with a slight hint of dissatisfaction. Seren had always known that his mind was more advanced than most of his peers, both Vulcans and, obviously, aliens. He could count with the fingers of one hand the minds he had touched that were better than his in telepathic proficiency, and that someone objectively with less developed skills would have been able to discover something that he had kept to himself for so long was somehow far more damaging to his dignity than he wanted to acknowledge.

An affront which precluded him from opposing Hathev when she dragged him back to his emotional centre, while at the same time she stated that in order to master his mind he had to conect with it, the only valid path to get rid of the imperfection which embarrassed him and which he carried in his arms at that moment. She claimed he had to reconstruct his connection with that part of himself he had disdained from his first memories. Hathev's voice rang placid, logical, almost gentle. Yet the content of her words was diametrically inverse, concurrent vectors pointing in opposite directions. How did she intend that he would correct that craving, that longing within him by giving more room for that which fed k'shatrisu? How could she imagine that embracing the irrationality that had dragged their predecessors so close to self-destruction could be of any help? Even less so after Kiriel's debacle. Based on this, Seren had sent her one of his patients under his tutelage because Seren KNEW that she, better than anyone, should be aware of the dangers that an unrepressed Vulcan posed to themselves and those around them. That was the toll he had to pay for her help?

"No," he said eventually, stepping away from where Hathev had led him. His mental form retreated a step. Then another. He serenely released k'shatrisu and stared at Hathev. "No," he reiterated before the form he had adopted vanished, dragging the creature inside him with him, only leaving the hollow of his absence behind.

"No," Seren echoed, as the rooms of his mind collapsed, ruined buildings made of faint light tinged with greens and reds vying to expel Hathev from them.

He had given her too much control. Too much power over himself. She held the reins over the melt and the mastery that age and experience gave.

But Seren had an educated and skilled strength at his side, the impetus of a sharp, young mind.

He struggled to regain control of his mind and unleashed a storm over her, an anticyclone of opposing will aimed at driving her out to sever the hold she had upon him.

Out of his mind, he raised his hand, but this time he clutched the sleeve of her uniform, fighting to pull it away from his skin as if it were the prey of a vicious animal, rather than the slight touch of a small, middle-aged woman.

"No," he mused quietly, his throat reverberating with the short word repeated a thousand times within him.

Inside his mind the mental thunderstorm raged until it ripped away most of the bonds that held them together. He had to take a risk doing so. He had to...

He had to...

he had...

he...

The back of Seren's head hit the bulkhead behind him. One of the candles that lit up the room rolled off, leaving a hot trail of wax behind it, a semicircular pattern that dotted everything in its path. The spots where Hathev's fingers had rested smoldered, tingling with the memory of contact, with the transfer of what the breaking of the meld had meant to her.

Sadness. Worry. Maybe fear. Fear? For him? For her? For who?

Seren blinked a couple of times, attempting to get rid of the frayed remains of the ghost of Hathev's mind in his head.

The young Vulcan raised his left hand to his temple but did not finish the movement. There was something between his fingers. A piece of fabric, a tattered shred of a Starfleet uniform. Not his own, due he wore, as was his custom, a more traditional attire. That piece of cloth belonged to Hathev's sleeve, which he had torn away with him. He deposited the piece of black textile in front of him and backed off until his back lay against the wall. There was a slight throb on his head. Copper-green dots danced in front of his eyes. The ensign took a deep breath. "No," he repeated again in a raspy voice. If there was judgment, anger, or contempt in his dark eyes, Seren would not be able to control that.

He was silent for twenty seconds, just staring her as his mind worked to rebuild the shields that protected it and rearranged the hackneyed roads of the logic that animated him.

Seren blinked a single time. It was illogical to reproach her for her overstep in her ministrations. He was the one who had requested her assistance. She was a counselor and had discovered something that needed to be rectified, even if it was not the primary purpose of her presence there. Even if he abhorred the mere suggestion she had made.

"The assistance for which you have been requisitioned has been successful, en'ahr'at." he sentenced, breaking the silence at last.

Savensu → teacher
en'ahr'at → godparent
k'shatrisu → foreigner, one who is from a foreign country or place; an outsider

Re: Day 06 [2345 hrs.] Far From the Tree

Reply #24 – January 11, 2020, 07:25:32 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Seren's Quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Numen

Seren reached to take K'shatrisu from her, and Hathev passed the form to him gently, carefully. It was a parasite within him, the result of an unhealthy mind, and yet simply removing it with no disregard for its cause was not the answer; she would be careful lest one day her own fingerprints be found upon Seren's mind. She did not wish for that.

She listened, spectral hands suddenly empty, as Seren explained the nature of the being to her. No one else had discovered its existence; indeed the fact that she had been able to he attributed in large part to the instability, both physically and mentally, he had only recently experienced with the prospect of his own death. She felt his disapproval at such a fact; control lapsed, mask slipped. Perhaps a fluttering of pride roosting there. She could not be certain; she saw little within Seren's mind that he did not wish to show her, after all.

And so she led him to his emotional core, that he might rebuild the bonds that had been severed, loosen the ties strangling himself, allow this part of his mind to breathe once more. Surak did not compel Vulcans not to feel, merely that they not be ruled by such feeling. Every being had emotional needs, even Vulcans, and denying such a thing had only resulted in the fragmenting of Seren's mind and creation of a parasitic being within himself.

She spoke the most she had ever uttered while in another's mind, and Seren considered her words for a long while. Even connected to him as she was, Hathev was hard pressed to identify the trajectory of his thoughts, and so she merely watched, feeling the flow of his psyche as it worked around her.

And then: 'No,' he said, stepping away from her, further and further. He dropped K'shatrisu, the creature vanishing back within him once more, and then— 'No,' he said, and the form he had taken vanished, leaving Hathev alone in the empty architecture of his mind as it crumbled around her, the walls shattering like glass, the ceiling pulled upwards into a vortex above, Seren's voice ringing all around: 'No.'

She tried to cling on, buffeted by the mental storm, the cyclone dragging everything into itself, threatening to pull her up and away— She tried to call to him, to reach him within that maelstrom, to tell him— But anything she might have shouted into the storm was lost in its intensity, any words she might have had for Seren whipped away on the wind, her grip loosening, her resolve faltering, and then—

She was expelled from his mind with a ferocity she recognised and wished she did not.

Physicality was briefly strange to her; she blinked in the light, becoming accustomed to residing within a body once more. Seren, before her, further away, disheveled, candle wax pooling between them.

'No,' he said again, voice rough. His gaze was hard and angry. His face was more than his own.

Two boys, alike in more ways than they could ever fathom, in more ways than she had known. And their most significant likeness lay in the fact that she was unable to aid either one without causing further hurt.

Seren would not listen to her. She knew the look in his eyes, etched upon his face. He would not shout, but he would express such things in other ways. Both her boys were stubborn as stars.

And here lay the greatest frustration, did it not? That neither would listen to her, neither would consider her knowledge, accept her assistance. That she could aid so many others with their concerns but not her own son. Son(s).

'The assistance for which you have been requisitioned has been successful, en'ahr'at.'

The dismissal pierced the quite between them. He did not shout. In this at least he was his own.

Nine years ago, she might have attempted to reason with him. She might have tried to assist, explaining what she had meant and why it was necessary for him, or at the very least righting the candle which had fallen. But then, nine years ago, such actions had only caused more hurt to be meted out, had only worsened her son's rage and driven her wife from her side, had only destroyed what hope she had left of Kireil ever being happy, ever being normal.

No. If nothing else, she had learned from such things. She would not argue with Seren now. She would respect his wishes, even knowing they were wrong, even knowing he would cause himself pain with such a course. She was not his mother.

She would do well to remember that.

'Very well,' she said, standing smoothly. 'Should you have need of my assistance again I would be glad to provide it.' She did not expect him to take up such an offer, but… She wished him to know it had been made, all the same.

'Sochya eh dif,' she said in parting, lingering slightly at the doorway almost in hope that he might… But she regained control of herself, purging such illogicalities from her. 'Good evening, Ensign.'

sochya eh dif -> peace and long life