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Topic: Day 11 [1345 hrs.] Murder, He Wrote (Read 39 times) previous topic - next topic

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Day 11 [1345 hrs.] Murder, He Wrote
Murder, He Wrote
Stardate: 57584.27
March 21, 2381

[Ensign Seren |  Seren Personal Quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy]
att: @fienfall

Seren inhaled deeply and folded his hands across his lap. In the privacy of his quarters, he indulged in a slight deviation from the standard meditative posture and bowed his head to the left. Thus, the bright amber light from the planet that the station orbited was bathing the right side of his face. The radiance permeated both pairs of eyelids that protected his right eye, stimulating gently the photosensitive cells of his retina. This created some kind of ghosts in his optic nerve. Meanwhile, is other eye remained in darkness, protected by the shade of his cranium, deprived of any stimuli.

The Vulcan focused on that contrast of impulses, as he had done so many times in T'Kara, with the light of the desert washing one of his eyes while the other remained under the twilight of the peristyle columns. The purpose of the practice was to balance the responsiveness of his body, so that all external triggers were nullified and that his body's automatic reaction to something as elementary as light and darkness would bend to the desires of his intellect. Only then would he be able to enter into a deep meditative state, into a motionless non-reactive nothingness that would allow him to divest himself of any vestige of emotion. Only then could he classify the events of the last days and last hours in a logical and orderly manner. Only then would his mind attain the necessary repose and equilibrium.

That Seren had relied on this advanced technique spoke volumes of the imbalance that fatigue had inflicted on him. Not only the physical and mental extenuation of his incident on Aldea's surface, but also of his last session with his most fractious patient, Carrigan Trent. If there was something that was characteristic of Vulcans, it was their patience, and their inability to forgo to discouragement. And, yet, there was something in his dealings with the former XO that irked him deeply. One of the muscles in the corner of his lips twitched a bit and his eyebrows lowered four millimeters over his closed eyes.

Perhaps what disturbed him about the human was that imaginative ability to fold reality so that blame always falls on another, so that he became a kind of tragic, unblemished hero who fought against everything and everyone in an epic battle condemned to defeat, but which would only constitute a pitfall in his hero's path from which he would rise, stronger than ever. Seren cherished epic narrative and could be regarded as an apt minstrel. He was well acquainted with the 348 verses of Falor's Journey and could recite them unerringly alongside his lute. Nevertheless, no matter how enlightenment that song might be, Seren was well aware of the difference between narration and reality, and how the latter tended to be more complex than the former. And Carrigan Trent's reluctance to accept his own flaws and the fallibility of his own persona to depict himself as a hero at all costs was as far-fetched as Falor's journey.

Seren inhaled and exhaled deeply anew to set aside such digressions. He had to concentrate on that moment. In the steady pounding of his heart, now under control. In the shallow, regular rhythm of his breathing. In the light heat of the local star on his right cheek. After 17.34 minutes, the young ensign succeeded in clearing his mind. Approximately six minutes later, he was able to discard any distractions, both external and internal ones.  Shortly after, his head leaned forward, until his chin reached his chest. A hoarse sound abandoned his lips them, alien to his command.

Seren was oblivious to this development.

What he did notice is how the door to his chambers opened abruptly, letting in a gust of cold air from the adjacent corridor. What he did hear was how a pair of boots thundered on the bare floorplates of his abode. As he opened his eyes, in an attempt to get rid of the deep meditative lethargy in which he had plunged, he heard a disrespectful voice with which he had become too familiar in recent days. One that vexed him in a different manner than Carrigan Trent. Partly because it triggered that craving that he tried to conceal. But mainly because he was irked by his ill-mannered speech. And, apparently, Inej Avirim had invaded his sanctum with a new battery of exceptionally creative foul epithets. Seren blinked a couple of times in an attempt to make sense of the Risian's gibberish.

There was only one thing he managed to unravel: there had been a murder. And he was one of the suspects. "I am not a murderer," he asserted to his former cellmate. Notwithstanding all his endeavours to conceal it, there was a point of outrage in the Vulcan's voice. And another of disbelief.
Lt. JG Khorin Douglas [Show/Hide]
Lt. JG. Izar Bila [Show/Hide]
Ensign Seren [Show/Hide]

Re: Day 11 [1345 hrs.] Murder, He Wrote
Reply #1
[ Avi ] Attn: @Numen

A'right, this was startin' t'get fuckin' ridiculous now.

Left Qo'noS what, a week ago? Just over. Middle'a the night job. Run halfway across the damn quadrant on a mission t'make any Feds what didn't already hate him decide y'know what, this dude fuckin' sucks, first guy t'shoot him gets a space pony. Then gotta hitchhike the rest'a the way out t'Bumfuck Nowhere just in time t'be fuckin' kidnapped or whatever the shit, an' when he finally makes it out -- an' alive, he might add, which took some fuckin' doin' -- an' gets t'the ship, what's there t'greet him?

Some bloke'd only gone an' died all over Avi's damn afternoon, that's what.

Least he got his shower. Mouth no longer tasted like the planet's arse, all dusty an' full'a grit. Hot meal an' all, even a damn nap, so nah, weren't the worst, but coulda done with a day t'get his fuckin' bearings afore folks started offing each other. Too much t'ask, really? Christmas. Inconsid'rate, is what it was.

Anyways. Murder bein' his job these days -- not sure on how that one happened, but figured there weren't much cause for investigatin' on a ship, folks here prob'ly don't got much experience or somethin'? Which was a bad fuckin' sign, never want Avi as your most qualified for nothin' -- got pinged outta his nap t'come take a look or whatever. Alright, alright, on his way, yeah yeah let 'im put on some fuckin' pants.

Got ready pretty sharpish, not a problem, but then took him a full fuckin' fifteen minutes just to find his damn way around this shitting ship. Oh no, sorry, did he forgot to mention -- it's three fuckin' ships right now, an' you gotta beam from one t'the other, don't go tryna take a turbolift to a deck what ain't attached, tosser.

Add that t'the fact this boat was the size of a fuckin' city, an' yeah, we got a problem. Got a head for direction normally, yeah, but you wanna try that with a fuckin' 3D puzzle what's been pulled apart? Half asleep an' knowin' there's a body waitin' for you at the other end?


So. Fifteen minutes, give or take. Or, well. Give. Whatever. Made it in the end, alright? Reported all nice-like for a briefin' on the whole thing, get his orders. Failed t'suppress a laugh, findin' out the vic was Mr Intelligence 'round here. Yeah, that tracked. Got some funny looks, but when don't he? Whatever.

Time of death 1047, durin' some kinda maintenance cycle -- would ask on that later. Phaser shot in the back, dialled up. Thirty folks in that area at the time, interviews already-- Wait what the fuck? Thirty? An' none of 'em noticed nothin'?

Got told t'look at some group of folks, off another boat or somethin'? 'Pparently Mrs Theurgy playin' rescue, 'cept they was the one what fucked the other boat in the first place, so great fuckin' rescue lads good job 10/10.

That weren't even the half of it. Vic also been-- no fuckin' way, guy'd been mutiny'd like, a week ago? Fukin' hell, no one liked this bloke did they? An' then, what, got mutiny'd, got slapped on the wrist, busted down (ha), an' then just left out where anyone could take a pop at him? Knowin' half the damn ship was prob'ly gonna try? Weren't there no one what'd take this bugger of Theurgy's hands? Knew a couple'a pirates what were down a man or two, coulda introduced 'em.

An' yeah, 'confined to quarters' counted as 'bein' left out there' in Avi's book.

Why couldn't it've just been some spurned lover or some shit. Why'd it gotta have to go an' be somethin' complicated. Fuck's sake, he'd been asleep.

Seemed them lot off the Belly-whatever was numero uno, but instructions was t'keep this shit on the down-low, couldn't go havin' no panic or nothin'. Couldn't go pointin' fingers afore they was sure. Standard. 'Cept, fuck this one up an' there weren't nowhere left t'run to. Nowhere left t'ship anyone out to. Shit out here would fuckin' stain, never get it out.

No pressure or nothin', Known Fuck-Up Inej.

Just jammy.

Anyway. Figured had found hisself an in. Flippin' through the file, spotted a face he fuckin' knew. Of all the souls on this damn ship, had gotta be fartin' Spaghetti Boy. A'course this bloke was caught up in this shit.

So. House call!

Found the kid doin' some meditation garbage in his room. Rapped his knuckles against the wall -- already inside, didn't knock, door was open, whatever. Better t'ask for forgiveness, y'know. Also couldn't be fucked.

'Eggs an' bakey, up an' at 'em!' Was basically a greetin'. Leant up somewhere could watch the kid. 'Some bloke's got hisself murdered. Know anythin' about that, Twinketoes?'

Yeah, yeah, need-to-know. Hadn't spaffed out all the info, though he'd get t'that no doubt. Didn't figure the kid for a murderer, not for a damn second. More like, some fella what might be kinda useful, least he knew the vic better'n Avi.

Still, due diligence an' all that. Gotta go through the motions afore he could bring the guy in. An' my my, was worth it -- bloke was downright emotional over it. Almost an expression an' all! Wouldja look at that.

'Careful, Spork, carry on like that an' you'll pull a muscle.' Jokey-joke. Still, watchin' the guy, careful-like. 'Just a question, mate. Boat like this, figure news travels fast. Just tryna tell how much news, is all.' Didn't know if the bloke would go for it. Was a counsellor, so could prob'ly see right through him. Whatever. Keep it close t'the chest for now, yeah?
CPO Morgan Song - Engineering - Chief of Maintenance (V2) [Show/Hide]
Lt Cmdr Hathev - Counselling - Chief Counsellor [Show/Hide]
Ensign Inej 'Avi' Avirim - Security - Investigations Officer [Show/Hide]

Re: Day 11 [1345 hrs.] Murder, He Wrote
Reply #2
[Ensign Seren |  Seren Personal Quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy]
att: @fienfall

Seren blinked a couple of times before he rose to his feet and met face-to-face with his incomprehensible guest. During that brief exercise, he exerted all his restraint in tempering his features. If Avirim would not have desecrated his quarters in the middle of the most profound of his meditation this exercise would have been futile, for his control over the reactions of his visage should have been perfect. However, the Risian had the aptitude to present himself when he was most troublesome, so he had to invest that brief pause in recovering his flawless façade. Of course, someone so distracted by the hectic emotions that subdued him as the recently appointed security officer would not notice that brief delay. One would have to be observant to perceive it, and Seren was quite confident that this was not one of his recent cellmate's talents.

" Certainly the reports that a murder has been committed are a novelty for me,"
he replied soberly. " I have remained in my quarters since..." Seren halted for 1.23 seconds to check his internal clock. There was a small lapse in which he had lost track of time, a misstep that he could impute to the depth of the meditation in which he had immersed himself. " One hour, eight minutes and forty-three seconds in meditation," he specified concisely. Seren didn't find any need to remind him that he was Vulcan and that this implied that it was illogical that he should lie in a situation like the one he found himself in. "If you need a detailed account of all my activities since we returned to the starship, I can make a more accurate description of them, but it would be more efficient if you outlined the period of time in which the crime has been committed in order to not waste valuable time on superfluous digressions." he added.

Seren tilted his head to the left slightly and then folded his hands behind his back, deviating a bit from the pristine, straight posture he had held thus far. The young man had always been an adept follower of holonovel about detectives and misterious conundrums and he could not help but see the parallels between the present situation and some of the mysteries that had pleased him deeply. As execrable as the situation was, the counsellor was intrigued. And due curiosity was a valid emotion given the present circumstances, even more so considering Seren's natural willingness to be useful. "If you could also specify who was the victim and the circumstances in which he has been found I may provide some information based on their psychological profile". An absolutely rational proposal, after all Seren was familiar with all the original crew profiles and he was instructing himself in the incorporations that had been performed since he was put on ice.

"I am here to serve", he declared mechanically.
  • Last Edit: December 09, 2019, 12:49:51 PM by Numen
Lt. JG Khorin Douglas [Show/Hide]
Lt. JG. Izar Bila [Show/Hide]
Ensign Seren [Show/Hide]