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Topic: Day 05 [1800 hrs] Spice up your Life (Read 57 times) previous topic - next topic

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  • stardust
  • [*][*][*][*][*]
  • Slipping into something more comfortable ...
  • Awards: Awarded to the writers of an erotic scene that stands out way above the norm in terms of emotion, adherence to character, atmosphere and steaminess. Awarded for participation in Episode 01: Advent of War, in Season 2.
Day 05 [1800 hrs] Spice up your Life
[ Lt. Foster | Holodeck 02 | Deck 08| Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @BipSpoon
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Whether Stellan found himself wandering through copious distant lands as Papageno, falling in love with the Queen of the Night's daughter - holding court in the magic woodlands of ancient Greece as Oberon, King of the Fairies - floating down the Mississippi with Huck Finn on a ramshackle raft, with straws dangling from their lips - or pursuing a libertine life of varied amoral experiences as Shk'shee, after selling his sole to the devil, in Betazoid poems ... it was hard to mistake him for a lover of the mundane. After all, his mother had always tried to take him away from the acid swamps of reality, as a child, and transport him to the meadows of literary delight. But he had never taken to the bland stories of caterpillars and comatose princesses. Very early on she had found that he only got his intellect engaged in things that challenged him. His mind like a black hole that needed constant sustenance and didn't even notice the occasional planet or moon, but rather dealt in galaxies and dust clouds. All part of the genetic modifications he had undergone, on behest of his father, to make him smarter, more in touch with the Betazoid values of his heritage.

So, time of his life, the man had left no ancient classic unread, no poem unmemorized, no traditional music unswaying his mind, which had crossed his path. His cognizance, as well as his shelves, his cupboards and closets, were filled with the tokens of that licentious devouring of artistic ether. Leaving behind empty husks of knowledge and muse, like a spider sucking out its prey. But that didn't mean there wasn't the occasional vice, that the man indulged in, which others wouldn't consider 'deep' on an intellectual level. But just as a S'oka beetle could be unassuming on the outside, the Betazoid tundra spider could still derive a rather nutritious lunch from it. And so were many of the man's rather obscure fancies. Especially those that did not adhere to matters of propagation rooted in ancient tradition, like paper-printed books, vinyl disc engraved with soundwaves, or rolls of parchment with inscriptions of literary gold. No, sometimes modern technology could infuse an added sense of realism to history's most proficient works, that fantasy just couldn't replicate. Not always.

Which had led Stellan to holodeck 02, this one furtive night, in pursuit of photonic manifestations, like wraiths born from thin air. His mind had just been a jumble lately, with all the strong emotions on the telepathic ether like a meteor shower of nerves burning up in the atmosphere of desperation and angst. Ever since he had been taken off the ice, he'd found it harder to shut the voices out, burdened with the impressions and mementos from when he was under. So, in a way, he was not only dealing with the demons of the present, but also those of the past. There was only one sure fire way he knew how to shut the enchanting whispers of despondency up, or at least mute them to a bearable level, and that was adding voices to the mix that were just that more enthralling. Angel's hymns, from an era long passed, so at least it could pass in some manner for 'classic'. Which eased his mind already to no end, as he entered into the abyss, watching reality spring to life around him at a simple behest.

Building from photons and forcefields was a darkly lit stadium, spotlights at the stage, the ranks basket in daim obscurity. A jumble of flamboyant colors in the set-dressing, protagonists in showy outfits, mirroring their individual personalities. Moving down the rows of empty chairs, as the scene was still frozen in time like a memory, Stellan slipped into a trail of seats, plucking himself down precisely in the middle. A space from where his peripheral vision framed the platform perfectly. Letting gravity settle him into the soft cushions, gentle wiggles moving across his physique like a dance, the man relaxed with a content sigh, expelling whatever terrors he still held within his ribcage. Letting the faintest of quiet moments sink in, as the dust seemed to settle around him, before giving the ultimate cue to let the 20th century entertainment act on stage spring to life as if marionettes, awaking from mystical slumber. They were his favorite from the period ... by a long shot.

The spotlights rotated in on the five women, each one arm erected into the sky, as they shifted into their eclectic dance moves, drawing a complacent smile on the man's face, as the lyrics began to be belted out, each singer taking one line making it her own in tone and demeanor.

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  • Last Edit: November 11, 2021, 08:57:31 PM by stardust

Re: Day 05 [1800 hrs] Spice up your Life
Reply #1
[ Ensign Cameron Henshaw | Holodeck 02 | Deck 08| Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust
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The holodeck had always been a place of escape and bliss for Cameron. Just days prior, she'd paraded the shores of ancient Greece with Lorad. Before that, she'd sung at the bar with Salem Martin. Her free time had been largely absorbed by her duties, and the other various projects aboard the ship, to keep her mind from idling, and drifting into the abyss that had brought her down so frequently. An abyss that truthfully, she hadn't felt the presence of since that horrifying night on Aldea. Her dreams still brought with them the harsh reminder of what she'd nearly done, for a second time.

That night, she'd dressed herself in the flamboyant and famous garb of the women of the 1920's. It had thin lace straps, which let the dress sink down to show off what was likely more of her chest than the era really would have permitted, but she'd liked it. The dress was black, with sequins lining each layer of the fabric as it draped down her torso, shining a subtle light off the gown in reaction to the lighting of the ship. The gown came to the middle of her thighs, and then split into thinner strips of silk, flowing down to just above her knees. Beneath the gown, she wore silk stockings, held with garters that sat just about where the gown itself rested. To match the dress, she'd donned black high-heels, with a strap that came across her ankle, with an additional strip of leather that ran down the middle of her foot, before connecting to the array of felted leather that covered her toes. Her lips were painted red, her cheeks blushed to match. Her eye makeup was as flashy as could be, glittering in the light. Her arms were covered with long gloves and she paraded down the halls of Theurgy shamelessly, likely eliciting a glance or two but no count it was obvious where she was heading. Her small handbag had that little flask in it, filled to the brim with some of the remaining tequila she'd gained during her incursion on Aldea.

Performance and music had been critical to her relaxation. Often, she'd find herself on the holodeck in an empty bar, playing the piano and singing a sorrowful tune to herself, or sitting in her quarters with an acoustic resting on her legs as she strummed the melody to a classic old earth tune, or even a Vulcan meditation chime. In music, and in the theatrics that came with music, she found a peace she struggled to find in few other activities. Across her lips, was a look of sheer excitement and anticipation for the night of raucous activity that would shake and rumble the walls of the holographic speakeasy she'd found, buried in the archives of the ship. She hadn't a clue who'd made it or put it there, but she planned to put it to good use. She had a small chip with further data for her night of fun, and planned to play the two together, seamlessly letting her dance the night and her worries away.

When she approached the panel outside the holodeck though, her brow furrowed and she tapped the screen once. A program was already running. She let the bag fall down to her wrist, and let out a deep, frustrated sigh. Did I mix up the times?

A few more taps on the screen, and she'd seen the error. Someway, somehow...it had been double-booked. "No, no, no." She muttered before letting out another angry sounding groan. She tapped one final key, and the door opened, allowing her entry into whatever was running. She paused as she took her first step inside, knowing full well what sort of depraved nookie she may have wandered her way into. She was fully prepared to come face-to-face with a naked Ferengi in any case, she'd been looking forward to her music all day. To her surprise however, she'd discovered that instead, it was a large stadium. A large stadium which was hauntingly devoid of attendants...save for one. Her eyes narrowed on the figure, a look of curious wonder splattered across her features before she heard the first words...

"Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want
I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want ..."

She blinked, and quickly dashed her eyes from the stage to the man in the audience. Her head tilted to one side, a quizzical habit akin to that seen in a curious Labrador. Slowly she approached the row he had planted himself in, watching his reaction to the piece as it unfolded around her, the lights flashing and lancing themselves across the photonic projections of the five women. She'd heard them before, usually at a drug or alcohol ridden party at the academy, the other female cadets belting out the lyrics as if they were biblical scripture. For an old band, their popularity had certainly persisted to a certain level. Cam, much to her own self-humiliation, mouthed along with the lyrics.

Eventually, she found herself about 3 chairs to the left of him, and slowly settled herself into a seat, giving him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the show. In truth, it was as flamboyant and exciting as she hoped her own show would have been, so said nothing throughout the song, though she did give him the occasional glance to ascertain if she'd been spotted or not, which wouldn't be overly difficult given the utter emptiness of the stadium.

At the end of the song, she gave herself away, clapping to the music, as her head slowly turned towards the man, and she gave him an awkward grin.
Ens. Cameron Henshaw [Show/Hide]Lt. Valyn Amarik [Show/Hide]

  • stardust
  • [*][*][*][*][*]
  • Slipping into something more comfortable ...
  • Awards: Awarded to the writers of an erotic scene that stands out way above the norm in terms of emotion, adherence to character, atmosphere and steaminess. Awarded for participation in Episode 01: Advent of War, in Season 2.
Re: Day 05 [1800 hrs] Spice up your Life
Reply #2
[ Lt. Foster | Holodeck 02 | Deck 08| Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @BipSpoon
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Stellan gingerly slipped down into the warm comfort of his chair, while his muscles relaxed, as if melting into the warm sentiment of distraction, like a cube of sugar into hot tea. And just vice versa, the absurdity of the show on display, the moment was dissolving its sweet allure into the strong acrimony that was his mental state. Tiny crystals breaking into molecules, until there was no easy telling where one ended and the other started. That's how much he was going up in the mundanity of this admittedly awkward display. That's how much he had needed to just escape the cold reality of which he was reminded with every stray thought, every random emotion, he picked up walking the decks of Theurgy. It was all washed away by straightforward lyrics and catchy melodies, paired with invigorating beats. Not a challenge for the mind, or balm for the soul, but exactly what the doctor had ordered, in its invigorating simplicity. Of course, it also helped that the people he was focusing on, these five plucky women, didn't have thoughts and feelings of their own, that he had to dodge.

Jolted eventually from such saccharine dreams, at behest of the subtle stirrings the pew produced, the man's muscles tensioned with that primal impulse of not falling from a tall tree, while slipping into a comforting slumber. Clasping his hands tightly to the precipice of his seat's armrests, the man - stiff as a board - switched his obsidian pools over to the woman just a few seats to his side. Transfixing the pinholes in his eyes on her, before letting his glance switched around the scene for a moment, as his mind tried to fathom whether she was a program malfunction or an actual human being. It was not until he became partial master of his own skills once more, did he realize her gentle thoughts on the telepathic ether. Sentiments virtually mirroring his own, to the point where he wasn't entirely sure if he'd been projecting it on her instead. A virtue he sometimes used deliberately, to lift someone's spirit, or - in the case of his sister - wanted them to feel purposely bad. But there was always a distinct vibrance on original thought. Like a Starfleet authentication token, sent alongside important transmissions.

But that revelation was entirely different shock, to realizing he wasn't alone. This was a living, breathing individual, with their won sets of judgments and opinions. Many of which surely would be passed on this embarrassing tableau. Thus ,jerking up in his chair, sitting more straight, the man cleared his throat from the drying kelp disposed by the receding tide of conscience, before addressing the omnipresent conscience in the air. "Thea, freeze program." He instructed, his voice still grating against sharp edges of delicate seaweed. And as the intelligence did follow the request, the room was befallen with a deafening sense of silence, that cast reverberations of his own pulse, into his ears, alongside the ever-increasing voices he picked up upon, once more. "Hi." he decided to put forth, as a token of appeasement, to the influx of demons from all around him. "You ... lost?" and while trying to sound as little accusatory as possible, the man was painfully aware of how rude the implication could come across as. "I am real ..." he added nonsensically, even placing a palm flat on his chest to drive the asinine point. "I mean ... this is my session." Which only bore the realization that this was likely the dumbest admission he could've given in the context. All in a conversation that seemed doomed from the get-go.

Yet, ultimately, they were united in a mutual sense of awkwardness as a delicate grin sprung from the pretty blonde's lips, right onto his, like an ember in withered underbrush.