When Stellan had urged Rhys to just play something of his own motivations, he had intended for it to be a little bit of an exercise towards letting go of rational thought and doubt, and letting other inspirations take over for a moment. Art was a proven instrument in facilitating such deeper contemplation. It was, after all, a measure of work that did not conform to standards and requirements, as the quality of the end result was, by all accounts, solely in the eye of the beholder. And it gave the counselor a quick moment of delightful reprieve, as the dyad of opposing voices within the man before him resounded in loud discourse once more. Which at this point did not trouble the dark-haired man any more than the threats of their mutual superior. For Rhys’ trepidations had no merit – much like Hathev’s threats, one could argue. But that was a different topic.
The verbal acknowledgment almost came as a subliminal warning. An unspoken waiver over whatever out of tune, jumbled mess was going to come out of this. But he somehow doubted that would be a valid concern. Still, he could sense the blonde’s mind going back to worrying about the details once more, rather than opening itself up to the unpredictable kiss of a muse. Which he ironically too sensed on the telepathic ether. Though not with a muse, per say. It made the half-Betazoid chuckle silently, pate immediately turning to a countenance of apology, at his unhelpful exaltation. He had no intention to use any of what he gleamed from the man’s mind by mere osmosis to use against him. Quite the contrary. He was hoping to use it to understand him better, and his motivations. Not having any idea yet how personal these were.
The first new chords splashed into the room like large drops of paint, coloring the atmosphere in a new light. Far less restrained and with a warmth to it that made the mood shift palpably. As if someone had adjusted the environmental systems from the Swedish to the Jamaican setting. And while others would’ve more likely drawn the comparison to Mordor, rather than a Caribbean paradise, Stellan found the poignant sonority to be radiating with the comforting warmth of genuine expression, rather than a public image thereof. A man who thought his inner shadows were to deter anyone that encountered them, so he hid them behind a veil of bright light, thus only giving them more power.
It was rather sudden that the man felt a constricting heat, however, but in a comforting way. Like the hug of a cozy blanket in a cold winter storm. And it was only as he allowed himself to sift through the constant echo of emotions that he realized it was a sentiment contemplated by Rhys himself, which he could feel through extension. Feeling his skin become ablaze with the sensation of such considerations the man could feel his forehead transpire a gentle sheen, that subtly sparkled in the dim light. And with no conscious machination of his own, Stellan pulled the zipper of his undertunic down as far as the uniform jacket allowed, revealing a glistening valley of pale skin shaded by a modest canopy of auburn fluff, dipping down from the hollow between his collarbones, which almost acted like a rain catcher to the subtle moisture farmed on his hide. And it was ultimately Rhys abashed reaction that drew the man back to the reality of his motions. Inward and outward.
Leaning forward in his seat, the gentle guitar strings falling to the wayside as comforting background noise, he propped his muscular frame up on his knees. Dark eyes looking up at the other man from beneath heavy brows and pleated forehead, gentle glimmers of diamonds caught in the fleshy crevices.
“Did you ever consider …” he started out calmly, his voice like a blunt sword to the whetstone of the music. “… that the only way to really know what’s going to happen is if you put your thoughts into action?”
In a matter of moments, what had been an enjoyable test flight turned into a potentially lethal situation. Lillee swore under her breath as, before either pilot had a chance to react, the shuttle flew directly into the minefield at high impulse, the shuttle computer going berserk as mines started arming around them.
"At least you're having fun," Lillee said to Lauren sourly, concentrating intently on her board. "I'm shifting sensor readouts to you and transferring auxiliary power to shields, but these mines are so high-yield, I don't think we'll survive a direct detonation. Fvadt!" she exclaimed as an explosion rocked the shuttle. The mines were reacting, accelerating and maneuvering to catch the shuttle, but their automatic navigation was struggling to counter Lauren's piloting. "Shields holding, no damage. There's no time for the Theurgy to come get us at this rate."
Another explosion smashed the shuttle, causing a cacophony of alarms to ring throughout the cockpit, both women jerked violently to the side. "Shields down to 30%, phasers are offline, primary comms offline, severe buckling of the port nacelle struts. Bah, I just fixed this fucking thing!" Realising that there was no time for idle chit-chat, Lillee instead focused, her hands flying over her console as mines continued to swarm in around them. "Adjust course 78 mark 5, that gets us out of this mess the fastest."
She glanced at Lauren as another distant explosion flashed outside, too distant to be a threat. "Maintain high impulse, these things are built to destroy starships, not small shuttles. Oh Elements protect me, hope you're as good as I think you are, Lauren!"
@uytrereee @Ellen Fitz
Zark was about to tell her friend she had her head so far up her posterior, it was darker than 3 feet up a well diggers ass on a moonless night. The hug and the smile stopped helped the Andorian's own sense of restraint in blurting out anything damaging for there was nothing else to be done. Enyd knew what she was getting into and the best she could offer at this point was support and encouragement. Quickly moving after the brunette, Zark managed to intercept her just short of rejoining Arnold, and she made sure to stop in her way. Holding up placating hands to forestall any argument, Zark offered a crooked smile to ease the tension. "No, I'm not going to stop you from fighting Arnold, you're mind's made up and you have to go through this, so be it. I know what's going down when people get that look."
Zark's eyes and smile turned feral suddenly. "I'm probably telling you something that you already know. It's going to be more satisfying when you make him earn it." A cobalt index finger lightly jabbed the diplomat on the chest to punctuate the last four words. "Listen to what he has to say, and stay out of his range. I'm hoping you have the speed and manoeuvrability advantage on him. Dodge and wail on him enough and he'll get frustrated enough to give you the fight you want." Zark stood there akimbo for a moment as her face turned thoughtful. She tried to think up any other advice she could give, well that was lie, there was boat loads of advice she could give Enyd, but that would defeat the purpose of the fight for her friend. Sometimes bruises also taught best. There really was only one thing left to say, so the smile returned. "When you feel yourself being scraped off the mat, that'll be me getting ready to put you back together. When this is over, you and I can go about expanding your hand to hand repertoire, I think the good Ensign L'Nari will probably be more upset with you after that. Now go all out and give em both hell!"
Giving the diplomat one last hug, the blue alien turned to face Frank Arnold and her face held a her trademark smile that held a good deal of teasing in it as her arms went akimbo. "Mister Arnold, she's expecting a fight, and we're expecting to get entertained, so you go too easy on her an you and I are gonna go round and round in this here ring. Since I don't think you've been put in my tender mercies yet, trust me when I say I'm a fine medico and I'll happily put you back together afterwards."