Star Trek: Theurgy

Epi S: [Day 3 | 0459 hrs.] Whose Room Is It, Anyway? (Redux)

January 28, 2026, 05:10:35 AM

A while ago…

[ Lt. Azrin Ryn has no idea where she is | Corridor | USS Theurgy (probably) ] Attn: @Dumedion
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She awoke with a start, jumping to her feet right out of a dead sleep. She would have kept walking, fueled by that sudden burst of adrenaline that begged for her to do something – anything really – had someone not grabbed her arm, drawing Azrin to a halt before she even got started.

“Take a breath Lieutenant,” a calm voice said. Azrin turned to find the source, an unremarkable looking human man, sitting against the wall. He was wearing a gold uniform like hers, but he couldn’t be an engineer, since she didn’t recognize him. Though the uniform was of less interest than his leg, which she belatedly noticed was twisted at an unnatural angle. Broken. Ouch. So why were they in a hallway?

They weren’t the only ones either. There was a whole line of people quietly waiting, broken only by an empty space next to the man with a broken leg – presumably where Azrin had just gotten up from. Her initial burst of energy fading, Azrin swayed a bit as she tried to retain her balance, eyes focusing and unfocusing on that empty spot.

“Don’t worry, the battle’s over,” the non-engineer gold shirt continued, still speaking in that overly calm, smoothing tone used for battle-shocked ensigns. Apparently he thought she had some form of post-traumatic stress. Her! A joined trill of nearly 400 years who had been through who knew how many space battles. She’d even…

She’d…

Well, she couldn’t quite remember at the moment, but surely it was impressive.

“This is the low priority triage zone. We’re waiting while medical deals with the critical cases, then they’ll patch us up,” he explained, still talking. Though Azrin was only half listening.

“I think I’m good,” Azrin muttered, the words coming out sluggish and slurred as she gave herself a quick once over. Moving her limbs, wiggling her fingers and toes, patting her chest, abdomen, and head, giggling slightly as she lightly tapped on her nose. “Yep. All good. Needed a quick nap. Back to work now.” Even through her daze, she brightened at the thought. Frank would be happy to, she knew, once she told him she’d slept. Then they could get back to fixing the ship.

“No- No. You need to stay here. Wait for—” They were drawing attention from the rest of the line now, gazes turning their way and conversation starting up as the human’s hand tightened on her arm. He was actually trying to get up, words cutting out with a grunt of pain at even the slightest shift of his leg. It was just the distraction Azrin needed to break free.

“50ccs of Terakine, set and stabilize, then ten minutes under the bone knitter and you’ll be back to running races!” If Azrin had been in her right mind, she would have noticed how her entire voice changed around the unfamiliar medical terminology. Cadence, tone, even the accent switching to something entirely different than normal.

Then again, if she’d been in her right mind, she would have had the self control to not slip so completely into the persona of a different host, something she had not done since those initial confusing days after her joining.

But Azrin didn’t even register the change, practically skipping down the hallway, buoyed by another sudden rush of energy. Aside from the one human, no one else tried to stop her. They hadn’t spoken to her, she didn’t look injured, and anyone who didn’t need medical attention should be on duty anyway.

—

A little bit after that, but not quite now…

[ Another Corridor | Another Deck | USS Theurgy ]

It took her a while to find a PADD. It was taking even longer to get back to engineering. That had been starting to bother her. Azrin knew the ship like the back of her hand – better really, because she’d had twelve hands and only one Theurgy – and no amount of damage and detours should have been able to keep her from getting where she needed to go. Where was she? What deck was this? How could she not…

Then she found the PADD, waiting helpfully in a supply locker that someone had improperly left wide open, and her doubts vanished like smoke. All she needed to do was sign in, and her assigned repair list would direct her to wherever she had to go.

It took her a few tries to get it working. Another sudden onset of wooziness forced her to the floor, sitting in the middle of the corridor as she mistakenly entered her security codes. Once… twice… finally!

There was only one task in her queue, something so unheard of that it might have made Azrin pause if she wasn’t so happy to see it. “Class 6… Class… Over… Class 6 Overhaul.” A maintenance task, not damage repair. She blinked at it a few times, then shrugged. Azrin trusted Frank implicitly. If the only thing he wanted her to do was this overhaul, then it must be important. “Besides,” she spoke aloud for some reason, the words broken by a yawn as she crawled back up to her feet. “Class 6’s are fuuuuuuunnnnnn.”

She was halfway down the corridor before remembering that she needed a location, squinting down at the PADD through vision that had gone blurry. The compartment numbers were dancing, the lines twisting and waving. But she figured it out. “Ok. Off we go.”

—

Now…

[ Personal Quarters (not hers) | Another Deck | USS Theurgy ]

“A class 6 overhaul,” she said to herself in a snooty voice, mimicking an old professor, “is a complete part by part inspection and replacement of suboptimal equipment. Used when systems are far overdue for replacement and have been considered red lined for an unacceptable length of time.” That professor had been such a bore. Never once during his monotone quoting of the manual had he ever mentioned the pure joy of a class 6. The infectious joy of taking everything apart, the meditative process of neatly organizing the pieces, and the single-minded laser focus of carefully inspecting each part. Preventative maintenance was a hallmark of a well kept ship. Leaving something better than she’d found it before any damage had taken place. The task of an easy, yet deeply fulfilling day of work – something that rarely happened in the constant on the edge chaos of Theurgy.

This was… not her cleanest work. Despite her best efforts, everything seemed to be falling apart between Step 1 (take everything apart) and Step 2 (organize the pieces). She had not made it to Step 3 (inspect) for any component, must less Step 4 (put back together).

Everything was laying in piles, becoming more and more mixed together as she continued to repeat that first step over and over. Bits and bobs rolled into other piles. Pieces were accidentally kicked as she stumbled across the room. It probably would have been cleaner if there’d been an actual firefight in the room. Her thoughts seemed to turn on and off in fits and starts, manic energy hitting her like a jolt of pure caffeine, always followed by the return of that horrible, slow, emptiness. She wanted the energy to stay forever, and nothing brought it back like Step 1. Joy.

So she kept taking things apart, humming along to the vibrations of the warp core. It was out of tune, her humming, but the part of her that had once been a musician was oddly absent, so it didn’t bother her like it should have.

Azrin looked at the mess on the floor and found it fitting. She had created on the outside what her brain felt like on the inside.

---

OOC: Shoutout to @RyeTanker for a truly great idea.

All of her actual repairs were reassigned when she was sent to sickbay, but Azrin doesn’t know that. She should, but she doesn’t. This is a non-priority task that wasn’t reassigned because it could wait.

Re: Epi S: [Day 3 | 0459 hrs.] Whose Room Is It, Anyway? (Redux)

Reply #1 – January 29, 2026, 10:42:18 PM

[LT Arven Leux | Turbolift | Between Decks | USS Theurgy] Attn: @rae
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Dr. Leux felt like he could sleep for a week. Once things had calmed down enough for a skeleton crew of nurses to handle, the majority of the staff were dismissed to rest up. Given everything they'd seen and done during the battle, six hours respite wasn’t much – but it was all he could give them with their depleted personnel.

Arven had readied himself to take the first shift solo; he was already there, and there was a couch in the CMO's office. Vi-Nine wouldn’t have it, however. The Savi droid threatened to “observe his sleeping activity”, which the Doctor promptly refused. He made a note to look into Vi’s uniquely disturbing but harmless quirks; they had been manifesting more and more lately. That was for another day, though.

And so the good Doctor spent the entire ride down to deck 15 slumped against the absurdly curved angle of the wall – silently berating whoever designed the lift. It was impossible to doze without a corner to slump into; and all Arven wanted in that moment was a few hours of blissful oblivion. The day had been endless; it had turned into a blur of almost ceaseless action, case after case after case – and it had all begun with Azrin Ryn's attempt at manslaughter.

Arven’s bloodshot eyes snapped open at the memory. He couldn’t recall the last time the engineer had messaged him, or sent her vitals, which prompted a grunted curse. Leux reached for the tricorder at his side – but it wasn’t there. He’d left it, along with the bloodied mess of a lab coat, upstairs in Medical.

The doors of the lift opened then, revealing Deck 15. Arven pushed himself off the curved wall, right eye twitching. He didn’t leave the lift; duty warred with exhaustion, rooting him to the spot. The lift chimed a tone to clarify that this was, indeed, the time to exit. Arven frowned at the sound, eyes narrowed in annoyance. After a few seconds debate, he concluded with weary confidence that despite recent events, he wasn’t the only medical officer on board; if Ryn was in trouble, she’d be seen and taken care of. He’d just get woken up and deal with it.

Her, he corrected himself. Balls, whatever, the Doctor sighed, and began his shuffled march to the shower and bed that awaited. A half dozen steps into the walk down the corridor, face covered to rub his aching eyes and stifle a yawn, Arven’s foot slipped out from under him suddenly. A PADD cracked into the wall as the Doctor stumbled and barely caught himself with a curse.

Then he looked up, and noticed something odd: the door to his quarters was opened – only a few inches – as if by malfunction or power loss. There was also a strip of glowing holographic text scrolling upon it. Caution, it read, Work Area.

“Wonderful,” Arven deadpanned.

After double checking the numbers to make sure he had the right room, what few remaining brain cells Arven possessed urged him to just turn around and sleep in the CMO’s office. He didn’t listen.

Wary, he approached. One half of the door was pushed aside with a grunt of effort; Arven stuck his head and shoulders in, revealing a dimly lit interior filled with erratic power fluctuations and a few strobes of light. Leux frowned, deeply, at the chaotic mess within: someone had systematically dismantled nearly everything in his quarters – only to dump the component prices about in seemingly random locations, each accumulated pile linked together with flickering strands of power conduits, loose wire, and data cables. The desk chair was flipped over at angle, three of the five roller balls missing along with one armrest. The desk itself had been emptied, the drawers half opened, their contents piled up on the floor. The monitor was gone, but the data connection port was still active, spitting torch-bright sparks into the air at random intervals. Some of the wall paneling had been removed, which made the entire room appear like a parody of some electro-cyber punk chess board.

Arven’s brow knitted in further annoyance when he saw what was left of his prized bicycle (that he designed and built personally). Someone had literally cut it in half, in order to remove the wall paneling behind.
 
“This is intolerable,” the Doctor grumbled, then stepped into the room – his ears instantly caught an odd sound: like a sick feline trying to clear its throat, or a horribly tone deaf person trying to hum a tune. Whoever was responsible for the sad state of his living quarters was still present, occupied within the bedroom.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just here for some clean drawers,” Arven called out, dripping with sarcasm. When no one answered, and the noise continued, he grumbled a curse and made his way to the bedroom, kicking debris out of his way. The door swished half open at his approach, revealing the sum of all his fears: “Azrin Ryn,” Leux spoke the engineers name like a curse against fate itself, then blinked at her with a grimace. “You look bloody awful – you're supposed to be sleeping, why are you in here destroying my room?”

Re: Epi S: [Day 3 | 0459 hrs.] Whose Room Is It, Anyway? (Redux)

Reply #2 – May 04, 2026, 03:58:27 AM

[ Lt. Azrin Ryn | The sad remains of what used to be someone’s personal quarters | Deck ??? | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Dumedion
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Azrin had totally lost track of what she was doing, lost in thoughts that really weren’t thoughts at all. She came too with a start, the half dismantled bed frame tilting and nearly falling over as the support she was removing dropped to the ground. What was– there was something, something had just happened– she should focus on– a voice!

She spun around, an action that was much cooler in theory, since Azrin had forgotten that she was crouching, and whirling around in that position meant that she went the way of the bed frame support. That was how she found herself on the floor, looking up at Dr. Arven, who had reappeared like something out of a nightmare. Like he wasn’t annoying enough over the comms system. The best part about losing her PADD was that she wasn’t getting constantly bombarded with messages about her vitals.

Her vantage point provided one unexpected boon – she had a perfect view of him kicking a small pile of dismantled components while entering the room. Parts of the door mechanism.

“Hey!” she practically shouted, scrambling to her feet in a burst of energy. Her coordination was more successful this time, but the movements were still jerky, as though every step were a random impulse from her brain, lacking any fluidity of motion. “Watch where you’re going! Everything in here is. meticulously. Organized!” She even pointed a finger at him, just to drive home that he was the one at fault.

But throwing her arm out in front of her impacted her balance, and Azrin swayed, blinking a few times as her eyes lost focus. “Did sleep,” she mumbled, “Boring. Woke up. Work to do. Battle. Repairs.”

Without really thinking about it, Azrin reached out and grabbed the nearest thing off a shelf. She briefly wondered why there was a medical tricorder randomly sitting on a shelf in whatever room this was, then shrugged and started taking that apart too, dropping each piece to her feet as she removed it. “Why are you following me around anyway?” she asked, the words coming a bit clearer now as the task helped her focus. “My shoulder is fine, there must be people who actually need medical attention somewhere.”

Then her head jerked up towards him again, a thought making its way through as though she’d been struck by lightning. “This is your room?” Azrin asked, a new, manic light making its way into her eyes. She looked around with fascination, like she’d never seen the place before this very second. Then she continued, genuinely impressed, “Wow, it’s even messier than mine.”