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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Ch 2: S [Day 02 | 1630hrs] Cat's in the Cradle

Last post by Krajin - January 05, 2026, 01:50:02 PM

[ Dominic Winters | Pilot’s Locker Rooms | Vector 2 | Deck 16 | ATTN: @joshs1000

They always wanted it faster, or harder, or deeper, and he provided and sometimes things were a bit too much. He had to be careful with Lok, as the big man didn't want to hurt him too much or leave him with a difficult walk afterwards! Of course, he gave it a little bit harder to Lok, his length pulsed with his circulatory system to create an unusual feeling as he rutted into the smaller feline. Atlas lost himself to the bliss of their copulation in the shower and picked up the strength of every thrust of his cock into Lok. His hand, however, did not stop stroking his lover and even matched the pace with Atlas' thrusts.

It was a few more minutes of rough, wet rutting mixed with muffled grunts before Atlas felt himself reaching the tipping point. His thrusting into Lok got erratic, and his knot began to swell to a larger size. But he refrained from shoving that knot into his partner and locking them together, even if it was hard to restrain his instinct to do so. Dom bit down on Lok's shoulder and buried himself into Lok's backside with his knot pressing against but not sinking in as Atlas came in his partner. Course, being the little demon he was, Atlas pulled out and finished the rest across Lok's backside just for good measure and a grin.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by Eden - January 05, 2026, 02:30:27 AM

Lt. JG Callax Valin | Fighter Bay | Deck 16 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy]
[Show/Hide]

Life support failing. Life support failing.

The repeated drone of the computer notification was the only sound the dying fighter pilot could hear over his own heavy breathing. A slowly growing crack in the canopy was quickly venting precious atmosphere into space. This exacerbated the problem of breathable air as Cal's flight suit had at some point suffered damage during the battle and was now mixing carbon dioxide into the oxygen supply. Consciousness came and went. Comms were dead not that he could hear anyways. His wingmen were missing. Were they dead? Did they escape? Was he going to die?

Vision fading, Cal could just barely see the familiar silhouette of the Theurgy. The outline of the Fighter Assault Bay doors providing the only focal point for the crippled Wolf. One final course correction was all he could manage before passing into unconsciousness, the controls as responsive as the Titanic approaching an iceberg.

When he opened his eyes he saw fire. A second later -- pain. Pain like he had never experienced before. Fire had burned through the sleeves of his flight suit, scalding his left arm with flame and chemicals. He could not feel his legs, the cockpit having crushed inwards from the impact of the landing and in doing so impaled his side with debris. Fire suppression foam surrounded the burning Valkyrie and through blurred vision Cal could see deckhands and other personnel quickly approaching. Too little, too late. A moment later he fell unconscious once more.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: C3: S [Day 2 19:45] Tis Not Goodbye...

Last post by P.C. Haring - January 04, 2026, 11:03:18 PM

[Lt. Reggie Suder | Deck 6 Corridor | Vector 01 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn @Stegro88‍

The Betazoid felt as much as she saw the surprise and uncertainty in the Vulcan as she closed the distance between them and it came as no surprise that she covered for her surprise by reminding Reggie where she ‘needed’ to be.

“I am,” she replied, her tone a bit more clipped than she expected. “My shop…sip...slip…ship…” she stumbled over her words, “is being worked on. Deck gang has the starboard stabilizer in pieces right now and I’m handling some personal things while I wait for them to be ready for pre-flight testing. We’ve already had our flight brief, so I have a few minutes.”

Reggie didn’t elaborate further, though she knew she probably should. It was unlikely that T’Less knew she recorded personal messages for her friends and loved ones, or that she double checked her last will and testament every time before deploying into a major engagement. The whole thing had become a morbid ritual for her, but one that left her with piece of mind enough to focus and not worry about what she’d leave behind in the event she did not return.

In the likelihood she did not return.

For all of their bluster and bravado Tac-Conn pilots knew their role, knew just how on the edge they functioned, knew just how fragile their spacecraft were, and knew just how high their casualty rate could go, knew that every fighter was little more than a flying coffin with engines and weapons.

That, she knew, was why the pilots partied as hard as they did. She’d heard the klingon saying “Live for today, for tomorrow we may all be dead.” For all her faults, and there were many, one of the biggest might just have been just how hard Reggie Suder lived for today.

Standing in the middle of the corridor brought the nerves back to her and she suddenly felt exposed for all to see. Her eyes darted to either side of the corridor. Over T”Less’s left shoulder, she saw the label marking guest quarters and the panel indicator showing they were unassigned.

“Can we talk privately,” she asked motioning to the unoccupied space.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by Stegro88 - January 02, 2026, 01:23:02 PM

Mickayla stood under the water, letting it run over and down her, washing away the accumulated sweat and grime from being too long in clothes and armour during strenuous physical activity. She needed food and sleep but also knew that with Commander Stark’s announcement, rest was unlikely. No one had contacted her about it, and the Theurgy had a diplomatic staff that was supposed to handle things like it, but Mickayla knew, as the daughter of the head of one of the Klingon Great Houses, she would be ideally suited to participate in any form of negotiations that needed to take place.

“Fuck I hate politics.”

[ Lt. JG Donna ‘Chance’ Petterson | Wolf 06 | Local Space | USS Theurgy ]
[Show/Hide]

Donna pulled her fighter around in a slow that took her past Vector 02, giving her a good look at the damage that the Sword had taken during the battle. Despite the shields, the hull was pockmarked and scarred from dozens of impacts from both disruptors and torpedoes, providing obvious evidence of the brutality of the battle that had just passed. Her own fighter bore similar scares from the ferocity of the fight she had found herself in. And she still had yet to look at the squadron roster to find out who had lived and who had died. And she knew there would be deaths.

There were already voices missing from the wolves’ communications channel.

She would never admit it openly, but T’Less was relieved to be once again be standing at the tactical station on the bridge of the Helmet. As the Temporary XO of the Helmet, she had spent the battle mostly repelling boarders with the security department. While accepting it was her duty, she had not liked not knowing what was happening beyond the hull of the Theurgy like she usually did. Once back at her station, she had been relieved to find that Reggie’s fighter had survived the battle, though she refrained from doing a more specific or detailed query, lest she distract herself further. They had more pressing concerns as the Vulcan Tactical Officer glanced at the sensors again and saw the approaching Federation ships.

Samala stepped quietly through the cargo bay of the Apache, her mind already going over what materials she would need and how long it would take to repair the Apache. Again. This would be the third, no, the fourth time that she had had to perform major rebuilding work on her ship. How much of the ship was original from the yard that had built her? How much had been damaged and replaced before her Lorad and her had taken the craft to escape from a Romulan attack? How long until there was nothing original left?

“How much of myself has been changed or replaced since then?” Samala silently wondered as she made another note on the PADD in her hand of work that she needed to do.

[ PO3 Lorad | Upper Shuttle Bay | Deck 11 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]
[Show/Hide]

Lorad looked at his sister from the shuttle bay deck and wondered what she was thinking. He knew her well enough that it was more than just what she needed to do to repair the Apache again. Was it thoughts of leaving? Of returning to Romulan space and joining another group of Remans to fight against their species’ oppression. With the Romulan’s going to war amongst themselves thanks to the Infested, there might not be a better time than now to finally try for the freedom of the Reman people as a whole.

“But then there is what I lived through and experienced in that other timeline. Can I just let that go?”

Parallel Universes - "What if?" / Re: [2376] Entanglement of Chaos

Last post by Ellen Fitz - December 30, 2025, 05:47:41 PM

[Ens. Enyd Isolde Madsen | Casino | Nefarious Planet for No Gooders ] ATTN: @RyeTanker

The noise hit Enyd first.

Not just the music—though that was certainly part of it—but the layered chaos beneath it. The clatter of latinum, the rise and fall of voices thick with anticipation or regret, the subtle hum of power conduits feeding lights that were designed to overwhelm rather than illuminate. It all blurred together into something loud enough that she could *feel* it behind her eyes.

She forced herself not to stare.

Well. Not *too* much.

Zark and Ryzit moved through the space with a confidence that bordered on predatory, and Enyd let herself trail just enough behind them to sell the image she was meant to project: rich, distracted, dazzled. The diamond bracelet on her wrist felt absurdly heavy, and she had to fight the instinct to tuck her hands into her sleeves the way she did when she was nervous. Instead, she clasped the replica latinum bar with both hands, turning it over as if fascinated by the weight of it.

Gawk, Ryzit had said.

So Enyd gawked.

She let her mouth part slightly, eyes drifting from table to table, lingering a heartbeat too long on the glittering displays and the beings clustered around them. It wasn’t entirely an act. She’d been in lavish places before, but this was indulgence weaponized—designed to distract, to separate people from good sense and good judgment. She could almost admire the efficiency of it.

Almost.

Her attention snagged when Zark’s posture changed.

It was subtle—just a fraction of tension sliding into the Andorian’s shoulders, a stillness that hadn’t been there a moment before—but Enyd had spent enough time around security officers to recognize the shift. Her gaze followed Zark’s line of sight, settling on the unremarkable Cardassian moving through the crowd.

Non-descript, her mind supplied automatically. The kind of person you didn’t notice unless you were trained to notice exactly that.

Zark’s subvocalized question made Enyd’s fingers tighten imperceptibly around the latinum bar.

Marratt Shipping. Ministry of Agriculture. Procurement.

Enyd didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head, letting her eyes drift lazily over the Cardassian as if she were just another curious patron watching the flow of the crowd. She searched her memory, flipping through meetings and briefings the way she’d been trained to—faces half-remembered, names buried under titles and agendas.

“I… think you’re right,” she murmured back at last, keeping her tone light, almost absentminded. “Not a principal. Definitely support staff. The kind who fetches documents and pretends not to hear anything important.” A pause. “Which usually means they hear *everything*.”

Her pulse picked up, though she kept her expression pleasantly dazed. If that Cardassian was connected—and if he was moving in the same direction as the green-skinned woman Ryzit had flagged—then this was already drifting away from coincidence territory.

Enyd swallowed and forced a soft, delighted laugh, lifting the latinum bar slightly as if showing it off to no one in particular. “Oh! Look at that table,” she added aloud, pitching her voice to carry. “I’ve always wanted to try one with real latinum.”

Internally, her mind was already recalibrating.

So much for a simple evening of pretending to be foolish with money.

She shifted her weight, angling herself so she could keep both figures in her peripheral vision without appearing to track either of them directly. Whatever game was unfolding here, it wasn’t just about gambling anymore—and Enyd had the uneasy sense that they’d just stumbled onto a table where the stakes were far higher than credits.

All right, Grandmother, she thought grimly. Let’s see how impulsive and foolhardy gets us out of this one.

Enyd let the decision settle in her bones before she acted on it.

“Oh—that one looks fun,” she said lightly, already drifting toward the nearest table that just so happened to be adjacent to the path the Orion woman and the Cardassian were converging on. Close enough to matter. Far enough not to be obvious.

She chose her seat carefully, turning it so her back was to them, posture loose and inattentive, one leg crossed over the other in a way that suggested comfort rather than calculation. If either of them glanced her way, they’d see nothing but a well-dressed human more interested in the sparkle of the table than the people around it.

Perfect.

The dealer gave her a look—assessing, dismissive, already slotting her neatly into the *easy mark* category—and Enyd leaned into it with enthusiasm. She fumbled slightly with the chips, laughed too loudly when she dropped one, apologized breathlessly as she scooped it up.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling wide and a little vacant. “I’m still learning how all of this works. My friend *insisted* I try something ‘authentic.’”

Zark would hate this part, she knew. Ryzit would understand it immediately.

The first hand went poorly, exactly as expected. Enyd clapped her hands together anyway, delighted. The second was marginally better. She asked unnecessary questions, tilted her head as if the rules were delightfully confusing, and reacted to every reveal with exaggerated surprise.

And then—somewhere between the third and fourth round—something clicked.

It startled her how natural it felt.

The rhythm of the game. The subtle tells. The way the dealer’s fingers hesitated just a fraction of a second longer when the odds shifted. Her grandmother’s voice drifted back unbidden, calm and amused, guiding her hands as if Enyd were thirteen again, sitting at a battered table on the ranch with a deck of worn cards.

Watch people, not cards.

When the final reveal came, there was a brief, stunned silence.

Then the dealer blinked. Another patron swore under their breath. A small pile of latinum slid unmistakably in Enyd’s direction.

“Oh,” Enyd said softly, eyes widening as she stared down at her winnings. She let out a little laugh, half genuine, half performance. “Oh! I—I won?”

She pressed a hand to her chest as if overwhelmed. “How exciting! I didn’t even realize I was doing it right.”

A few amused chuckles rippled around the table. Someone congratulated her. Someone else eyed her with new interest.

Enyd smiled, bright and pleased—and then, deliberately, she pushed her chair back.

“Well,” she announced, gathering her chips without even glancing at the payout chart, “that was fun for a moment, but I think I’m already bored.” She pouted theatrically, glancing over her shoulder as if suddenly restless. “Isn’t there something else to do here? Something with a bit more… atmosphere?”

She stood before anyone could suggest doubling down, before the dealer could coax her into staying, and gestured vaguely toward the darker end of the casino where the lighting shifted and the music deepened into a slower, heavier pulse.

The same direction the Cardassian and the Orion had gone.

Ryzit and Zark fell into step with her seamlessly as she led them that way, Enyd chatting idly about lighting and music and how everything was starting to look the same. She slowed just short of the threshold, peering into the dimly lit entertainment corridor with open curiosity—but not crossing into it.

Not yet.

Instead, she turned on her heel, eyes lighting up as if struck by a new idea. “Oh! That table looks *far* more interesting,” she said, pointing to another game set just off the main thoroughfare—still public, still bright enough to feel safe, but undeniably closer to where the pair had disappeared.

She took her seat again with a happy sigh, already reaching for chips. “Just one or two rounds,” she added airily. “I want to see if I’m still lucky.”

As the game began anew, Enyd let her smile settle into place, all bright distraction and harmless indulgence—while her awareness stretched thin and sharp beneath it, listening, watching, waiting.

Whatever was happening deeper in the casino, she was now close enough to feel its pull.

And she had every intention of following—on her own terms.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Ch 2: S [Day 02 | 1630hrs] Cat's in the Cradle

Last post by joshs1000 - December 30, 2025, 03:24:59 AM

Claws dug deeper into the plastic of the shower wall. The air was filled with the sounds male pleasure, heavy breathing, moans, growls, all shrouded in the patter of warm cascading water. Lok let himself fall into the wonderful embrace of pleasure, his breaths were somewhat ragged as the weight of his lover pressed him to the very wall he gripped for dear life. Even so, he still had enough cognizance to remember where exactly they were, as he accepted the primal lust of the kzinti lieutenant his ears continued to twitch and move to capture any sounds beyond the opaque door of their cubicle like furry radar dishes. The risk of being caught in a compromising position was both exhilarating and anxiety inducing.

He could feel himself building as fleshy barbs and shear girth raked over his prostate, his body begged for release and his own member stood incredibly stiff, every vein along the dark blue, almost black, length bulged in an obscenely lustful display. When Dom reached down to take hold of his length he almost came right then and there, with a great effort require don his part to fight the urge to paint the wall in front of him. He just wanted this sorely needed act to last just a bit longer. Plus, even through his lustful haze, he wasn’t about to give the larger male the satisfaction of making him release first. Still it was becoming quite hard to resist as those deft pilot fingers worked along his length until they found the soft barbs of the crown of his purple head and stroked them thoroughly.

Lok let out half a groan, half an expletive, “fughhh”, and lolled his head back to press his cheek against Dom’s. It was getting to be too much, he needed more.

“Harder”, he lustfully growled out, “...I’m getting close.”

He pushed his rump back far more insistently, eager to get every millimeter of that hot kzin rod into him. A growl of impatience and challenge escaped him as he pressed. Out of want for his request to be expedited, sure, but he knew a couple things about kzinti and he hoped Dom had a certain feature to his anatomy that he always wanted to try.

OOC Notes:
-Due to the butterfly effect, Lok is now a ferasan.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by Hans Applegate - December 28, 2025, 10:40:37 PM

[PO3 Knox | Donatra's ship

Knox heard that Donatra was dead while he was in hand-to-hand combat with a Romulan aboard Donatra’s ship. They both paused their fighting for a second at the announcement. Knox came to his senses first, grabbing hold of the Romulan's head with an arm that morphed into a half-tentacle. Just as he snapped the Romulan's neck with a wet pop, he also heard that fighting was over and Romulans and Federation personnel were to now stop fighting and be friends.

He let go of the Romulan and let him slump against the bulkhead. Knox took on his fully human male form. Before leaving the small weapon’s locker, Knox gingerly shook the dead Romulan’s hand.

Cautiously stepping out into the hallway, Knox touched his combadge. “Any Federation station or personnel, this is PO3 Knox. I am aboard Donatra’s ship…Any um…Anything you want me to do here or do you want to just beam me aboard the Theurgy?” Knox paused for a moment before adding, “Oh, and ‘Permission to come aboard,’ I guess. Or do I say that after you beam me over when I report for duty the first time?” After another moment of feeling like he was making a mess of things, Knox again tapped the combadge. “I do look forward to reading up on all your protocols and SOPs once I finally get aboard….Yeah…Just let me know what you want me to do…Knox out.”

Standing idle in a recent enemy’s ship alone and surrounded by a few bodies he had just unalived a few minutes ago, Knox hoped for some sort of direction from Theurgy and soon. Looking down at one of those bodies he gave the Romulan a little nudge with his foot. Yep, she was dead. Both halves of her. Then he remembered why he had just killed that guy in the weapons locker. Knox had been after a weapon. There was no reason he couldn’t be armed when he was transported back over to the Theurgy, he reasoned. Knox quickly turned and darted back into the weapons locker, nearly tripping over the limp wristed handshake Romulan male to the weapons racks. Excitedly, he picked up the largest and most dangerous-looking disruptor rifle and held it close. ‘Is this was true happiness is?’ Knox thought to himself as he started to shimmer.

A second later, he was standing in the transporter room aboard the USS Theurgy for the first time, still cradling his new disruptor rifle.

“Excuse me?” said the young ensign who had beamed him over.

“Oh yes!” Knox said, snapping to attention, then switching which hand held the rifle, then snapping a brisk salute. “PO3 Knox reporting for duty and requesting permission to come aboard!”

“Welcome aboard. Just leave the disruptor on the teleport pad, and I will send it back.”

Confused Knox set the rifle down and stepped away but couldn’t help but ask why. She relayed to him something about the Federation not using disruptor rifles. This perplexed Knox. But she reassured him that other forms of weapons were authorized, as she looked him over with bemusement and a little bit of trepidation.

Knox had been in solid form way too long. “I am beyond tired. Where can I go to get some uninterrupted sleep?”

“With the state of the ship being in complete disarray, you can have some time, but we may need to call you in unexpectedly to help out. But here is a room close by that is unoccupied. I will note that you are resting there. But likely this won’t be your permanent quarters.” The button-nosed ensign explained and pointed out a place for him.

Moments later, Knox walked into his temporary quarters and locked the door. A second later, he was a puddle on the floor with a combadge floating in the middle of him.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by Krajin - December 26, 2025, 01:28:33 PM

[ Dominic Winters | Flight Deck | Fighter Bay | Deck 16 | USS Theurgy ATTN: All Active Writers

Wolf-10 waited in a circling pattern around Theurgy while the other, more damaged Wolves came in to land. He'd insisted on it with Janus. Luckily, his shields had recharged fully by the time everyone had landed and things had mostly settled. It gave Atlas time to think and set his mind for what he was about to see when he came in for a landing. The Adrenaline crash had come and gone, leaving him feeling worn out as the body rebalanced itself.

Eventually, Atlas had to come in to land and land he did, taking his fighter in and gently guiding it to Wolf-10's original landing bay since it was, at the time, available. Even if it was a mess. His fighter had taken quite the beating from the battle, but had managed to come out better than most. Scorch Marks ran the length of the underside of his Fighter and had licked up along the sides where he'd come to close to the flames. Sections of the ablative armour had boiled away and exposed the hull of the fighter itself. This required multiple sections of the armour to be replaced when repairs eventually got underway. Atlas disengaged the canopy and slowly climbed out as the weight of the Adrenal crash made itself known to him.

The climb down from the cockpit felt less like a few steps and more like a mountain climb down and he took it slowly. The armour supported his ass at least as he got to the ground and took in the damage of the FAB. One of the Valravyns had been shifted to the side, and maintenance crews moved around, continuing with their repairs. It was an all too familiar scene for the feline, the chaos, and the energy. Atlas pried off his helmet and tucked it tightly under his arm as he headed for the Den. With what had felt like hours of fighting had left him feeling parched, and right now, something to focus on was better than the imagery all around him. Replicating a bottle of water, he leaned against the bulkhead with his forehead pressed against it while the man sucked the water up through a straw. Eventually, he turned around and slid his massive bulk down onto the ground and pulled his helmet close, and sucked in a deep breath. "Not bad for my second day on duty."

The debrief would be interesting at least, as Dom sipped on his water some more and stared at the floor. The acrid smell of burnt electronics, melted metal, and blood hung on the air in a way that his finely tuned nose picked up on. It brought back memories of the Thunderball and his time there. Apparently, the ghosts of the Dominion War still followed him still.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by ob2lander961 - December 26, 2025, 02:24:37 AM

[

She was barely conscious. Via's motor functions had all but failed; it was a miracle she could control the joystick at all. The Frankensteined Wolf-16 wobbled and bounced as it approached the FAB. Systems were firing; Charles had already passed out from his injuries. Via was operating on pure willpower, and it had just about run out. The fighter barely missed the edge of the hangar as it entered past the shielded entrance. Anyone watching from the outside would probably think whoever was flying was drunk, judging by the way the vessel bounced and bobbed across the flight deck. Many of the deck crew members went scrambling once Wolf-16 finally lost control and impacted the deck hard enough to throw sparks and smoke, but not so hard as to compromise the overall integrity of the vessel. It would skid across the deck, destroying various maintenance equipment as it had before, stopping just short of another fighter.

Steam and smoke billowed from the spacecraft's propulsion system. Luckily, no fires were ignited, negating the fear of a possible combustion of explosives for the damage control teams, but they rushed to the crash with all protective equipment regardless. Medical teams came running right after them, carrying stretchers and other medical equipment. It appeared this wasn't the first time they had gone through a pilot crash, or more probably, they had been busy triaging all the casualties the Theurgy took on during the battle. Regardless, the two teams worked in sync, with maintainers climbing up on the Valravn and prying the canopy off, and medical personnel pulling out two very unconscious and very bloodied Wolves down to the deck and away from the crash.

Via was limp, blood pouring from her nose, ears, and mouth. Scans showed collapsed organs, internal bleeding, and broken bones, all a result of the G's she pulled fighting during the battle, among other things. Her implant, which regulated her breathing, was flashing red, meaning it was about to fail. Charles was in a similar boat; both Wolves needed surgery stat. As a result, they were loaded onto stretchers and rushed off to the medbay while the deck crew dealt with the pilot's left behind.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Ep. 2: S [Day 02 | 1743 hrs] Lay Down Your Burdens

Last post by chXinya - December 26, 2025, 12:36:05 AM

[Ens. Irnashall “Shall ch’Xinya | Observation Lounge 4 | Deck 15 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy] attn: @joshs1000

Just the sheer mention of paperwork was enough to make shall wince. "Sweet Uzaveh, some things really are universal.” The rest made his heart drop. Just the idea of losing literature, art, music, and other elements of his culture at all was upsetting, the thought of losing it to something as mundane as storage space was two much. Shall sat there in silence for a bit while Hassar finished up his work, reflecting on the uncomfortable truth that if a solution to their reproduction crisis can't be found then there won’t be any Andorians left to read all they leave behind. Sure, the remaining members of the Federation will keep their memory alive as best as they can, but how long would that last before they were nothing but a forgotten relic of galactic history?

During his musings, Shall's blue eyes wandered to the window out of habit so he missed the motions his new companion made to work out any kinks that worked their way into his muscles. The so und of a cleared throat snapped him back to the present. He returned the inquisitive gaze with a small smile and listened intently, antenna angled towards the other man. The mention of an Andorian admiral made him think hard of who that could be, but he was drawing a bland there.it didn't surprise him though, here were still plenty of the old guard serving proudly despite all the calls to retreat back to the homeworld. Now as for the specific topic he had in mind, that widened the smile on his blue face. “Now that can be a dangerous topic when time is limited.”

Leaning back in his seat, shall thought for a moment on where to start. “To start, we come from the moon Andoria, which orbits a gas giant in our home system. It's an icy moon, much colder than most Federation worlds, though the equatorial band can get warm enough for the typical oceanfront shenanigans.” His thoughts drifted to the gathering he was supposed to have had with his mates right as they went on the run. Jay had picked out one of those tropical bungalows for their second Shelthreth, and he hoped they still managed to so without him. "As for us sentient beings who evolved there, the most striking feature we have other then our skin color is our four genders. Zhen, shen, than, chan, the four foundations of our entire culture.” He tapped his chest with his fingertips, "I am a chan, the closest to what the binary sexes think of as ‘male’. Zhens are closest to the binary 'female', while shens and thaans are more androgynous to binary eyes.”

He stopped there for the moment to let Hassar process the information. [color=dodgerblue.]"Anything in particular you'd like to know?”[/color]