[Hi'Jak | Deck 07 | Senior officer quarters] attn: @stardust
He raised an eyebrow at Skippy, he supposed it was because of his eye, as it was he was wearing an eye patch to hide the rather unique attribute of his eye. All in all it wasn't the worst nickname he had ever heard, but she could have done better. He bit his tongue before he suggested something dumb in return. "We will workshop it, i'm sure you can do better."
"I feel like I should address an Elephant in the room." He made another drink as she requested and handed it too her. He walked back to the sofa sitting down next to her crossing his legs and once again finding himself rather comfortable in her quarters. "I'm not just a Klingon, I'm also half human. I don't just call you out on being Vulcan, so do be mindful that I am more than just one side of my heritage." While the Klingon was most certainly an important part of his life, and the one he had agreed to teach her on, he also wasn't exactly a full Klingon.
"I'm not exactly one to light incense and start honor rituals in the middle of the room, nor do I pray over a Bat'leth before combat." His chosen career of a scientist did after all reflect more on his human herritage than his Klingon one, but he understood where she was going with that. "Nor do I see you as only an emotionless, creature with only logic to drive you, I'm sure there is plenty human about you as well. Every mix has it's sides."
He was one hundred percent sure he had read a trashy novel like this once. Some story he was trying to recall, a Klingon wounded and close to death finds his savior in the calm steady hands of a vulcan doctor during the Federation cold war. Their cultures and minds clashing till eventually the two had fallen into something akin to love. Finding compassion, warmth, and even passion. He struggled to recall the name of the book. "Or would you prefer the more predominantly dominant klingon side of dealing with things."
APRIL 07, 2381
[ Lt. Cmdr. Samantha Rutherford | Senior Officer's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ]
"So ... I have officially boarded back onto a Starfleet vessel, after what had seemed like an eternity traveling on the Vor'nak. The quartermaster has assigned me this temporary senior officer's quarter ... befitting my rank, at least. I am not quite sure yet what to expect. I haven't even started unpacking yet ...
Sure, I got Brody's stuff out. The deciding hockey puck with the engraving of the 1976 Stanley Cup winner - his favorite team, the Philadelphia Flyers. That Kalandrian guitar, that too me always looked more like something akin to a ukulele, that his friend captain Reeves had given him at the wedding. Saying that if he ever were to be in a bind with his marriage, nothing could make his wife laugh easier, than his novice musical skills on such a small instrument. I haven't ever heard him play it ...
It just felt weird to keep his things locked up in a suitcase, even if it is just for a night. I think my memories need as much to breathe for a moment as I do. Trying to wrap my head around this new reality still. How could no one ... including me ... not see the irrational behind Commands recent actions? How could we so easily believe that the Theurgy crew were all traitors? The proof was always there, manipulated, distorted, filtered ...
I have to say, I pull my hat to the grandeur of this deception. I could not even begin to devise something so sinister. Now, it seems to run so deep we'll need all our power to unearth and reveal it to the rest of the galaxy. I am cautious, scared even, I would say ... I am not sure this mission is within the realm of what a single ship, a single crew can achieve.
But I have faith ... and nothing to lose, I guess. Diplomacy is, in a way, all I have ever done, all I ever wanted to do. It's what I am best at and what I want to contribute to this mission to the best of my abilities. Our liberty, is in danger, our peace and our way of life ... all of which I have sworn to uphold. I don't know yet how I'll do my part. But I will give it everything I have left.
I'll be meeting with Captain Ives tomorrow. I think he can shine more light on what my role here would be ... what he sees it to be. With my luck ... maybe they still need a waitress in one of the lounges. I certainly wouldn't mind the low level of responsibility. *chuckles*
Anyways. I should get some sleep.
Computer, end log."
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus
It had been a challenging start into this new chapter of their voyage. A day, seemingly stretching into the endless. Concluding with Samantha having left the bridge at the end of an 11-hour shift. She had to shed off the duty and the responsibilities all alike, as the day was crowned with a more personal space. Relinquishing her long-lasting armor, dematerializing the Starfleet issue uniform, the blonde fetched a catsuit from her closet, that had been a present from her grandmother. A piece of real fashion from Paris, which had once upon a time meant something, now it was a mere memento of her loss. It was sort of ironic, really, as her fingertips carefully ascertained the surface of the metallic looking fabric. Ironic that she had not yet ever worn this before. And while the thought of her grandparents, probably not being alive anymore, was still repressed skillfully, it seemed as good enough a concession to make, as far as closing in on the pain went.
Slipping the one-shouldered garment onto her slender figure, the diplomat took a moment to soak in the untouched scent of home, as faint as it may have been. Using all her Vulcan teachings to steer her thoughts away from the day, and towards ... anything else, really. Watching the blue light of their slipstream jump still wash by her windows like a twisted kaleidoscope, she ran both hands through her hairs to even them out a bit, before leaving her quarters once more. She was now a good 7 minutes late. Sarresh and her had agreed to a dinner that night, days ago, and despite everything that had gone down, she had felt no reason to skip out of it. She hoped he saw it the same way. Hell, for a good portion of the day it had been the light at the end of the tunnel. Surely it was not entirely fair to put this much on a simple co-consumption of food and drink, with someone she had met once - well, twice.
Stepping into the turbolift, a smile crossed Samantha's face, as she pondered their second engagement, striking her as odd that their first had seemed to be more on the forefront of her mind. Despite the planet-side dive having ended in a more significant capacity. She could very well remember the strange sense of connection between them, which was not necessarily limited to when they touched accidentally. Because with every time they seemed to share a reality of their own, a little piece of him seemed to persist as an echo, for a long time after. The woman did not know what it meant. She had never experienced it before. She also had never met an Ashreem before. So, the inquisitive Vulcan nature inside of her just wanted to explore this sensation, while the human part just wanted to feel it again.
Making her way into Below Decks, astutely aware of how things had ended here hours earlier with the Klingons, the diplomat took a cautious look around, taking stock of the few members of their race that still loitered around. None of them seemed to take any notice of her, past the superficial. Seeing Sarresh at one of the tables furthest away from the entrance, the blonde smiled, making her way over with long strides. "I apologize for my tardiness." she breathed slightly, disguised in a pleasant smile. If she had felt tired and worn out minutes ago, there was now some reserve tapped into, she didn't know she had. "I had wanted to be on the bridge for the jump. Trying to gauge the sentiments." the commander explained, settling down into the seat opposite the man. She wasn't a counselor, but she still dealt with people, and wanted to know where everyone was at. If potentially for less ulterior motives, than her unlikely counterparts in teal.
"Are you hungry? How was your day?" was an innocent enough way to start the end of the day. She had no intention to dump her struggles on him right then, if ever, even though she hoped some sort of mutual relief could be achieved tonight. Leaning back in her seat, brushing her plump lips together, Samantha caught her hands between her thighs, as she crossed her long legs around them. A subconscious attempt at avoiding any direct contact, no matter how fleeting, no matter how accidental. With no intention to relay any of what she was feeling so openly. Watching the man's aquatic swirls intently, trying to figure out whether his day may have potentially been even worse. Though unlikely, she could probably also draw relief from helping him solve his problems and thus repressing her own. The intent for the dinner had been an altogether different one, hadn't it. Though nothing had been formalized or even implied, a major emotional dump was not usually included.
[ CPO Mickayla MacGregor | Ens. Eloi-Danvers Quarters (Diplomatic Attache Suite) | Deck 10 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus
Mickayla wasn't entirely sure where the washing part ended, and the teasing part began as Faye continued with her ministrations. Either way, Mickayla wasn't stopping her. Feeling the firm nubs of Faye's breasts pressed into her back, she looked down to see the Betazoid's hand reach past her for more soap before darting back out of sight, a kiss to her neck left in its wake before a murmured acceptance of Mickayla returning the favour.
The sigh that followed as Faye grasped her butt and squeezed was as genuine as any that Mickayla had ever uttered. Another kiss, this one prolonged and with greater pressure heralded the beginning of the Betazoid's continued efforts to 'clean' her. And she was quite thorough as she worked the soap around, making sure not to miss anywhere. And she didn't as she moved her thumb down between the Klingon's cheeks and over her sensitive rear entrance, sending a tingle up her spine and making her wonder what might happen if it was explored more. Flipping her hand over, Mickayla felt Faye run her fingers across, and through, the engorged folds of skin that guarded that which made her a woman. Her eyes rolled into her head and she hissed, not in anger or pain, but from pleasure as the tips of those probing fingers found the hidden nub at the top of her entrance.
She withdrew without further probing though and Mickayla found herself almost disappointed before remembering that there was still the bath, and whatever else might happen beyond that. She wasn't sure how long she would be allowed to stay for but also didn't want to wreck their time together by rushing it. So she relaxed, and instead enjoyed the rub down that her legs received. She even lifted her feet when direct so that Faye could scrub at them as well.
Feeling better, and cleaner, in longer than she cared to remember, Mickayla was about to turn around and return the favour when she felt the Betazoid's lips on her skin once more, this time at the back of her right knee. It was light, fluttery even, and it made the Klingon squirm, which she quickly realised was exactly why Faye had done it. Straightening her leg and returning her foot to the floor again, Mickayla turned around, a teasing look of indignation on her face to see Faye standing there, arms raised towards the ceiling.
"I think I got everything," Faye said as her arms fell back down to rest of Mickayla's shoulders. The Klingon returned the kiss that Faye lent in to steal before the Betazoid proclaimed, "All yours."
"All mine indeed," Mickayla confirmed, bringing her hands up to rest on Faye's hips. The water was running pleasantly off her shoulder and down her side, a stream of it passing across her chest to flow between her breasts. Delighting at the multiple sensations she was feeling, Mickayla guided Faye to turn around to face the wall of the stall. Her training kicking in, she used her feet to nudge the Betazoid's apart while her arms ran up the flanks of her body, her fingertips caressing the sides of her breasts as they passed before moving on to guide Faye's arms up to rest against the wall above her head.
Mickayla didn't know if Faye realised it or not, but she was now in the standard search position used by Starfleet. Arms and legs apart and bent at the hips to put you off balance. It also had the side benefit of making Faye stick her butt out, something Mickayla appreciated. It was a position so familiar to the Klingon that she had defaulted to it without thinking. Still, it would serve her purpose as she reached past Faye for the soap, pressing her breasts into the Betazoid's back in a repeat of her earlier movement.
Starting at the neck, Mickayla worked the soap into Faye's skin, trying to massage the muscles beneath as she cleansed the skin above. From the neck, Mickayla moved onto the shoulders and upper back, using her thumbs to rub the set of muscles that bordered the spine. Her fingers tips traced the grooves between the Betazoid's ribs as Mickayla brought her hands around to wash the front of her body. She did this by touch alone, cupping Faye's breasts as she lifted her hands to bathe her chest before running back over them, brushing the hardened nipples before finishing up with the Betazoid's toned abdomen. Her fingers also found the navel piecing present there and her mind flashed back to the day when Faye and herself had gotten them and everything else that had happened that day. That was the start of a new Mickayla MacGregor that day; one that, while still being unveiled, pleased the Klingon with what she was discovering.
"Hmm," Mickayla thought she brought her hands back to grasp Faye's hips. "If I had different equipment downstairs this would be a perfect position," she noted, grinding her public bone into the Betazoid's backside anyway. "Speaking of downstairs equipment, I need to expand on my collection of assistants. Fingers are great for precision and control but I miss the girth and depth of the real deal. And since I'm not going near a real one for a while, I think an artificial one is the way to go."
Returning to the task at hand, Mickayla pressed herself into Faye once more before taking a half step back and kneeling. Now, she was forced to look up slightly at her companion's backside, or, more accurately, the glistening folds of skin that surrounded her womanhood. Water was streaming down Faye's back now, passing down the cleft and running across the openings below like a waterfall. The view was mesmerising and Mickayla found herself drawn closer, rising on her knees until the Betazoid's guarded loins were laid open centimetres from her face. Water splashed across her face, but the Klingon paid it no heed as she extended her tongue and took her first taste of another woman's sweet centre. Her tongue passed across the folds of skin gently, hesitantly as its owner savoured in the watery taste. Catching herself, Mickayla jerked herself back and away, blushing at what she had just done despite the thoughts that had been occupying her head since that day on the beach.
"I, ah, I'm sorry," came the stammered apology from the Klingon as she returned to the purpose of the showering in the first place. Embarrassment flooded her and Mickayla chastised herself about losing control of herself. Trying to ignore the looming softness at the apex of Faye's thighs, and failing, Mickayla worked her way first down one leg, and then the next - alternating from one to the other as she washed and massaged an area. And like Faye did for her, she gently lifted each of the Betazoid's feet to wash the sole of it, determined as she was to leave no area untouched.
"Ok," Mickayla said, satisfied that she had reached everywhere. Hoping that her embarrassed blush had subsided, the Klingon rose to her feet and brushed some wet strands of hair out of her face. "I, ah, I think I got everything too."
[ Lt. Jg...Can't Quite Remember | Standing in the shadow of giants | Ridge line | Unknown planet ] Attn: @stardust
For an eternity, that was likely less than a standard minute, the man heard nothing in reply from his cries. Had he been going crazy? Of course he had to wonder. Head trauma was nothing to frown at, and there was every chance he'd taken even more than he'd already endured during the crash. A throbbing headache wasn't going to fade any time soon, and there was a faint ringing in his ears in the wake of his last call. Realization slowly dawned that he was straining to try and hear...anything.
And there it was. Over the ridge line. The rocks were muting the sound of it, reflecting it back upon the caller, but enough of it was cresting the rocks that the man on the shore could make it out. So he brought his hands up to his lips, cupping his mouth and ignoring the wince of pain on his shoulder and called again. And again, shambling forward as he did it. There was a need, a burning deep need to see her, to prove to himself what he was not, in fact, totally insane. The closer he got to the rocks, the smaller he realized that they were. He'd thought they were towering, but it was a trick of the eyes in the darkness that was the planet in the wake of the storm. His depth perception had been shot to hell, and in truth it was maybe just half again as tall as he was, twice as tall at best. Certainly not insurmountable.
Suddenly she was there, cresting the ridge, looking an absolute mess, and absolutely beautiful. A sight for sore eyes, as the saying went, and the bedraggled man swept his arm across his face, as if rubbing dust away to make sure he was seeing what he thought he saw, silhouetted against the dark sky. And then worry shot through him like a bolt of lighting, and he staggered to a stop as he saw her drop to her knees. Was she hurt? Had something happened?
The next few moments were a blur; he wasn't entirely sure how he got up to her, but he did. He was standing before her, panting for breath, fighting off exhaustion from all his body had been through under the water. Hands reached up, he reached down, and with a groan, hauled her up to her feet. He wasn't sure what he would have done after that, unable to pry those alien eyes from hers, but she threw her arms around him and held him tight, and that was enough for him. It should have felt awkward - they were caked in mud and gravel, soaked to the bone, coated in blood. It didn't matter that her hair was a matted mess of river water and probably blood; he pressed his head to the side of hers as they hugged, tangling fingers in that mess of hair, and squeezed tightly.
A deep, abiding sense that things would be right settled in. His heartbeat felt like it had matched up to hers, each beating in time. It had to be a trick of the mind. Yet he clung to her, and did not ease up. "I've got you. I've got you. It's all right," he thought, over and over and over as his breathing slowed into something reasonable. He fingers loosened, and he found himself smoothing her hair back, and part of his mind wondering what gave him the right to feel comfortable doing this with someone who, as far as he could remember, was a complete stranger. Yet he did take a sense of comfort from this moment, from holding her.
So of course that was when the eerie cry of something broke across the night and damn near made him jump out of his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath between clenched teeth, then let it out in a slow hiss as both officers turned to look back in the general direction from which the blonde had appeared. The glowing light worried the man almost as much as the noise, confirming that they were no longer alone on this strange world. As if they both came to the conclusion at the same time, they pulled away, though her hand caught on his, and he squeezed in, palm to palm. Neither were willing to give up the connection they felt, not in the wake of their unwanted river cruise.
Nothing else for it, he thought to himself as they picked their way forward, the ground taking on that ethereal purple luminescence. Another cry sounded in the night, sending a shiver along the mans spine. None of that set well with him. All he could think of was some vast, ocean going creature, swimming up out of the dark to gobble him up. Not exactly the most reassuring of mental images. It was all the worse for him when she let go of him, and a warmth seemed to bleed away from the contact. But, as he'd thought before, there was nothing else for it. Each needed both their hands to scale the wall. And when they reached the top, and hauled themselves to their feet, what he saw was...awe inspiring.
"Damn," he whispered, as if afraid to draw the attention of the beings. Deep in the dark recesses of his mind, where the primitive instincts dwelt, he felt a sense of fear and reverence. It took no small stretch of the imagination to conceive how a creature like this might be venerated by a less advanced species. Entities such as this were the stuff legends were made of, and he felt rooted to that spot, unable to look away from the ethereal giants that danced in the air. Oh yes, it was an experience that could easily be described as spiritual, if not quite bordering on out right religious.
Running his tongue over his lips, he swallowed to dash the dryness in his throat. At some point during it all, he'd slipped his hand into the other officers again. Without conscious thought, he'd laced his fingers with hers, seeking that base reassurance that he was not in fact alone. Pure selfishness on his part, and he knew he aught to be ashamed of himself, but he craved that warmth and affirmation, that feedback loop that seemed to exist between them.
Thus balanced again, he let his eyes sweep out past the creatures and their sky waltz, to the vastness that lay beyond. He let out a soft whistle, and then flinched, looking to see if the giants noticed him; thankfully they seemed to pay him and the other officer no mind at all. Setting aside the beautiful behemoths for the time being, he began to dissect what he was seeing, sorting out the odd shapes into something that made sense to his mind. A good five minutes past, where he simply observed and cataloged in silence, holding the blonde's hand the entire time as if it were commonplace. Finally, he broke his silence in a soft whisper, tilting his head to hers, but not taking his eyes from the scene playing out in front of him.
"That is a city. A ruined one, if I had to guess." Even at a whisper, his voice felt as if it were out of place in the setting they'd found themselves. His words seemed to carry an extra weight to them, in the wake of the alien song, and again he found himself swallowing. "I have no idea what we'll find down there, but it's our best bet for getting to some shelter. If another one of those storms comes up, I don't want to be caught outside by the river bank." His eyes darted skyward, and he watched the glow trail in the wake of one of the beasts floating over their heads.
"And if I'm being completely honest, I'm not sure I want to be out and about when something else comes roaming our way, that isn't as...benevolent as these creatures seem to be. Something that takes notice of two Starfleet officers." He wasn't afraid, not exactly that, but he was cautions. As beautiful and wondrous as these creatures were, this planet was deadly, and he wanted - needed - to make sure the two of them had a place to shelter. Take care of the necessities, and then allow yourself a moment of pure, unadulterated awe.
With a resolve that straightened his spine and seemed to calm his erratic pulse, the man began to edge down, along the rock wall they'd climbed, toward the ruins ahead, gently leading the blonde by the hand.
Yay, Griff! A shame that so many people are dealing with burnout and real-life chaos with this COVID thing, though. :(
WE HAVE AN ACTIVELY PLAYED CTO AFTER ALL!
After last night's announcement that @Fife left the sim, @Griff contacted me with the interest of taking over writing Cross. In him meeting the criteria for being eligible, I am stoked to announce that we still have an actively played Chief Tactical Officer after all!
Lt Cmdr. Cross Chief Tactical Officer
- Writer: @Griff
After surviving both the destruction of the Endeavour and the Correction preformed on him by the Savi, Cross became the Theurgy's Cheif Tactical Officer at the beginning of the Aldea Prime Anthology. @Griff has informed me he won't be making any edits to the character page or Cross' past, and the former threads are being delved into as I make this announcement.
Hope you'll enjoy writing your new character, @Griff !
SADLY, WHILE ENJOYING HIMSELF, AHARON HAS TO STEP AWAY
While I have known @Aharon has been meaning to leave for some time now, with other commitments rearing their head, I got a PM yesterday with a little message to you all!
To the Theurgy Crew:
@Aharon wrote Vinata Vojona, one of the nurses in sickbay, and its a character that's been around for quite some time. If you are in the mood to write something unique, I really do recommend taking a look at him.
Ens. Vinata Vojona Nurse
- Former Writer: Aharon
If anyone eligible to take over a character is interested, you can PM me here on the forum. Please make sure to read up on the info at the top of this page, in such a case: Available Characters. In the meantime, I will NPC him as needed until he gets a new writer.
Thank you for your kind words in regard to this sim @Aharon , and if you feel like you have the time and opportunity, you'll always be welcome back here.
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift
Sure, Brody enjoyed the thrill, the adventure, the indulging of his ego with seemingly unmanageable tasks. Testing his luck and the skills of his guardian angel to the limits. Did that make him reckless? Maybe, a little bit, but even through his young years, he felt like he could skillfully gauge the potential of a situation to go south. That being said, he was hardly ever seen going the safe route, choosing the easiest, most obvious path. But he also had to admit, that he was lighting a fire in himself, that he hadn't felt for a long time. Because in all honesty, that man which he'd just described to himself, had been a far cry, from a distant memory. Well, had been, until very recently.
The minute he had found himself alone in that shuttle, the former operative had felt like an amphibious life-form, dropped back into water. Like this was the element he'd been born into, but had subsequently grown out of. It was something he hadn't know, or hadn't admitted to himself, that he'd missed. Not until ending up in the thick of it. Seeing the Jem'Hadar in the street, devising a plan to lure them into an ambush, so they could fulfill their grander scheme. It was just like the good old times. Or a romanticized notion of what it had been. Granted, the Commander knew what his life was now, and he loved every minute of it, but this was a peak into a past that wasn't all bad. A melancholic dabble into the memory of a life that had turned him to the man he was now.
Hearing Bishop, instructing Ebirone to wait for his signal, as Brody himself was just moving out of earshot, the officer cringed with a small chuckle to himself. If he had been on the receiving end of that order, then the bearded man would've ended up on the receiving end of his fist. Which was the notion that amused him, not the interaction between the two boyfriends.
Taking up his position and marking his targets, sending a ready to the rest of the team, the man had spent a lot of time lying in waiting. This was nothing. He had once spent three nights on a rooftop, peeing into a bottle, waiting for a target to leave their safe compound. They had said it couldn't be breached. So, he had cut off power and water and had just lain there in waiting, until the snake popped out its head ... and off it was. Didn't matter if they knew someone was waiting, eventually they had no choice. He had loved the poetry of the inevitable. Just like these poor armadillo fuckers.
Listening to the characteristic whistle through the air and subsequently watching the familiar outline of a stun grenade, from his backpack, sliding across the ground, as it landed, Brody turned his head away momentarily, clenching his dark eyes shut, at the flash and the immediately following bang. Looking back up he saw a few remaining sparks, raining down around the disoriented Jem'Hadar. Then another grenade, less bright, mostly throwing up a good bit of dust and silvery shrapnel. Which was then instantly diluted by white beams of light.
Focusing through his enhanced scope again, he could easily make out the shapes of the enemy through the obstructive smoke screen, as some of them fell to the ground like puppets. One of the remaining two attempted to take cover behind a beam of concrete, but only against the fire from his front and left. One precise gust of orange light and he fell into the shadow of the rock. The last one, attempting to retreat to a better position, was quickly culled in mid run, falling, and sliding into a puff of dust.
Skimming the street for stragglers, letting the auto-detection matrix of the scope rule out any abnormal readings, Brody ultimately shut the device off, jumping back to his feet. Sliding the rifle onto his back again, he placed both hands to his hip, pleasantly observing the dust settling on the dead bodies beneath. This had gone as smooth as imaginable. Waiting for the other two guys to come out of their respective covers, the commander jumped down to street level with ease. Or at the very least, made it seem easy.
Meeting the two men in the middle of the road, where the stench of burnt meat was the thickest, he shook his head lightly, dryly, at them. "TWO grenades guys, seriously." he chuckled to himself, but not without poking fun at the two, as he took his backpack from Ebirone with a thankful nod. In his mind, and more precisely his ego, they could've gotten them with one. "I assume you have an ordinance replicator, back at base? Or do we have to figure out a restitution plan of some sort?!"