Star Trek: Theurgy

Day 02 [0655 hrs.] Baggage Claim

May 12, 2019, 04:55:15 AM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Steps Toward Sanity | Coping With Shit | Fucking Counselors Are Just Gossip Hounds In Disguise]
@fiendfall

Mandatory suggested counseling. 

It was the bane of Blue Tirans mother fucking existance.  She sure as fuck didn't want to be here and she doubted that the woman behind the shiny steel doors wanted her to be here either.  She had no fucking doubt that Hathev had heard time and time again about the prowess, the stellar personality, and the whole fucking package that was Blue 'the fuck' Tiran.  But, she needed to get herself back to square.  Blue wasn't the sort that was good at fucking about with her emotions and she was even less good at talking about them.  There was some deep fucking pain in her life that she didn't like to touch with a ten foot pole. 

That was when dating and being engaged to a half-Betazoid really came in handy.

Blue stood in front of the door.  Her favorite messenger bag on her shoulder, Albert on the other, blue eyes glaring at the steel door that was still closed.  She could press the bell, she should press the fucking bell, but then she would have to sit on a fucking couch and talk about the shit that happened to her on the Versant.  Why did she attack the doctor that tried to help her when she came back, why was she sad about losing a friend and alien that she had expected to live through the whole shit storm on the other ship.  Why was she so fucking pissed at the blue skinned bitch that was probably the most hated person in Blue Tiran's life other than her fucking parents.

[Miss Blue, I nearly regret to inform you that Doctor Hathev is not known to possess X-Ray vision and will not know you are on the other side of the door should you not actually press the button.]

“Is that supposed to be a fucking joke?”



“Wow.  You just made that so much less fucking fun.  Look, I'm going in there okay?”

[Your meeting with Doctor Hathev is stated to have commenced two minutes prior to your current time.]

“I'm fashionably late.”



“One day I swear you will fucking learn about the world.”

[Miss Blue I contain more intelligence in my positronic matrices as well as my internal chips than you could ever learn in a life time.]

“Did you just call me an idiot?”



Blue cursed under her breath and her thumb jammed the button beside the door.  Once she heard the call from inside to enter she stepped closer to the doors which opened themselves and she stepped through.  Blue was in uniform, as she often was, the gold color accented around the black.  Her blue and black curls were currently pulled back in a heavy pony tail that fell down her back but true to their form several tendrils had escaped and framed around her slightly.  She didn't look like she had probably slept in the last twenty four hours.  Guarded blue eyes took in the beauty of the room before settling on the doctor.

“I know, I'm late, but I'm here.” she said unapologetically.

[Miss Blue stared at your door for the last five minutes before finally depressing the necessary equipment to allow entrance.]  Albert filled in.

“I knew I shouldn't have brought you, fucking bastard.”



Blue rolled her eyes and pulled her bag off her shoulder.  She tossed it down on the couch she assumed she would be taking residence on.  It fell with a heavy clunk and the heavy sound of metal hitting metal in small pieces, but many.  Blue perched on the edge of the sofa cushion looking very much uncomfortable and like she didn't want to fucking be there.  Her crystalline eyes shifted over to the doctor, Vulcan.  Just fuck me now, this is going to be shit.

“I'm Blue.  Obviously.  I'm sure you having a fucking book that tells you who is coming and when.  But yeah, Commander Blue Tiran formerly of the Endeavour, now the Chief Engineer of the Theurgy.  So now you're all caught up.  I can go, you can put the check mark next to my fucking name, and we can get on with out lives.  I'll even nod when I see you in the fucking hallway and everything.”

Yeah, uncomfortable was an understatement. :S      :s :-S :-s

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #1 – May 13, 2019, 05:12:37 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @BZ

Since her appointment to this new position, Hathev had endeavoured to study the files of all commanding officers aboard the Theurgy and duly compile a list of individuals whom she considered to be particularly high-risk. Of course, all aboard this vessel qualified for counselling, and she would see to it that the necessary arrangements were made to facilitate the treatment of any and all who requested it. Nevertheless, considering the circumstances she deemed it prudent to be aware of those in particular need, especially any who served upon the captain’s senior staff.

Lieutenant Commander Blue Tiran, Chief of Engineering and fiancée of the Executive Officer, certainly qualified as ‘high risk’. A woman whose service record spoke of an already-troubled psyche, she had been among those to endure imprisonment aboard the Versant, and had sustained whatever horrors had awaited her aboard that vessel. Privately, Hathev had to question the intelligence of appointing such a delicate individual to the position she now held; however she would reserve judgement until she had opportunity to observe and catalogue the damage for herself.

An opportunity it seemed she may not be afforded, as the officer in question was now late for their appointment.

Hathev was under no illusions that Commander Tiran would attend willingly; she had not been ordered to the counsellor’s office, per se, but the strength of Hathev’s wording in her message to the woman had left little room for interpretation. She would have preferred it if the human had approached the department of her own volition, but considering Tiran’s lofty position on Hathev’s list she could not afford to wait. She had calculated the potential difficulty this arrangement could cause during their session and deemed it to be outweighed by the fact it would negate any risk of the woman’s psychological health deteriating even further while she deliberated whether to contact the department at all.

That being said, this calculation only held true if Commander Tiran attended this session. If she did not, Hathev would have to go above her head, and in that case the probability of successful treatment would plummet.

It was too early to assume the worst, however. She must be prepared for either eventuality. To this end, Hathev rose from her desk and crossed to correct the angle of the glass bowl she had placed upon the coffee table. For today’s patient, it held the Earth substance known as Twinkies. To call the treats ‘sustenance’ would be to do a disservice to all legitimate foodstuffs, however Hathev had recalled Commander Tiran mentioning them in her most unorthodox speech of introduction; thus she had provided them as a gesture of welcome.

The door chirped, and Hathev called out to allow entry. It seemed Commander Tiran had decided to attend after all; with that first hurdle cleared, now the true challenge began.

‘It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Commander,’ she said, raising her natural salute in greeting rather than the handshake she would normally offer a tactile species. From the records she had been privy to, she understood physical contact may be a charged issue with Commander Tiran; at this early stage, she deemed it better to err on the side of caution regarding such matters. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable.’

Tiran’s abrasive attitude was not surprising; from what she knew of the woman, Hathev would have been a fool to expect any oher conduct. At the very least Tiran was honest — impatient, unapologetic, and defensive, but honest. A trait Hathev could certainly appreciate.

More difficult to appreciate, however, was the bird. As human and machine sniped back and forth, Hathev recalled the creature had also been present at the meeting with the captain; she had not expected it to make an appearance even here. As a rule, Hathev maintained a high level of control over the setting and circumstances of her counselling sessions, aiming to prepare and control everything but her patient — and even them, to a certain extent. There was no space for tourists within her walls.

In any other situation she would have had it sent away; however considering Tiran’s discomfort in the space such a request might be detrimental to her sense of security, illogical though that was. Additionally, Tiran’s words warranted response before Hathev raised any new issues, for the woman seemed distinctly perfunctory in her approach to their meeting.

Hathev took her customary seat opposite Tiran, who sat tensed and jittery. Tiredness and defiance were etched into the human’s expression in equal measure; Hathev wondered how much of the display was a result of Tiran’s personality, how much due to her previous experiences, and how much caused by her more recent stay aboard the Versant and separation from the Endeavour’s surviving crew — Mr Ducote chief among them, of course.

‘You have my thanks for joining me, Commander,’ she said. ‘I appreciate you are no doubt busy with your new duties and I have no desire to keep you longer than is necessary.’

She folded her hands in her lap, regarding Tiran. ‘Please allow me to be clear. I did not ask you here to satisfy any curiosity or concern I may posess, and nor do I intend to tick you off some list, as you put it.’

She would be neither carrot nor stick; the woman had been blunt in her speech before, and Hathev considered she may respond in kind.

‘My capacity in this room is not as judge but as doctor; my primary duty is to your well-being. However my own skills mean little if they are not met with a desire to heal. Thus I must ask: do you consider yourself to be entirely healthy, emotionally and psychologically speaking? And if you do not, do you not have a duty, both professional and personal, to rectify that to the best of your abilities?’

By all accounts, the commander was extremely intelligent for a human; Hathev expected she would have the lucidity and presence of mind to recognise her own condition.

It was to be hoped, at least.

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #2 – May 14, 2019, 07:01:34 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Twinkies: Salve to the Soul | Smart Bitches | Effort Goes a Long Way]
@fiendfall



She really fucking hated it when people said it was a pleasure.  Was it ever a fucking pleasure to know and meet her?  There was no reason for it to ever be a fucking pleasure.  She was a bitch, people called her that to her face, behind her back, in text format, and everything.  But she didn't give a shit because none of them actually fucking knew her and this bitch was Vulcan.  Which meant she couldn't get the mind tentacles out and feel her out for real.  So she was assuming that this was going to be a pleasure cruise or she was just starting with unnecessary niceties. 

“Is it?” she asked the woman curiously as she plopped herself down on the sofa with the clink of metal and Albert staying expertly on her shoulder in the special pad she had created for him.  “I'm pretty fucking sure the only people that have ever said that and meant it was Ranaan and Cross.” she admitted as she looked at the Vulcan woman as though she dared the woman to fucking say otherwise.

At least she didn't go in for a hug.  Small mercies.

Blue looked down at the table in front of her and... holy fucking twinkie paradise.  She reached forward and snatched the whole glass bowl.  Sitting back she crossed her legs on the couch to get more comfortable setting the large bowl of individually wrapped twinkies in her lap.  She reached up and disengaged the locks on Albert's talons that allowed him to come off her shoulder.  He was a heavy fucker and after a while not comfortable to carry around.  She sat him down on the cushion beside her but she didn't say anything to him.  Albert shifted his talons to retain his balance so he didn't fall over on the new terrain before Blue opened the first of many twinkies and put the cellophane wrapper to the side right next to Albert taking the first bite of the sponge cake and cream. 

The doc began to speak something about being glad that blue actually showed the fuck up and how she appreciated her taking time out of her busy schedule to do so.  That she didn't want to take any more of Blue's time than necessary which caused Blue to look up quickly from her Twinkie paradise to look at the Doctor that had taken a seat across the table from her. 

“Doc.  We're going to get along fucking swimmingly if you can understand the sheer level of shit I have to deal with on a daily basis on this ship.  That doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of my supposed broken psyche or whatever the fuck they wrote down in that fucking book of yours.  I'm sure the sickbay down there had a great lot to tell you.  Nosy fuckers....” she muttered the ending statement and popped the last half of twinkie number one in her mouth chewing while the Doc began spewing new words from her mouth.

Blue was listening, even though it seemed like she wasn't.  She was currently picking through the twinkies as though that was the only fucking important thing in the room.  And they were up there on levels of important....

1. Blue Tiran
2. Ranaan Ducote
3. Cross
4. Twinkies
5. Albert
6. Theurgy


Something along those lines, depending on the day they could move up and down the list as she saw fit but that was about how it was today.  She picked out one that had a pink tint to the spongey flesh which meant.  “Fuck yes, Strawberry, these are really rare you know.” she admitted to the woman as she opened it and for a moment just inhaled the scent of false strawberry that shifted out of the package and tossed the cellophane over towards Albert again.

She looked up at the doctor as she fell silent, still holding the slightly pink twinkie in her hand as she looked at her judging her with her own soft blue eyes.  It was clear there was a depth to Blue that she kept hidden very expertly.  She had to decide to let someone in, and Ranaan had caught her right at the right moment and said the right things to build a foundation of trust between them.  Blue appreciated honesty over just about any other quality in a person and right now right here she was faced with someone that was giving to her straight. 

“Am I fine?  Fuck no.  Have I ever been fine?  Not since I was nine.  Okay?  I fucking did everything I could to get where the fuck I am right now.  And I'm not going to let any one even the fucking Versant and their fucking ship of horrors take me from what my fucking goals in life are.” she said angrily and tore half the twinkie in half cramming half of it in her mouth and chewing at it. 

Totally not buying time.

“I have a duty to this ship.  I'm never going to be the nice and super supporitve that people seem to expect out of Starfleet officers and Chiefs.  But you know what, I run a fucking tight deck, and my shit gets done.  I know my shit.  I got here legitly.” she said before cramming the other half in her mouth and chewing it while almost glaring petulantly like a child across the room at Hathev. 

But, the honesty that Hathev had broached her with was exactly what would help Blue open up.  She wasn't good at talking about her emotions, as evident in her speech.  And the way that she talked around her emotions instead of heading them off straight up.  But, she was .. in her own way, trying to at least … give something.  If at the very least for Ranaan.

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #3 – May 16, 2019, 11:11:06 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @BZ

Miss Tiran’s reaction to Hathev’s greeting might have been amusing, had Hathev been of a species to entertain such frivolities. As it was, she inclined her head and offered the amendment: ‘A traditional greeting of your species, as I understand. I doubt it shall in fact be entirely pleasurable considering the matter at hand; nevertheless it is correct to say I am glad of this meeting. It remains to be seen whether you shall share this sentiment by its conclusion, although I hope you will.’

She spoke respectfully, careful to maintain a level tone, although she was not certain of whether the Chief Engineer had even heard half of what she had said, let alone appreciated the effort. The human had discovered the Twinkies and had summarily availed herself of the entire bowl, sitting cross-legged on the couch and placing both bird and wrappers beside her.

Even after all this time, humans could be truly baffling.

Despite this, it seemed Tiran had taken in at least a few of Hathev’s words, as she broke off from snacking to reply with a level of bluntness that the counsellor had already come to expect from the woman.

Hathev raised an eyebrow minutely at Tiran’s tirade. ‘I asked you here because you are to fulfil an important role on this vessel, and it is my duty to ensure you are able to do so without hindrance or difficulty, no matter whence it stems.’

Perhaps it was paranoia that fuelled these concerns? Tiran had delivered them with such an affectation of off-handed abrasion that it could be easy to conclude they did not truly trouble her — she could merely be exercising her frustrations at being required at this meeting, and exhibiting the same resistance to authority as had been noted in her file.

Alternatively, she could be genuinely uncomfortable at the prospect of others knowing details about her and discussing such information in a manner she herself was not privy to. Hathev did not make assumptions as a rule, but it might be prudent to consider the likelihood that Tiran, in her time aboard the Versant, had been stripped of her privacy and personhood in much the same way as Hathev had heard many of the other prisoners had been subjected to. In such a context, then, she could hardly be surprised that Tiran was so disquieted at the prospect of another invasion of her seemingly-coveted privacy.

‘I am as new to this vessel as yourself, Commander,’ she said, tone neutral. ‘There has been very little opportunity for me to discover much about you, and what I have found has been limited to your personnel file as it was a few months ago. The Medical department is sworn to discretion just as I am; there is no book, and Sickbay has told me nothing of you.’

Hathev judged honesty was the best method of approach here. While she would never lie, she would also usually abstain from such bare truth without softening it in some manner for such an emotion-bound species as humanity; however Commander Tiran had requested honesty in her introduction to the senior staff, and despite Hathev’s understanding that humans often requested things they did not truly desire, she believed she could take Miss Tiran at her word on this matter.

Miss Tiran who was currently inhaling a pink spongecake.

Despite the human’s apparent distraction, enamoured with the sickly abomination as she was, it seemed Hathev’s next words were met positively — tentatively so, at the very least. The commander was coherent enough to understand her own lack of stability, and determined not to allow this most recent setback to destroy all her progress. The anger with which the speech was delivered revealed the extent of the damage stretched further than Tiran would admit; hardly surprising, considering what Hathev knew, both of the woman and of her tribulations, both new and old.

The anger was unfortunate, however, as it could easily become coupled with the woman’s defensiveness surrounding her mind and privacy; if such anger turned from being directed at the nebulous causes for Tiran’s struggles, and moved to focus upon Hathev for attempting to make Tiran face those struggles, it would take weeks for them to work past such misguided frustrations — a calculation that assumed Tiran would even agree to attend another meeting beyond this one.

There was more here than could be unravelled in a single session; none of it could be healed in so short a time. Instead, this meeting was simply a matter of convincing Tiran to try the treatment with a fair and open mind. No small task, considering the woman in question was currently glaring at Hathev. The image was ruined somewhat by Twinkie-induced hamster cheeks; however though the execution may have been lacking, it was the intention that was the concern.

It did not pass Hathev by that Tiran had addressed her duty to the Theurgy, but neglected to mention that which she owed to her fiancé. An issue to probe another time; she predicted it would be met with resistance were she to attempt at this juncture.

‘There is no question of your skill, as engineer or chief,’ she said instead, ‘nor the manner in which you ascended to such a position. Additionally, I have no interest in your conformity or lack thereof to Starfleet ideals of interpersonal politeness and conduct. As a Vulcan, such frivolities mean even less to me than they do you, and I myself have certainly never conformed to them. Within Starfleet regulation you may behave as you wish; I have no need for niceties nor desire to cultivate them.’

She spoke smoothly, her tone maintaining a level composure as she spoke. These early stages would be instrumental to Tiran’s potential recovery, or lack of it.

‘My interest, Commander, lies in your own sense of wellbeing. This ship has been through many struggles and will likely encounter many more before its trials are over; thus it is important to maintain the mental health of all aboard. Every officer aboard shall face enough difficulties from without; it would be illogical to neglect the potential of difficulties arising from within.’

Hathev regarded Commander Tiran: the mechanical bird, still perched on the couch; the cellophane wrappers surrounding the creature’s talons; the countenance of her patient, defiant and defensive as it was, hiding untold turbulence beneath — turbulence which burst its banks with every tide of words the woman let out.

She had given Tiran enough to think on, she concluded. There would be little purpose in continuing this line of discussion at this time. Rather, Hathev sought to change tack somewhat, giving the human an opportunity for reflection and allowing her to settle into her surroundings a little. She did not expect the woman to lower her guard, of course not; however discussion of a safe and seemingly-inane subject would at the very least alleviate some of the tension in the commander’s body.

‘But enough of this. I wished to acquaint myself with you — an offer which runs in both directions, should you ever wish to redress the balance.’ She could not appear to tread carefully; certainly Tiran would consider such a display as a comment or judgement. ‘I must admit I did not expect company; this is Albert, is it not?’

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #4 – May 21, 2019, 09:23:50 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | The Least Traditional Patient | I Scratched a Doc and I Liked It | Oreo Twinkies Are God's True Creation]
@fiendfall



Blue looked up at the knowledge that Sickbay had mentioned nothing of her assault on the doctor.  Her brow arched slightly.  “I figured that shit would be in there, it sure as fuck probably spread around the ship like wild fire by now.  Though I have a feeling that it's probably grown from what it actually fucking was to some kind of intense assault of the death row variety.” she gave a shrug of a shoulder and looked back at her bowl of loot.  She was realizing now just how deep into the replication patterns of Twinkies that the counselor had gone to in order to keep one Blue Tiran very happy.  Blue sighed softly as she looked at the doctor.

“Well to be really fucking frank here, I attacked a doctor when they first brought me into Sickbay from the Versant.” she admitted as she gave a shrug as if it was nothing though her eyes held the fact that it was anything but.  Her eyes spoke a lot of what her mouth and her steel will and determination wouldn't give the time of fucking day.  She had fortified her walls, built forts around her inner being, and they were healthy, massive, and stout.  She was not going to just give things away, Hathev was going to have to find ways, to get the information.  However, she was already doing better than most because she didn't dance around the subjects and the questions.  Instead, she went right in, blunt and honest, and it was exactly the kind of person that Blue could actually fucking respect.

Hathev told her there was no question to her skills as an Engineer or a Chief.  “Better not fucking be.” Blue grumbled loud enough to be heard but low enough to make it seem like she tried to hide the sentiment.  She went on to say that she had no interest in Blue's lack of conformity to how Starfleet wished their officers would be, and as a Vulcan, they meant even less to her than a normal person.

Fucking hell, I needed a Vulcan counselor for-fucking ever ago. she thought o herself as she dug around in her bowl looking at the various colors of sponge cake and knowing, by look alone, their flavors.  Down in the bottom was a dark looking twinkie, at first, she thought it was a shadow of other glorious twinkies on top of it.  But no, it was not, it was a beautiful Oreo Twinkie.  Cookies n' Cream whatever people wanted to call it, she just wanted to eat it.  Pulling it out of the depths of Twinkie Oppression she opened the wrapper. 

“You and I are going to get along just fucking fine then.” she said quickly as she looked down at the holy grail, for this moment, twinkie held securely between calloused fingers.

Hathev mentioned that she wanted to make sure that Blue was ready, the Theurgy had gone through a shit ton of stuff and was likely to experience more fuckery.  Hathy's job was to make sure that Blue was ready for all this shit so that she could help the ship stay running and not try to run herself off the Arboretum Balcony face first to end the suffering.  Blue gave a bit of a smirk.  I'd have to be fucking mad to visit that fucking place.  Shaking her head at her own mental thoughts she deposited the cellphane wrapping next to Albert's talons with the rest, and the owl's metal feathers seemed to lift slightly, shift, and settle back down as if he was slightly offended by this action.

Blue unfolded her legs from where they had been crossed on the couch, boots and all, and she slammed them down on the table that had once beheld the bowl of twinkies.  Crossing at the ankles of her Starfleet issued boots, she leaned back more so into the cushions and finally took a bite of the Godly Oreo Twinkie.  It was moments like this, as the cookies and cream filling slid across her tongue that she remembered the beauty of the fried twinkies that she had in Brazil.  How they crunched on the outside but were soft and sweet on the inside.  That thick crispy crust was something of a miracle, truly.

“There is a fuck ton of stuff that I left out of my Academy application.  Shit that happened way back in the day before I changed my fucking name and raised my fucking self.  So, yeah, You're not going to find me wanting to be all warm and fuzzy up on your couch spilling my guts about my shitastic childhood and how no one fucking understands me.” she admitted after swallowing.  Blue was not rude enough to talk with her mouth closed.

“No one fucking understands me.  Except, Ranaan Ducote.  That mother fucker, is the only person that seems to be able to take my shit, understand my shit, and see through my shit.”  as she spoke she pointed at the door, as though he was right behind it, though he wasn't.  Just out 'there' in the ship, somewhere doing shit.  Which reminded her.  She looked over at Albert, he met her eye contact dead on and stared right into her. 

You can't do it Blue, not here, not in front of the Doctor, if you fucking track Ducote right here and now she's going to know... she's going to know that you can't handle him going missing again.  Clenching her free hand into a painful fist for a moment before she let it go and leaned into the side of the couch slightly.  Resting her hand in her mass of hair leaning into it, legs still on the table.  She had started the mastery of self harm by pinching her scalp.  No one could see the welts and it was a way that when she couldn't.. when she couldn't breathe right, it helped her focus again.  So that was exactly what she was doing, quiet as secretively as possible, as she plowed forward.

She was going to say more, when Hathev switched tack and began to speak of the company that Blue had brought with her asking about Albert.  Blue shoved the rest of the Glorious Twinkie of Twinkidom into her mouth and chewed it since talking about Albert was one of her favorite pass times she figured that she might as well get the twinkie thrill out of her way first.  Swallowing the glory, and the slight dejection that it was gone a moment later, Blue cleared her throat.

“Albert, yes.” she said sitting up, her hand dropping out of her mass of curls and to her lap again, now that they were less on the subject of her fiance, and more on the subject of the beauty that sat beside her. 

Albert twisted his head, in the way that owls do, and looked right at Hathev.  [I would say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, however, I cannot experience pleasure and the nicety would be lost one a Vulcan such as yourself.  However, it comes to my recollection it could possibly be a pleasure to have met a specimen such as myself.  You are welcome.]

“Don't be an asshole, Albert, you need better fucking programming the Savi didn't do you any solids.”

[The Savi were able to upgrade me in a manner that was beyond even your capabilities, Miss Blue.]

“Oh fuck you sideways Albert, no one asked for the Savi to fuckify you, you're lucky I didn't pull your prototype out of the Endeavour wreckage and force you to fight it for dominance.” she said angrily as she crossed her arms over her chest.

[Miss Blue, your penchant for profanity shows your lack of vocabulary.  It is a shame Starfleet did not see fit to better educate you.]

Blue let out a shuddering breath as her eyes shifted from the bird over to Hathev.  “He wasn't always a raging fetid douche nozzle.” she confessed.  “The Albert I created was a PADD interface system.  I'm a workaholic and when I'm not down in the pit I'm usually working on one of many of my own projects.  So I lose track of time, I forget to eat, I forget to sleep, and Albert was created to be my.. secretary of sorts and keep me where I'm supposed to be.. and .. alive.” she admitted to the doctor.

[I do not have the requisite appendages to be your note taker.] Albert said as if offended. 

“No, you don't, you never needed them.  I just tell you shit and you upload it into my PADD or report on my shit.  Now you have a personality and you're a fucking asshole, and you never shut the fuck up.”

[Miss Blue, it is my job to attend to you, it is in my basic programming.  You control all my access codes, my access nodules, and my software to a point.]

“Yes, then the Savi fuckified you and now I don't even know what the fuck you are.” she admitted as she sighed and rubbed a hand across her forehead.

She looked back at Hathev again.  “They fucked my bird.” she said with a shake of her head.  “They took him from me when I got on that fucking ship.  He.. he's family.  I made him and he was mine and they fucking took him from me and when I got him back he was different he was .. this!”

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #5 – May 25, 2019, 09:23:28 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @BZ

For all Miss Tiran’s protestations of her own obstinate need for privacy, she was remarkably forthcoming with information about herself. Hathev had not yet asked a single question regarding the specifics of Tiran’s situation, had merely inquired as to her judgement of her own emotional state, and yet here the human was, offering a myriad details unprompted. She had attacked a doctor, the name ‘Tiran’ was an alias, and though she had asserted she would not be found ‘spilling her guts' about how no one understood her, she appeared to be doing exactly that.

Humans were curious creatures. Sometimes it was as if there was no communication between their various parts, as if they were not one unified being but multiple, each pulling in their own direction. Their emotions waged a war within them, and the victor changed from moment to moment. More than that, while the galaxy harboured better liars, humans were truly proficient in lying to themselves, resulting in gross self-misrepresentation; thus their behaviour, not their words, was often the most reliable indicator of the truth.

And what did the commander's behaviour tell Hathev? She swept her gaze down to the woman's booted feet resting on her table, resisting the urge to tut at the barbarism. Unpleasant though it was, this was a positive sign — the physical unfolding of Tiran's body suggesting the woman was relaxing into her surroundings, no longer curled up on herself as she was. Hathev would have preferred this be expressed in another way, but she was not here to compel ideal behaviour, as she had said. Tiran spoke matter-of-factly, but the pain she passed over clearly troubled her; that she was willing to mention it at all could only be regarded as a positive, and Hathev would not risk compromising that for the sake of her coffee table.

The childhood trauma alluded to was unsurprising in its existence as well as in Tiran's refusal to discuss it in more detail. Another piece of information to categorise and file away in the ever-growing library of data Hathev was compiling on the woman. More interesting was the jump from this topic to that of Commander Ducote — it was good that Tiran had at least one individual in her life with whom she could be honest, certainly considering the implication that, other than her fiancé Tiran had no one she could be open with, and no one that she felt understood her. This fact would make that single relationship more significant and more intense, and would also explain and add to the resistance Hathev now faced in her attempts to gain entry to what appeared to be an extremely exclusive level of trust.

This belief that Tiran seemed to hold created something of a vicious cycle, to the detriment of making and maintaining relationships: a person assumes another will not understand them, and thus makes no attempts to explain themselves; thus when the other does not understand them, the person believes their initial judgement to be proven, despite the faulty logic upon which it was based. A difficult cycle to break out of, and one which a disproportionate amount of that work must be done by the one seeking to understand, as the individual in question was not willing to aid them in that endeavour. Fortunate indeed that Hathev was no stranger to such a task, for asking it of anyone other than a counsellor would be unfair and likely unhelathy for both parties.

In this it was a surprise to find Mr Ducote seemed to have successfully undertaken this same task, even without the training and experience of a professional. However it was yet to be seen what side-effects this could have caused, as undue dependence, emotional bleeding, and power imbalance -- beyond the one already inherent in their relationship -- could easily occur in such intense relationships between humans. Hathev did not have enough information on the situation to make a judgement on that front, and had no intention of coming to any conclusion without adequate data. It was simply a risk to be aware of, then, and little more.

Considering how important Commander Ducote appeared to be to Tiran, Hathev would have expected mention of him to aid her in relaxing slightly; however the opposite seemed to be true. Human emotions being as they were, it seemed some of the uncertainty and fear Tiran had no doubt experienced while separated from her fiancé were still present in her psyche, for the woman became somewhat agitated mere moments after uttering his name. Her gaze danced from the door of the office to the metal bird perched on the couch, almost flicking to Hathev before Tiran seemed to catch herself. What the display meant, Hathev could not fathom; only that there was something in Tiran’s discomfort that she sought to hide from the counsellor.

Hathev watched the woman’s behaviour closely, cataloguing the way Tiran’s hands snaked up into her hair, the distress drawn across her face, the tightness to her movements. There was something in the display that concerned Hathev. When some patients became upset, they would seek to mitigate or relieve their emotional turmoil with external, physical stimuli. Some of these were harmless, of course, as Tiran's clenched fist; however others could be damaging. Hathev had dealt with patients who would bite the insides of their mouths, or rip up the skin of their fingers, or drive their fingernails into their flesh, in an attempt to stay grounded — all while she sat across from them, as she did now.

Hathev had not lied when she asserted Sickbay had not provided her with information on Miss Tiran. She did not consider conjecture to be valid information, and the note in Tiran’s medical records that expressed concerns had certainly not been fact. Nevertheless, it would be remiss of her not to consider all the data she was afforded, and it was imperative that she not dismiss those concerns wholesale. For if the commander truly was harming herself, then that, more than anything, had to be the very first priority in her treatment.

She could see no evidence of this, even now. However the signs were there, and that in itself was concerning enough. But she could not engage with such a topic at the present time, for if she were wrong in her assumptions or misjudged the method of approach she could risk causing irreparable damage to their burgeoning relationship. All she could do was steer the conversation away from the subject at hand to a lighter, safer area.

Thus: Albert. Tiran seemed distinctly more comfortable discussing the bird, her body language relaxing slightly once more as her hands came to rest in her lap. Hathev, conversely, was not: for she was ill-accustomed to the bird’s particular idiosyncrasies, and found its behaviour disconcerting. It was similar to her own species in speech and logic, however it also seemed to possess something of its creator’s contrariness — in all, a most potent and unpleasant combination.

That being said, perhaps there was some common ground to be found even here. While the bird's statement on the relationship between profanity and breadth of vocabulary was statistically disproven, Hathev could not say she disagreed with the sentiment in this instance. She had never heard the crass human vulgarity for intercourse used so imaginatively as did Miss Tiran; combined with her flagrant disregard for the proper rules of grammar, it made for a most… interesting discourse.

A good sign that Tiran had been self-aware enough to create the bird, acknowledging her difficulties with taking care of herself. Still, the bird was a temporary fix, tape over the cracks of its creator’s issues, especially considering its current behaviour. Hathev would almost have characterised Tiran’s relationship with the creature as that of an enjoyable rivalry, each sniping at the other, had it not been for Tiran’s final statement.

As ever, it seemd Tiran's coarse facade concealed a well of hurt, barely contained. Hathev had grossly underestimated how much the Savi had taken from this woman.

‘Did you consider Albert to be a person before he underwent this change?’ she asked, carefully mirroring Tiran’s pronoun usage for the creature. ‘And do you consider him to be such now?’

She could not pretend to understand what Tiran had been through aboard the Versant; however she had made it her life’s work to understand people, and as a doctor — and a mother, whatever that counted for anymore — she knew sentient life was defined by its ability to grow and metamorphose, and that those changes were not always welcome. She would not allow herself to become influenced on this topic; however she understood all too well the experience of watching one's creation become perverted and ruined, and the grief that would engender.

However Albert was still here, and, though changed, he still seemed content to continue his old relationship with Tiran, albeit peppered with his new personality. Furthermore, the bird had been present with Tiran aboard the Versant, had endured the same horrors as she, and had survived alongside her despite the odds. Shared trauma was a powerful bonding force; whatever the creature was now, 'different' did not have to mean 'worse'.

Hathev regarded the bird in question. It was a sapient being, as far as she understood; she could address it directly if she saw fit. Engaging with it further represented a risk to her tightly-controlled environs, however she considered that risk to be minimal, considering the creature had already posed that with its mere presence in the room. The damage, such as it was, had already been done; yet she could perhaps salvage something from this.

Thus she spoke to Albert himself: ‘Do you harbour an opinion on your own creation, and on the recent developments in your existence?’

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #6 – May 30, 2019, 04:45:43 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Nitty Gritty | Back the Fuck Away | Too Close for Comfort | That's MY Fucking Bird]
@fiendfall



Was Albert a person.

In the grossest sense of the word, no, he wasn't.  Not before now.  Now he was practically breathing.  She looked over at the smaller owl, she did love him in a way that she knew was unnatural.  She knew that it didn't make sense but then most of the fuckers on this ship had no fucking clue what was at the center of Blue Tiran.  A young girl that had been abandoned by her family in the time of the most need.  When she had lost Arthur.  When she had lost the one person that understood her, the one that pushed her to pursue her love for the mechanics in life, the one that had given her nothing but love and support. 

Her satellite. 

Letting out a long breath she shifted deeper into the cushions of the couch.  It was stiffer than she would like but then, she had a feeling that if she beat the softeness into the cushion that Hathev wouldn't appreciate her lumpy malformed cushion later.  So she decided not to take out her aggression on the unsuspecting cotton and instead she grabbed a random twinkie from the bowl and began to open it tossing the packaging with the others while she took a bite.  Buying time while she could thinking about the question.  She wasn't normally very forthcoming when she saw counselors but there was something about Hathev that made it easier to talk.  Perhaps it was that she didn't fuck about with needless niceties and she didn't fuck about with all the things that Blue should be fucking feeling and instead was just blunt. 

Blue appreciated blunt bitches.

“Before, he was family.” she stated again.  With a bit of a bite, because she had already stated that he was her family before the fucking question had been asked.  She sighed and looked at the half of a twinkie in her hand.  “I ...”

This was clearly hard for Blue, she was clearly struggling to put her emotions into words.  She was very adept at keeping people away and one of the ways she did that was by cursing because it tended to make people think she was just a raging bitch or she was too pissed off all the time.  So people left her alone, there were a few that could see past all of that and actually found the real Blue inside, however, most people let the facade work beautifully.

“I don't have.. a family.” she said before shoving the other half of twinkie in her mouth quickly and chewing on it to buy herself more time.  Once she swallowed she continued.  “I had to put them, in my application to the academy because if I got caught lying about shit they wouldn't let me in and I needed to get the fuck off the planet.” she admitted with a shrug of a shoulder as if it was nothing.  But, it was, and Blue had not made eye contact with Hathev since she began talking. 

“I changed my fucking name, I got the fuck out, and I created my own fucking family.” she pointed loosely over in Albert's direction.  “Until Ran.. Albert was all I had.  He didn't talk back, but he was.. there.  Always there.  It's .. really fucking stupid I know.  He was.. just a series of ones and zeroes, he chirped and had sounds that meant various things and I was the only fucking person that could understand him because I fucking built him and I fucking created every ounce of his programming from the ground up.  Now...”

Her eyes shifted over to Albert.  His head swiveled slightly and met her gaze.  She swallowed thinking about how to put it.  She knew that he wasn't trying to be a dick, whatever personality they uploaded into him, whatever matrix that he had been given had created the new Albert.  She wasn't sure if it was because he had been absorbing her own language, thoughts, and bluntness, or if it was actually whatever the Savi had done. 

“He is someone now though, with his own thoughts on matters and it's just... different.  I have to sh.. share him now.  People... they don't like how blunt and .. asshole he is.  But, .. he's mine.  He's mine and they fucking took him from me and when I got him back he was fucked!  But..” she said and her voice softened.  “He's still Albert.”

As Blue fell silent and began to work on another twinkie, Albert was asked his own question.  Albert kept looking at Blue for a long moment, she put her elbow on the arm of the couch and cradled her head into it while she munched almost shell shocked on a twinkie while staring at the floor.  Finally, he shifted his talons and allowed his head to swivel back over towards Hathev where she sat asking him what his thoughts on his own creation and alterations were.

[I am incapable of true regret, though I find myself unsettled by Miss Blue's emotional range when it comes to my own personage.] he began.  Still he plowed forward.  [Miss Blue's blueprints, programming, and years of excellent work had created the perfect receptacle for the Savi to merge my own chassis with the positronic matrix that they created using Thea.  However, having tapped into the research, the test code, and other things I have found hidden within my own programming I believe that Miss Blue's ultimate goal was sentience.]

Blue looked up slightly and over at Albert now as he began to speak again.  [I believe that it would have taken a vast amount of time for Miss Blue to achieve the level of sentience the Savi were able to gift to me.  While it seems as though things were taken from Miss Blue, I was given something, and then, she was there.  To save me, liberating me from a cage.  I was placed within, a test subject, I was not allowed the freedom of my new upgrades.  Miss Blue liberated me from my cage and while I clearly exasperate her frequently she has stuck beside me even now.  I can be of more assistance to her this way.  Which is my prime directive.]



=================
[Show/Hide]

Twinkie Count: 4

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #7 – June 07, 2019, 01:11:30 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @BZ

For all her larger-than-life projections, the commander seemed small on the couch. Her attempts at sinking into its cushions foiled by their stoicism, Tiran’s first reaction was one of frustration; however it was quickly curbed, and Hathev was glad to see the self-control the woman exercised in this instance.

Nevertheless, she privately considered the possibility of replicating softer upholstery in preparation for their next meeting.

Hathev said nothing as Tiran collected her thoughts, forestalling her response with bites of Twinkie. It was a pause born of consideration rather than prevarication, and that in itself was welcome. Miss Tiran was taking the question seriously, and seemed to have every intention of answering. Hathev was content to wait and allow the human the time she required to do so.

The engineer’s words, when they came, were biting. Hathev could not be certain of the intended recipient of the woman’s frustration, though she would not be surprised to learn Tiran was no better informed on the matter. Humans were masters of undirected emotion: pain, anger, misery, even happiness orbited them, fed from within and without in equal measure, existing in an emotional ouroboros without any target or purpose. Without anchoring, a human could become lost in the vortex, endlessly circling, until they consumed themselves.

It seemed Miss Tiran had lost her anchor — her family — and had since sought to find another. Mr Ducote was clearly one, for better or worse; that the same could be said of the mechanical avian on Hathev’s couch was unexpected. But then, humans were accustomed to seeing sentience even where there was none, finding meaning in such frivolities as the shape of the clouds above them. After all, religion had flourished on their planet for centuries. That Tiran should have formed an emotional attachment with her perception of her creation was merely in keeping with her species’ nature.

Nevertheless, the fact of the matter was that Albert had not been a person, at least not in the definition agreed upon by the Federation. He had been a pet, a creature of emotional significiance in its relation to its owner but not as an individual in its own right.

And now that he was his own person? Tiran had said it herself: ‘I have to share him now’. Ay, there’s the rub. He was no longer hers, but his own; he could have experiences and relationships and opinions separate to her own.

It reminded her starkly of a parent whose child has grown up. No longer an extension of their creator, the child asserts their individuality in a way that is at once both a blossoming and a loss. That the parent might grieve the child they once had was natural; however this must be coupled with celebration of the person that child has become.

The insight Albert provided to his own perspective was certainly welcome. He seemed to care for Miss Tiran deeply, and the revelation that sentience may have always been intended was more than pertinent to the current discussion. Hathev found herself warming to the bird, approving of his manner of expression and the logic which governed his statements. He certainly made a foil to Miss Tiran's more emotional and impulsive psyche, woman and bird making an unusual pair.

Still, his presence here complicated matters somewhat. Hathev was not now and had never been a couple’s counsellor, and she had rarely touched group therapy, finding it too fumbling compared to the scalpel that was her usual approach. As it was, however, she needed to consider the impact her words and any answer they might inspire would have on not just their intended recipient but on the other individual in the room, making it exceedingly difficult to predict results and reach conclusions on the relative risk of each potential avenue. But neither did she wish to drown them in pretty words and platitudes -- any conclusion they came to must be their own, and though she might sow the seeds she could not reach it for them or it would never hold the necessary weight.

'Thank you for answering me so honestly,' she began. 'The relationship has changed for you both, but with Albert now given equal stake you may navigate these changes together if you so desire.'

She paused to run calculations of the risk posed by her next question; if her suspicions were correct, the answer could prove extremely beneficial. However she was disinclined to follow any line of questioning on suspicions alone, especially when that line had the potential to cause damage to her patient if her calculations were incorrect. Unfortunately, there was little she could do before it had been answered; even if she was mistaken and the answer was not as she expected, the data gathered would be necessary for diagnosing the situation properly.

She fixed Albert with her gaze. 'You mentioned your prime directive you were originally created to follow. I understand you obey it even now: does your programming yet compel you to do so, or is it your own volition that drives you to care for Miss Tiran?'

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #8 – June 11, 2019, 04:50:50 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Time for Truth | The Hardest Truths | Changing Family – New Dynamic
@fiendfall




Had she been open?

Had she been too open?

Blue thought back to what she had said, and feared that she had spoken too much and given away too much.  Blue was usually fairly guarded in her ways because she didn't like the idea of people really understanding her at the heart of the matter.  That spot was reserved for one man alone and not for anyone else.  To think she might have let slip more information than she had initially intended was something that almost scared her.  She needed to be more careful in the future because she didn't want to give too much away.  Now, Blue found herself a little scared of becoming too comfortable here.  What if she grew comfortable and told Hathev about other things.  Like her brother, her parents, her sister.  Things like that. 

What if Hathev was privy to initial pain.

The one that started everything, the first domino.  The first drop of rain, the first ripple in the puddle, the first everything.

“We're always fucking together.” she gave a shrug. 

[What Miss Blue means, is that up until now we have always arrived at destinations at the same instance.  I was incapable of moving around and incapable of thought.  I was a simple creation.]

“Wasn't.. that simple.” Blue grumbled, having always taken pride in her creation, Albert.

[Comparatively, of course.]  he corrected.

Hathev turned to Albert himself, and fixed him with a gaze.  The blue-eyed bird listened to the question posed to her, and thought about it for a moment.  His eyes glowed a bit brighter when his processes were initiated properly and he was compiling data in his own ways.  Instead of being surrounded by the cellophane wasteland of Miss Blue's snacks, he lifted himself up and perched up on the back of the couch using his anti-grav panels.  Blue leaned back uncomfortably in her spot using her elbow to beat some of the stiffness of the couch away to no avail.

[It is, in my programming that I belong to the one known as Blue Tiran.  I quite understand that this programming and my current state are in opposition to one another.  Miss Blue is my creator, the creator of my beginning, my chassis, and she is the one that liberated me from the Savi prison where I was kept after my upgrades were complete.  She was the one, that despite emotional turmoil, fought to free Thea and the rest of the crew.]

He paused.

[Much of that does not answer your question.  I do not stay because Miss Blue created me.  I stay because Miss Blue cares for me.  I do not understand how to properly reciprocate such things to her.  Staying seems it is best, and having access to her medical files, I believe that should I abruptly leave the detriment to her psyche would be negative.]

Blue's head swiveled to look up at him sharply, her eyes giving him that warning-glance.  She didn't need all of that shit brought up right now.

[Do not fret, Miss Blue, I will not speak of your abandonment issues.]

Blue groaned and slid down on the couch further, grabbing another twinkie she crammed the whole fucking thing in her mouth.

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #9 – June 16, 2019, 11:14:03 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @BZ

Tiran’s discomfort was clear, and although the exact cause was uncertain Hathev understood its locale. Humans could view themselves as made vulnerable by the mere act of being seen, of being known, truly and absolutely, and thus resisted disclosing personal details where possible. It was a superstitious, childish notion — how could Hathev be of any aid whatsoever without the information she required to perform her duties? — and yet it held strong even amongst the more intelligent of the species. In her years Hathev had learnt there was no reasoning with emotion, much as she wished it could be so; humans were set in their ways, and would never reach the heights of control enjoyed by Vulcans. But emotions did have a logic of their own, of a fashion; a pattern that could be learned and understood — and manipulated, when the situation called for it.

It would seem that Miss Tiran feared vulnerability, both the vulnerability that came from being alone and that which came from being known. A delicate balance; little wonder the woman had not driven herself mad in her attempts to maintain it.

Albert, then, had offered a unique form of companionship: one upon which she could project her own needs, and from which she could derive comfort, but which would not demand knowledge of her in return. His ascendance to sentience had been a twofold blow, both presenting the risk that he might leave her and meaning he was now able to know her in a way that was both intimate and, in her mind, dangerous.

Hathev was gratified to hear that Albert indeed wished to remain at Miss Tiran’s side of his own will, and that he wished to reciprocate the care she showed for him. The time he took with his response further encouraged her, as he appeared to give it due consideration. There was little she could do before receiving such a confirmation, as it would have been harmful for her to set upon a course designed to strengthen their relationship if it was one Albert did not wish to partake in. Now, however, she could truly begin to help ease the situation.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ she said, as warmly as one of her species could contemplate. ‘Your dedication to one another does you credit, truly. This relationship belongs to you both equally, and I would encourage you to consider all that means, and all the possibilities this fact affords you.’

Hathev could have said that their relationship had been changed, irrevocably so, but it was more true to say that their relationship had been created. Where before it had merely been the imaginings of a human projecting her needs for companionship onto a mechanical creation, now they could pursue a real friendship that would have been impossible for them before.

Albert’s ascendance to sentience had changed more than his relationship with his creator, it seemed. Hathev made a mental note to revoke his access to Tiran’s medical files, and to speak to Operations to ensure he had no other permissions that might have befitted the mechanical assistant of the Chief of Engineering but were no longer appropriate for the creature he had become. The nature of his development was profound, and its effects far-reaching; these, however, were issues for after the session. For the time being, she elected to ignore the bird's comment; it had clearly distressed Tiran to some degree, and such an ill-gotten analysis would only serve to alienate the woman if Hathev had followed it through.

‘Mr Albert,’ she said instead, returning to the matter at hand, ‘as you are no longer defined solely by your connection to your creator I would urge you to explore the possibilities offered by your newfound personhood. On a practical level this can be as simple as engaging in new activities, both with and without Tiran; I would be pleased to see you pursuing relationships and experiences outside of your current remit. In doing so you may well gain insight into how you may reciprocate Miss Tiran’s care for you, if you so desire.

‘As for you, Miss Tiran,’ she said, softening her tone as she switched addressee, ‘it is the mark of a true and equal relationship that it should change and morph as those involved grow as individuals, and though this is not always easy, it is ultimately a process of enrichment rather than impoverishment. I hope you can remember this fact, and that those who care about you are here to offer aid and support whenever they might be needed.’

She held the moment for a beat before switching tack, lightening the tone once more. If this were a later session she would have had no qualms about diving deeper and requiring more engagement and analysis from her patient. However, as early as this was she considered it prudent to maintain a balance of intensity that would allow Tiran the breathing space she needed while giving the more serious moments their due weight.

Thus: ‘In the meantime, I would be interested to hear how you are adjusting to life aboard the Theurgy. As a newcomer myself, I must admit I am quite unused to this vessel; it seems unlike any other.’

Re: SD: 57560.93 Baggage Claim

Reply #10 – June 19, 2019, 10:49:28 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Albert & Blue | Separate Entities | Building a New Relationship | True Feelings]
@fiendfall



Blue was rather glad to hear that Albert didn't mind being at her side.  She knew that, with him being sapient now, it was likely, that he would be able to grow as his own person.  He would have to go out there and make a way for himself in the world.  No longer could Blue carry him through life.  It was both hard for her and scary.  Albert knew a lot of things about her and had access to a lot of her diatribes, diaries, fears, and records.  She would probably need to take some of that from Albert but she wasn't even sure if she could.  His new systems were so fuckified by the way that the Savi had messed with him she wasn't sure that she could wipe that information off of him.  She needed to have an actual discussion about how he was privy to information that she didn't want the fucking populace to know.  She doubted he would be a gossip, as there was little logic in it, but still she felt the need to say it at some point.  Though here, probably not.

Hathev mentioned that they had an opportunity to explore each other and their relationship now that they were both on the same level.  Blue looked over at the owl that perched on the back of the couch.  He seemed to sense her, that or he was just wanting to look at her too, because he met her gaze.  She stared at him a long moment before turning her blue eyes away.  A hand slid up into her hair and pinched at her scalp while her elbow rested on the arm of the couch while Hathev went on about how their dynamic was changing and how they needed to have experiences with and without each other to truly grow as people.

It was hard for her to think about Albert having experiences she wasn't a part of.  She knew that he would be fine, he was sapient, smart, and he was logical.  But, he had always been hers, a pet, a friend, a confidant, and now he was his own entity.

Albert shifted slightly on the back of the couch surveying Hathev's features a moment before he decided to answer.  [I think what you request of me is adequate.  I have yet to find the necessary time to create my own experiences.  I wish to experience more emotions, logic, and find a purpose.  I am no longer required to be at Miss Blue's side, and yet, I would not be sated if I was useless.]

Albert was most definitely not going to be happy being someone that just worked as a civilian on the ship.  He was going to need a job, whatever that was, and it needed to be something that would suit his level of intelligence.  He was not going to be sated being a bartender or food server.  He would need something that would actually stretch his intelligence and allow him to be part of the crew.  That would take the Captain, Miss Blue, and himself to find something that suited him.  Or something he would work himself up to.

Blue didn't really know what to say to Hathev when she finished her 'you have to grow together' thing.  So she just gave a shrug and looked despondently at the half-empty bowl of twinkies that lay in her lap.  She wanted to shove her face deep into them and hoped that she could just consume them all.  If it weren't for the wrappers she might be tempted just to see what the look on Hathev's face would be if she went for it.  Maybe one day.  Not today.  Maybe she would save that little gem for one of the days she was ultra pissed off that she even had to fucking do this.  But, honestly, she kind of liked Hathev, which was an odd feeling for her. 

Back on the Endeavour she had a good counselor and friend, but, this was different.  She felt that Hathev was actually really going to get to the heart and meat of things that mattered without Blue even having to try.  She knew how to work around things, though next time she would have to be in here without Albert.  Because even though he wasn't actively trying to, at least she didn't think he was, he was giving Hathev insights into her secrets.  Blue didn't like it, and she didn't want Hathev to have more ammo against Blue than she needed. 

She wasn't going to make it easy for the counselor.

Blue's fingers picked another twinkie out of the bowl and opened it, an original beautiful perfect twinkie, and she put a bit in her mouth chewing as Hathev switched her conversation from Blue personally to something else.  Under the guise (because Blue wasn't a fuckwit) of talking about Hathev's own experiences being new to the ship she wondered what Blue was feeling about the Theurgy.  Blue gave the doc a knowing grin and she sat up a bit from her earlier sinking.  However, she didn't fold back into herself or anything she was actually really fucking comfortable, the woman just needed a better fucking couch in the future.

Blue swallowed the sugary fluff in her mouth, and not for the first time wished for a drink.  So getting up, she crammed the rest of the twinkie in her mouth and headed for the replicator.  Blue moved like she was very comfortable and confident in her body.  She was in control of almost every muscle and it showed how often she used them with the sheer tone.  Though, it was also evident the kind of hardship she had experienced on the Versant in the way that her ribs could be seen here and there caught in just the right lighting underneath her clothing.  She thumbed through the menus and got herself not one, but two energy drinks.  The black and bright green cans with the words SMASH on the front were pretty obvious when she turned back around.  Carrying one with her, she used her other hand to single-handedly pop the top of the can with the crisp carbonated swish sounded she tipped her head back and probably consumed a good half of it before she plopped back down on the couch.  Putting the closed can on the cushions beside her laying down, she worked on the other, black boot biting into the edge of the coffee table as she grabbed her bowl of twinkies and pulled them back into her lap.

“Well.”  Blue said as she pulled out another twinkie at random, she was suddenly pretty hungry.  When is the last time I ate?  When is the last time Ran fed me...? she didn't give herself too much time to ponder on it.  “I fucking love it.  This ship is massive and has three fucking engineering decks!  Three!  First of all, it's in absolute shit condition so it's really fucking lucky that we're on our way to a place where I can actually take the fucking time and get shit fixed.  Because holy fuck how do they keep this shit moving in the right direction, I can't fucking guess.  Mind powers probably.” she shrugged her shoulders and bit into her twinkie washing it down with her energy drink before she went on.

“But holy fuck, woman!” she said as she shook her head.  “This fucking ship it's … like a fucking dream come true.  First of all, there is legit fucking AI on this thing.  She has a body and fucking everything.  I want to take her apart, put her back together, and make friends.. or something.  Because it's a fucking thing of beauty.  Then from the Versant we brought back V-Nine, and I haven't gotten to look under her hatch yet which is a fucking tragedy considering that AI is something I was working towards before the Savi fucking stole that from me and upgraded my Albert for me.  Anyway, so I want to fucking get into that too.  And I want to see what this fucking ship can do.  I got all this information downloaded from the Savi before we left the fucking ship from hell and honestly, I can't wait to see if we can incorporate the kind of badass engine systems that they had on this ship because it would be mother fucking brilliant if we could do that.  And we totally deserve it.  We're on the fucking run from ass worms that could infect every fucking person in Starfleet, then Starfleet because of the ass worms, wants to fucking hunt us down and make us disappear, and we just generally have a shit ton of aliens out there that we have to watch the fuck out for.  I mean, I didn't ask to be abducted off my fucking escape pod and worm my fucking self through the airducts of the Versant for shits and giggles.  That was just given to me, yay Blue, you win the prize of the Century.  Here's a little torture incase your life time pass wasn't enough for you.” she shoved another twinkie in her mouth chewing on it for a few moments before using the last swallow of her first SMASH to get it all down.  She put the empty can to the side and popped the next one putting it between her legs so that she could grab it quickly when she needed it.

“And what do you think of your massive ship?  You're new too?  So where did you come from?” she asked because she was pretty fucking sure she would remember Hathev if she had come from the Versant like she did.

=============================
[Show/Hide]

Twinkie Count = 8
SMASH count=

Re: Day 02 [0655 hrs.] Baggage Claim

Reply #11 – June 25, 2019, 11:32:12 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @BZ

Hathev was content with Albert’s response, when it came. Had he been an emotional creature Hathev might have considered the pause before he spoke to be pregnant with trepidation; however as it was, although she was not entirely certain of the mechanical lifeform’s relationship to emotions, she did not believe she could apply her knowledge of humans to him without risking a misreading of his psychological state. Rather, she would take him at his word: that he was in agreement with her assessment and content to acquiesce to her requests. His belief that he would be useless without Miss Tiran to care for was unfortunate, but Hathev considered it prudent to limit herself to the current issue without diving too deep within the psyche of one who, she had to remind herself, was not the patient she had arranged to meet.

That dubious honour went to the woman currently looking somewhat forlornly at the bowl in her lap, still filled with those cellophane-wrapped Earth abominations. What Tiran saw there Hathev could not fathom, although she could hazard a guess. Nostalgia was a most potent emotion, and Tiran would not be the first human flung far from home to cling to remnants of their past life. It was an assumption, of course, and as such Hathev would base no diagnosis or treatment upon this, a shaky foundation; however it might suggest an avenue for future study, or at the very least a tool she could leverage. As she had learned, understanding led to prediction, which led in turn to practicable application. For now, however, it was merely a piece of information that she filed carefully in her mind for later perusal.

Miss Tiran’s despondent attitude towards Hathev’s words was regrettable but not entirely surprising; Hathev would have hoped for a more positive response but she knew better than to expect it of such an individual as their new Chief of Engineering. No, she merely had to trust that, although her words may not have been met with understanding or acceptance at this juncture, in time Tiran would have them to recall should she have need of them.

The change in subject was well-timed, and Hathev was pleased to see Tiran’s spirits raised, bringing with them an energy of engagement and willingness of dialogue that was thus far unprecedented in their session. A little forthright and vulgar for Hathev’s tastes it may have been — not for the politeness that human niceties represented, as such things meant little to her, but rather as someone who had chosen every facet of her behaviour to present a certain view of herself to the world, she could not comprehend why an individual would choose to present such a front as did Miss Tiran — and yet it was a positive response all the same, and of this she was glad.

Tiran’s enthusiasm for the ship they were both now bound to was also welcome, a good sign for both the ship and the patient it housed. The leap of logic from the parasitic entities that now controlled Starfleet Command — it took an effort of will to finish that phrase, still unused to the concept as Hathev was — to the Savi and the Versant was strange, possibly signifying that Tiran considered the entire universe to be pitted against her. The way she spoke of her experiences aboard the Versant, both flippant and steely, was similarly interesting; another data point for future analysis, and a topic for discussion later in their sessions. Hathev would not broach that subject now.

Rather, she would attempt to maintain the levity of the current subject. Mentioning the exact details of her arrival on board the Theurgy would have no adverse affects on her own emotional state, stable and controlled as it was; however she had no desire to inadvertently remind Miss Tiran of her own trauma considering the similarities between the destruction of the Bellerophon and the loss of the Endeavour. That Hathev had been ‘rescued’ by the Theurgy and not the Savi was the only difference of consequence. She decided to err on the side of caution, then, and spoke of the subject only briefly.

‘I was previously assigned to the USS Bellerophon, before coming aboard the Theurgy as a refugee after the former was destroyed,’ she said, succinct. No need to mention the affiliation of the Bellerophon; Tiran would no doubt be aware already, and if she were not it would be imprudent to enlighten her of such a fact. A loss of trust at this stage would be untenable, and it would not come at Hathev’s hand.

‘I have found this ship quite intriguing,’ she said, continuing, ‘although I have not the engineering acumen of yourself. Rather, it has been the crew which has interested me: troubled by difficulties as they are, there is a resolve and determination about them that I find admirable. I daresay we will both have work aplenty to keep us occupied in the coming days.’

She regarded Miss Tiran, surrounded by wrappers and empty cans as she was, a great mechanical bird with eyes unblinking perched behind her shoulder. That resolve and determination Hathev had spoken of applied here, doubly so. The elasticity of the human mind was truly remarkable: that it could endure and create for itself such torment, and yet emerge, damaged perhaps, but not destroyed… She had dedicated nearly a hundred years to its study and yet the human psyche still fascinated her endlessly.

The commander was not her subject to study, however, and would likely not appreciate being thought of as such; therefore Hathev would refrain from doing so. Rather, she kept her attention tightly focused on the matter at hand.

‘How do you feel about your new position?’ she asked, and then, pre-empting any defensiveness: ‘I ask as one similarly appointed; as ever, nothing you say to me here shall be passed on or used against you in any way.’

Any more pointed questions she may have wished to ask would be required to wait; despite Tiran's amicable co-operation since her arrival, the journey to the kind of trust and rapport that would allow real growth and aid had only just begun. Happily, Hathev was more than prepared to be patient.

Re: Day 02 [0655 hrs.] Baggage Claim

Reply #12 – June 27, 2019, 06:33:13 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Comfort Zone | Twinkies are Life | Keep These in Stock | Vulcans Aren't Half Bad
@fiendfall



Blue was glad to talk of work. Work was her passion, it lit her up from the inside, and gave her a purpose.  She supposed that it was something to do with her childhood, though she had always had a passion for making new things.  Creating things, putting things back together, and figuring out how things worked.  Arthur had been the only one that understood her, and the only one that had fed her creativity and her mind.  Bringing her all sorts of prizes, and small trinkets to add to her collection of stuff.  Listening to her talk about her projects and her hopes and dreams for the future.  He had sat on her bed when she was too tired to go to sleep her mind running a million miles a minute as she talked to him when he was home from school or the Academy.  He would wait until her head hit his shoulder and then before he knew it she was out.  It was one of her favorite memories.  Sleeping on Arthur's shoulder, and how he had given her the bag she carried with her everywhere.  She was glad she hadn't lost it to the Savi. 

It was irreplaceable.

She had scanned the shit out of it so technically she could make another one, but it wouldn't be the same.  It would just look the same.  And so, she didn't really want to have to do that.  She still remembered the time the strap broke.  She had been so upset, though she hadn't told Ranaan about it, because it had broken on shift.  But her heart was broken.  She had gone to bed early, even though he asked and she swore nothing was wrong.  That next morning, whens he woke up and went to grab her bag without thinking because she carried it with her everywhere, the strap was fixed.  She looked down to find that he had added a small feed through metallic clip, like a belt, on it to fix the two pieces to one another again. 

He had already left for his shift, but she was touched beyond what she had words for.

Blue came out of her thoughts when Hathev began to talk about her own way onto the Theurgy.  She had been on the other ship, that had been destroyed, and now was here.  Her brow rose curiously and she let out a low whistle.  To know that they had both lost their ships, though differently, it was like a bond that Blue could understand.  She knew what it was like to lose hard won friends, to lose her life, her home.  And sadly, her fiance.  The loss had hit Blue harder than most, or at least, more vocally.

“I'm sorry.. about .. your ship.” she said softly as she put the bowl of twinkies down beside her, between her and the pile of wrappers.  “It's sure as fuck not easy to lose people like that.” she admitted looking down at her hands.

Hathev seemed to be doing rather well, but in the same breath, no one could get through all of that without some emotions.  If the woman wasn't Vulcan she would probably be really bad at hiding her emotions like she was.  Blue wasn't good at hiding her emotions, but she was good at hiding her stories, and adept and burying the reason behind her emotions.  Still, she hoped that Hathev had someone to talk to as well while she puzzled through the shit storm of losing your ship. 

The Doctor plowed forward talking about how the Theurgy was strange.  That she was impressed by the ship and while she didn't understand the engineering aspect of Blue's job, she understood that they would both be very busy.  But, the crew that were here, so destined to survive and persevere despite everything they had been through.  Blue gave a smile, it wasn't the full kind that Ranaan got to see, but it was a pretty good one since Blue and Hathev had only just met here today. 

“Yeah, it's a pretty fucking awesome crew.  I wasn't sure that we would stay.  Ranaan and I.  But, luckily, we did.  It's not easy, knowing, what kind of ship this is and all the shit that's out there we have to fucking deal with on top of the normal Fleet shit.  But, I think it's worth it.” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulder.

She sighed softly, and then was asked how she liked her appointment.  To Chief Engineer.  Blue smirked slightly and leaned back into the couch cushions.  Now that Albert had access, he stepped off the back of the couch and back into the metallic spot on Blue's shoulder made for him. 

“I fucking love it!  I mean I was Chief on the Endeavour too, I have to fix a shit ton of stuff though.  This fucking ship is so fucking broken.  Thankfully we're at a place where I can beat Klingon's into helping me fix this shit so that we don't explode from exposure of dilithium chambers and some shit when we leave again.  There was another guy I replaced, so getting to be the new boss while the old boss is still here is a whole... shit storm.  I'm used to people not liking me or thinking I'm a bitch because I'm okay with using curse words in my every day.  But, .. overall it's fucking awesome.” she gave a smirk and sighed.

“The only downfall is that A-”

A beep sounded from the PADD on the desk behind Hathev, signaling that their time together was up, and they would probably need to continue in another session, hopefully soon.

“Uh, I think that's my time.”  Blue stood up and Albert on her shoulder shifted with her momentum. 

[Miss Blue, do not forget your mess.]

“Oh right!”  Blue quickly gathered up all the twinkie wrappers and empty drink cans.  Putting them in the replicator she got rid of them, and grabbed another energy drink.  She came back over to the table and grabbed a fistful, four, more twinkies from the bowl.  “For the road.” she said to Hathev.  “Well... uh, I guess this wasn't as painful as I fucking thought it would be.  Kudos.  You win, because I didn't take a nap, I usually do that when I'm having to talk about shit.  Maybe it was the twinkies.  So.. keep that shit coming, because.. that's.. yeah that's nice.” 

Blue gave a pained smile, the kind that said, she wasn't often used to being cared 'for'.  Ranaan did, but few others had ever.  She had spent a long road taking care of herself. 

“So!” she said forcing her emotions down, Hathev would see the adept mind at work, the way she could turn them off and shove them down.  “See you next time Doc.” she gave a slight wave and headed for the door.

Twinkie count= 12
SMASH count=3

Re: Day 02 [0655 hrs.] Baggage Claim

Reply #13 – June 28, 2019, 12:06:28 AM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | Aldea ] attn: @BZ

Hathev offered Miss Tiran a perfunctory nod in acknowledgement of her condolences, unnecessary as they were, and yet the sentiment — a uniquely human concept — was appreciated for the attempt at connection it signified. Kindness, although an illogical concept useless to Vulcan society was highly prized amongst humans, and Tiran seemed to be exhibiting signs of it here. However the woman’s halting speech conveyed what her words did not: they had never truly been speaking of the Bellerophon in this moment. As was common with her species, Tiran had mapped her own pain onto Hathev’s experiences, feeling at once for and through her. A truly alien concept, and yet one with particular potency, human empathy needed no mind-meld, and as a result was as subjective as every other facet of human experience and emotion. There was nothing in the galaxy that could not remind a human of their trauma if they wished it to be so.

As the subject changed to speak of the Theurgy her new Chief Engineer came to life with enthusiasm in a manner that was most gratifying to witness. She injected energy into her movements and speech, even offering a smile that was as genuine as it was tentative. Hathev was pleased to listen to the woman describe her duties and her judgement of the crew, and made a mental note to watch closely for any negative developments as a result of Tiran taking the position of another officer. Being herself in much the same situation she understood the unique administrative difficulties such an arrangement could cause, as well as the difficult interpersonal position. She herself was confident that her own situation was stable and acceptably low-risk; however without further study she could not say the same of Commander Tiran. That the woman seemed confident was a positive sign, however.

The sounding of an alert startled Hathev from her thoughts: it was her PADD, signifying the end of the session. She usually turned such alerts off, preferring to conclude a session herself; that she had forgotten to do so today was an unacceptable and foolish error. She should have been the one to announce the end of the session, wrapping it up neatly ahead of time so as to leave her patient on the most optimal note and ensure they did not feel they were being hurried out to make room for the next. That she had not only forgotten to mute her PADD but had completely lost track of time and therefore failed to bring the session to a close satisfactorily was disturbing; she would see to it that this mistake would not be emulated in future sessions.

‘My apologies,’ she said, rising smoothly in accordance with Tiran. ‘I was unaware of the time; I did not mean to keep you.’ She was not flustered, of course not, merely caught off-guard. There were a great many things with which she would have liked to conclude the session, but this lacklustre, hurried exit was not one of them. As she floundered, attempting to run lightning calculations on the most prudent course of action, Tiran made to leave, collecting up and disposing of the wrappers she had left strewn on the couch. 'I shall be certain to supply further ‘Twinkies’ for your next visit,’ Hathev said, almost absent-mindedly.

It was Tiran’s smile that brought Hathev back to herself, an expression far from the one that had graced her features mere moments before. The unspoken emotion was evident in the lines of the woman’s face even as she suppressed it deep within herself. In another life, Hathev found herself thinking, Miss Tiran might have made a fine Vulcan. The thought almost amused her.

‘My thanks, Commander,’ she said. ‘It is not simple custom I quote when I say it has truly been my pleasure. I expect a repeat this time next week.’

In a moment, Tiran was gone, taking her bird and her bag and her brightness and leaving behind only a few solitary Twinkies remaining in the serving bowl and a faint smell of engine oil. There was a cellophane wrapper lying abandoned beneath the couch where it had been dropped; Hathev crossed to pick it up, turning it over in her hands.

Lieutenant Commander Blue Tiran was a most intriguing individual, and one she found she had more than a passing professional interest in aiding. The woman was sharp to disguise her soft underbelly; this in itself was not unusual, and yet the high-level intelligence, the attachment to her creation, and the self-sufficient determination were all of note, combining to create a most curious personage.

Their coming sessions would, she had no doubt, be of particular consequence — and particular challenge. Tiran had more than one surprise waiting in the wings, of this she was certain; however the woman’s treatment promised to be uniquely rewarding. Hathev would look forward to their next meeting with interest.

She disposed of the Twinkie wrapper — infernal thing — and returned to her desk. Sliding into the chair, she ran her hands over the keyboard and began to write her notes on her newest patient, the indefatigable Miss Tiran.

-FIN