Star Trek: Theurgy

Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

August 11, 2024, 11:22:25 AM

[ Ensign Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Habitation Hull Common Area | Aft Recreational District | Erudite ] @Dumedion

Trudging off into the unknown? Perish the thought…

Sylvain personally found the concept of the unknown to be somewhat relative. After all, with the technological advancements in Federation navigational capabilities, it was rare that any destination was truly unknown. Between their sensor capabilities, the fleet of probes carried by most vessels, and the volumes of astrometric data held in the Federation database, space itself wasn’t quite the mystery that it would have been back in the day. Although, perhaps that was just his qualification in advanced astral navigation talking… He'd written an entire dissertation back on the topic back at the Academy...

Either way, he supposed that it scarcely mattered to their current circumstances. As they were, it was hardly likely that they’d have the opportunity to conduct any great feats of exploration, beyond perhaps investigating an unfamiliar looking plant that he’d spotted on their earlier walk between the aerodrome and the common area, through an open doorway into what he assumed might have been some sort of lab or hydroponics bay. They probably wouldn’t be allowed inside, but it might still be fun to observe from a distance. It had a shockingly pink hue to its leafage, which might have indicated an absence of chlorophyll. He wasn’t a botanist by any means, but he got starstruck by scientific curiosity as much as the next person.

“Oh, of course…” He pondered aloud to her question as he began to walk alongside the woman, his PADD clacking against the phaser strapped to his hip as he moved, the Ensign once again failing to remember that it was there. “Well, I suppose we’re not strictly on duty, so feel free to call me Sylvain if you’d prefer.” Sylvain had a fairly strict preference to be addressed by his title whilst on duty, as much as a mouthful as it might have been, however, he supposed in the interest of building some of that camaraderie that the Theurgy crew seemed to live by, he could experiment with his first name instead, especially considering their current circumstances. “That’s my first name, by the way, not just something I want you to randomly call me…”

Had he not been walking, he might have kicked himself at the over-explanation of his own name.

“Well, before this I was serving aboard the USS Bowman, it’s a Norway-class ship; they’re the sort of, spade-shaped ships, with the angular nacelle pylons.” He elaborated, providing a somewhat cruise demonstration of the shape of the ship in the air in front of him with his hands as he did so. It didn't exactly have the reputation of a Galaxy-class vessel, so he figured that it couldn’t hurt to describe it in a little more detail; some called it a ‘stumpy’ shape, but he personally thought that its size made it very efficient when it came to evasive patterns Epsilon, Iota and Psi…

“We mostly kept ourselves on the borders of Talarian space, handled raids from some of the separatists who didn’t like the peace treaties, helped the colonies with what they needed, a couple of diplomatic excursions…” The more he spoke, the more Sylvain found himself conscious that, compared to what the crew of the Theurgy had experienced during the past few months, his time aboard the Bowman probably sounded like a holiday. “It might not have been the ‘best adventure’ Starfleet had to offer…” He quickly admitted, using Cora’s own words against himself. “But, we made a big difference to those colonies, saving lives… That's sort of why I wanted to join Starfleet in the first place, to help people.”

Already, even after only a few moments, Sylvain found the combined activity of walking and talking to be doing wonders for his overstimulated mental centers... He wouldn't go as far as to say that he was calm, but he did feel notably less concerned that his nerves were going to force him to jump out of his own skin.

“Anyway, I was offered a spot aboard the Bowman straight out of the Academy, and I got promoted to head of my department within seven months, which, probably wouldn’t have happened if I’d been aboard a Galaxy class, so it’s all swings and roundabouts really.” Secretly, Sylvain was quite proud of how quickly he’d progressed aboard the Bowman, especially considering the dregs his mental state had been in when he’d first arrived aboard… He sincerely hoped that Cora wouldn’t misinterpret his pride as bragging, but he supposed it probably wouldn’t do his reputation any harm to broadcast that he’d been promoted so quickly… Thus far, his list of first impressions aboard the Theurgy, Commander Cross, Chief Lok, Cora, had all been less than stellar, so giving himself a bit of a boost, in a professional capacity at least, might go a little way towards making up for that...

It was just a shame that he'd not yet had the oppertunity to showcase to anyone how good he actually was behind a helm...

“Oh, and we did have a stand-off with a Tholian once!” He added with a rather atypical glimmer of excitement to his tone. Even amongst Starfleet officers, Tholian sightings were extremely rare; it was a pretty big deal all things considered, maybe not as exciting as surviving Borg armadas or fighting Savi warships, but it had to be up there... “It’s not every day that they wander out of their territory, so that was, pretty spooky…” Sylvain decided that it couldn’t hurt to omit the part where the ships had sort of just stared at each other for a few minutes, before the Tholian flew off back towards its own territory... Perhaps that made up for his egregious display of candor earlier?

“And, ah, yeah…” Sylvain felt himself grow a little hot, realising that he’d gotten absorbed into chatting about his time aboard the Bowman and somewhat neglected the crewman’s actual question. “Admiral Anderson contacted me a couple of months ago, he and my mum were pretty good friends back in the day…” He sidestepped back into the realm of how he had come to be aboard the Theurgy, somewhat without issue considering the litany of conversational faux pas he would usually have achieved by now. Maybe he was getting better at this whole conversation thing? Then again, after a mostly-naked Kzinti in a turbolift, a walk-and-talk with a fully uniformed Human was a piece of cake.

“So, yeah, he gave me the details about the… Well, you know…” It still felt weird to talk about the parasites aloud, and truth be told, he was currently of the opinion that forgetting they existed until their conflict with the Savi was over, seemed like a preferable option. “....and told me that there was a risk that they might target me because of my psionic abilities…” He gestured somewhat absentmindedly towards his head, neglecting to add any specifics in the hopes of avoiding any lengthy conversation about his capacity to ‘see the future’. “So, here I am.” He added with a somewhat explosive gesture. “I  arrived aboard the Vask'at earlier today. Honestly I was expecting to get assigned down in some navigation lab or something, but, I guess there was a vacancy, and since I’m qualified, they made me Chief CONN Officer…”

“Quite a jump between patrols on the Talarian border and the most advanced ship in the Federation…” And most wanted ship in the Federation, but he figured that the less that particular fact was brought up, the better, for the sake of his mental health if nothing else. “I’ve got to say, I’m excited to get behind the helm someday, assume that we sur-” He abruptly cut himself off. So much for keeping his mental health in check…

“Anyway, enough about me…” He abruptly changed the subject, tilting his head slightly in her direction as he spoke, trying to offer a somewhat friendly smile in the face of the keenness in her eyes. “What about yourself?” He paused for the briefest moment, his soft British accent hanging in the air as he considered that a self-depreciating joke might help lighten the mood away from his previous acknowledgement of how dangerous their mission might be… Perhaps that was one step backwards from a good conversation, but he figured that one-or-two conversational faux pas were to be expected, given the circumstances and all…

“What sort of adventure landed you on a wayward Savi vessel, en-route to stop a supernova from wiping out half of the Romulan Empire?”

Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

Reply #1 – August 13, 2024, 02:07:11 AM

[PO2 Cora Davison | Habitation Hull Common Area | Aft Recreational District | Erudite] Attn: @TWilkins

While her newfound companion talked, Cora divided her attention between actively listening and further observation of their surroundings. Curiously, acoustics were oddly dampened for such a cavernous space – she noted that almost immediately, given the number of individuals present and all the activity going on – but it really became noticeable the further they moved away towards the far end of the bay. Savi architecture in and of itself was quite spartan, yet elegant, in its own way; every surface seemed glossy, immaculately clean – all white and chrome colors, like a decontamination cell. As a race obsessed with the dictates and pursuit of high science, she supposed that made sense, but it didn’t explain the need behind such a vast living area. It certainly wasn’t for themselves, and she didn’t care to speculate or dwell on who – or what – they intended it for at the moment.

Cora had more important efforts to focus on.

The first objective lay some fifty meters or so ahead, which was getting them past a semi-translucent door ‘guarded’ by a lone Savi; a female, by all conventional appearance, that seemed to be preoccupied with a PDA of some sort. Cora’s attention drifted from the tall alien just as it’s large, black eyes eyes glanced up at them, oddly emotive - as if she was irritated at the mere sight of them. The analyst casually turned her head and eyes up to the Ensign at her side with a knowing smile at the offer of using his first name, adding a hint of amusement at the follow up over-explanation; even more so at the minute, unconsciously projected body language immediately after.

Expressive people were always a delight to observe; their bodies told no lies – Mr. Llewellyn-Kth was no exception. The non-com wondered briefly how many more times he’d trip over himself, especially if she pushed just right; but offered no outward reaction while he recovered, appearing obliviously pleased with simply sharing his company.

Once he’d gotten over that bit, Cora nodded encouragingly as he proceeded into what became a pleasantly lengthy monologue; which began with a rather endearing attempt to physically describe a starship with his hands – to which she smiled rather honestly – for it was impossibly cute. He then described his experience on said vessel, with a hint of what the analyst interpreted as a touch of self-depreciation, which piqued her curiosity, but Cora kept that carefully hidden behind another, firmer, nod of agreement. At the end of the day, they all joined to help in one form or another – the only difference was the method and definition of said ‘help’.

A very brief lull provided Cora another glance at the Savi; who had returned her attention to the PDA, held low, and slightly pivoted away from them. Brilliant. When Sylvain continued, Cora noted the subtle pride expressed in the success of his career thus far, along with a first true note of giddiness within his voice at the exploits of the Bowman. All things considered, Cora would’ve preferred the Tholians over their current adversaries, really, but in her mind, the Klingons truly had the way of it; chose your enemies wisely – a proverb that she felt was equally wise and apt. If reduced to a crude metaphor, the Tholians were an enigmatic race of reclusive spiders that seemed, by and large, far more predictable in nature when compared to the illusive threat faced by the Infested; Cora was far from an expert in either case, however – to her knowledge, no one was, so it behooved them all to maintain a healthy modicum of respect for any enemy. But she let that train of thought dissipate as the Ensign finally got about answering her question with a rather enjoyable blush, despite how obviously more relaxed he both sounded and appeared.

Such a curious specimen, she allowed herself with a grin, easing a hand up through her mop of dark tresses to clear her view. While he divulged the why’s and why-fore's that led to his current situational circumstances, Cora – very carefully, and very subtly – deftly rummaged her other hand into the pack on her hip. Midst the various items stored within, her index and ring fingers located and withdrew a pea shaped device; silver in color, its metallic surface dotted with tiny indented holes.

At the mention of Admiral Anderson, and upon reaching the desired distance from the preoccupied Savi, Cora gradually slowed her pace and purposefully appeared to give Slyvain her full attention, as if drawn into his words even more, now that they had finally arrived at the proverbial ‘meat of the matter’: her features drew in – brow creased slightly at the mention of psionics – That could complicate things, she noted, but filed that away for later. Given the fact that he hadn’t sensed her subtle duplicitous intent, nor showed any noticeable reaction to her thoughts, she reckoned he wasn’t the empathic/telepathic sort, but that left a myriad of possibilities; none of which she really had time or energy to dwell on. It took considerable effort on her part to maintain the visual reckoning in her mind with where she needed the pellet to go, all the while staying engaged in the conversation; a casual eye bulge of recognition for his appointment as Chief Conn officer, with a complimentary brow raise – followed by an agreeable nod at his desire to fly, which was only natural, really – then a mix of slight confusion and concern at the abrupt cut-off, with an audible exhalation and corresponding nod of agreeable empathy in conclusion, for the specter of death was always constant, no matter what the situation.

Yet with that subject discarded in favor of a few queries of his own, Cora returned his smile and clasped her hands behind her with a little bounce of her heels – allowing him to see her pleasant reaction at his interest – but also priming the heat-activated skin of the capsule for deployment. “Oh! Is that what this is, then? Is it too late to get off,” she replied with considerable cheek after a brief hesitation to mentally count to three, then flicked the pellet off into the hands of fate behind her; both hands then raked up into her hair in an expression of mild embarrassment to cover the motion. “Sorry, I’m just...feeling a bit out of sorts about all of it. Like its...a bit much,” she confessed, then cleared her throat and waved the comment off.

The pea-sized gas emitter, filled with just enough pressurized hydrogen-sulfide to cause a stink, bounded across the polished off-white floor as she spoke, hit the wall, ricocheted, hit the adjacent wall, then rolled to a stop about an arms length away from the Savi female – to vent its colorless payload, heavy with the stench of rotten eggs.

Cora knew she’d been successful when she heard the Savi gag.

“At any rate, sorry – didn’t mean to dump that on you sir, ah, Sylvain, I mean,” she laughed nervously, then followed up with a bit of her own self-depreciation, to help lube things up. “Ah, brilliant, aren’t I? Yes I am. No I’m not. I, ah,” she paused to clear her throat and settle herself. “Well, a few weeks ago I got pulled in by the Admiral too, actually – seems my aptitude for logistics and programming got noticed, somehow – so I found myself in his confidence about the,” her head bobbed to the side, “you know. Laid it all out, said I was needed, that he’d chosen me out of a long list of candidates. Made me feel like I couldn’t really say no, like...I dunno...like I was important?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cora watched the Savi leave through an adjacent door, looking quite disgusted. With another few seconds delay, she felt relatively confident the small cloud of stank would dissipate, leaving none the wiser. There’s our cue, she smiled inwardly, then took a step away from Sylvain to lead him towards the now unguarded doors. “So I took the assignment,” Cora shrugged, “and I arrived here just a short bit ago on that very same transport,” she pointed a finger at him for emphasis. “I thought I recognized you,” she turned to walk backwards for effect, hoping to keep his attention fixed on her and not so much on where they were going as the doors opened.

“Difficult to miss the spots, is all,” Cora beamed at him, “is it alright to ask where you’re from? Will you tell me about it?”

Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

Reply #2 – August 16, 2024, 02:15:02 PM

[ Ensign Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Habitation Hull Common Area | Aft Recreational District | Erudite ] @Dumedion

Social complexities had always been an area of difficulty for Sylvain, and for whatever rhyme or reason, the delicate art of conversation simply didn’t come naturally for him; ironic, perhaps, for the son of a diplomat… Two diplomats, he supposed. It wasn’t the act of talking or listening that he found difficult; both were essential skills to have as a Starfleet Officer, even moreso since he’d begun serving as part of the Senior Staff, and Sylvain took his responsibilities seriously. He could deliver an overview of an upcoming sector of space as good as the best of them, and he’d sat through enough five hour-long meetings about debris analysis and whatnot, that he’d actually begun to find even the lengthiest of sessions somewhat interesting. Frankly, he had the fundamentals of meeting etiquette down to a tee; he could recognise when to add to a briefing and when to refrain, when he might have a unique point of view and when he was better off remaining silent, when it was his turn to bring a sweet treat to a meeting and when to remind the more scatty members of the team when it was theirs... It was all just part of the job for him.

It was when conversation roamed beyond the subject of the objective, where it strayed away from data and facts, that the Ensign began to find difficulty with it. Once dialogue drifted outside of the realms of professionality, once a meeting became a conversation, once the untold myriad of social complexities came out to play, Sylvain’s grasp of the fundamentals fell short. Starfleet guidance on meeting conduct was extremely clear to him, but he regretted that there hadn't been a more thorough course at the academy, regarding how to conduct oneself outside of duty hours… Truthfully, he couldn’t comprehend how so many people seemed to thrive within the chaotic wasteland that was conversation.

Every species, every individual, seemed to have a different preference for communicating. Unfortunately for himself, even the most grounded introvert could usually at least grasp an understanding of the social cues of their own culture, but he didn’t even have that notch on his belt. He couldn’t begin to fathom how Yattho communicated with each other, and yet Humans on the other hand, were perhaps even more difficult to decipher…

Humans could be argumentative like Tellarites, rude like Zaldan, or gregarious like Denobulans and Bolians. Some appreciated logic and honesty, like Vulcans and Betazoids, or simply radiated the same kindness and generosity as even the best Risan. Yet some were exploitative and conniving, like Ferangi or Orions, secretive as Romulans, aggressive as Klingons… The temperaments of the Human race seemed limitless, and with each new individual arrived a plethora of different quirks and subtexts that could completely steer how any conversation was directed. He’d tried to analyse it in the past, but it just tied Sylvain’s brain into knots. He was usually far happier spending his off-time alone in his quarters or the holodeck anyway; the whole ‘friend’ thing had always seemed like too much trouble.

Still, Cora seemed pleasant enough.

She appeared to be interested in what he had to say at the very least; her reactions were genuine as far as he could tell, the way his words were echoed in her nods and facial movements as they strolled, their path taking them towards the far end of the common area, away from where the bulk of the Starfleet crew had congregated. Without the black and colour of the Starfleet uniforms, their surroundings became all the more clinical, unsettlingly so, white and chrome architecture stretching above their heads in a surprisingly sterile manner, considering that the room was allegedly for recreational purposes…. Then again, he supposed that decor was somewhat relative; compared to an Orion vessel, he expected that even the most exotic ship in Starfleet would probably resemble a morgue…Beauty was in the eye of the beholder as they say; perhaps this was peak Savi aesthetics.

As Cora spoke, responding to his own questioning, Sylvain felt a pang of guilt creep into his gut, noting that she definitely hadn’t failed to notice his faux pas regarding the potential outcome of their mission. She was right, it was a bit much. In a perfect world, Sylvain would have reassured her that Starfleet Academy had prepared him for situations like this, that there was some hidden plan, and that they were going to be absolutely fine come tomorrow… Unfortunately for her, he couldn’t… In the wake of the Dominion war, Starfleet Academy had made a conscious effort to lean its new wave of Ensigns into the realm of hope and exploration, rather than the service and sacrifice approach that the Dominion war had required. This situation was regrettably the latter…

And regarding hidden plans, Sylvain didn’t even know what the objective was, beyond trying to stop a supernova… He had a feeling it would require more than a few phasers at the very least…

A soft gurgling sound caught Sylvain’s attention for a moment, as he was contemplating how alien it was to have a fellow officer, a stranger, address him by his first name, his eyes flicking up to a Savi who was standing stoically beside a door a few metres in front of them. The alien appeared to be experiencing some respiratory discomfort. Conscious not to stare, Sylvain attempted to fix his attention on the floor before him as he listened to Cora continue, disheartened by her self-deprivation. However, no sooner had he turned his attention to the floor, did a rustle of movement bring his head swinging back to the Savi in alarm, almost as though he was expecting the alien to attack them for their proximity… Sylvain really needed to stop thinking about what Commander Cross had told him… Instead of an assault, Sylvain’s tense reaction only earned him a glance from the Savi that he felt somewhat scorned by, before the alien left through the adjacent doorway and disappeared behind the chromatic bulkhead without taking even a single look back at the pair of them.

He breathed out a sigh of relief, before a new feeling of alarm settled into his gut, when he realised that he might have missed something in Cora’s story. She’d been recruited by Admiral Anderson just like himself, but she’d been selected for her competencies in logistics and programming. At least that’s what he thought she had said… It made his brows furrow for a moment as she explained the circumstances around her. He wasn’t exactly familiar with the Theurgy crew manifest, but he was fairly sure that logistics and programming would fall under Ops, which would have put her in a gold uniform… However, she was wearing red. 

Drat. He must’ve misheard her or something…

He considered within what faculties logistics and programming might have fallen under Command division; the CONN department certainly hadn’t done their own programming when he’d been aboard the Bowman, but perhaps she was a Tactical Officer? He supposed on a vessel as big as the Theurgy, it was definitely possible that the Tactical department had their own logistics and programming subsection, probably something to do with torpedoes and phaser banks… He pondered the idea, but felt fairly confident that a role within Tactical was probably more likely than him having misheard her; logistics and processing was quite the mouthful after all. Regardless, if Admiral Anderson had hand picked her to join the Theurgy crew, she was bound to be really good at what she did; he was pretty certain that if it hadn’t been for his psionic abilities, the Admiral would have sought out a much more experienced pilot than himself. It did give him some reassurance however, that she’d also arrived aboard the Vask’at; if they were both so new to the Theurgy, he supposed he probably didn’t have to pretend to be quite so comfortable with their newfound situation. Stopping supernovas and battling alien armadas, it wasn’t exactly his cup of tea…

He wouldn’t have even done something like this in the holodeck.

“My, spots?” Sylvain responded to her questioning, raising his hand tentatively to the side of his head subconsciously tracing the features in question, patches of darker coloured skin that spanned from his brows up into his hairline, and from his neck down to his… Well, she wouldn’t need any details on that part of his anatomy. “Well, it’s not Trill. A lot of people think that I'm a Trill...” He answered with his best attempt at levity, whilst his eyes flicked between Cora and the door that the Savi had just escaped through, somehow concerned that it would return with some sort of genetic resequencer and zap them both, and he very well could end up a Trill. Didn’t much fancy the whole symbiote thing to be honest. .

“I’m actually, well my father, is Yattho. They’re a non-Federation species, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t heard of them…” He’d not really met many people who were aware of his species… Realistically, outside of the psionic abilities, there wasn’t much to know. “They’re somewhere out in the Beta quadrant, totally outside of Federation space; honestly they haven’t made a whole lot of contact with Starfleet.” He began, intending to tiptoe somewhat around the subject of said psionic abilities. If she didn’t ask, he wasn’t planning on leaving himself vulnerable to the litany of questioning that always followed. Vulcans were one thing, what with their ‘curious’ followed by an eyebrow movement, but Sylvain had found that Humans always had the worst reactions to it.

Well, aside from one Ferangi who pestered him for an entire week of shore-leave, something about a lottery and a casino; that had been particularly tedious.

“They’ve not been very responsive to establishing a dialogue with us, other than a couple of diplomatic conferences at Deep Space 16. That’s where I was born.” It didn’t seem necessary to go into the particulars of how his mother had violated about eighty Starfleet protocols by… Well, he was sure that Cora understood how these things happened anyway... “It’s fairly remote, my mum was stationed there to serve as part of the diplomatic delegation, she's a Human by the way; Starfleet wanted some diplomats out there ready for any first contacts and whatnot. The Yattho were probably her biggest case, she always said that my dad was pretty diffic-HURAGH!”

The retch that interrupted Sylvain’s sentence was violent and abrupt, arriving with so little warning that Sylvain hadn’t even had the opportunity to brace himself for it, his body wracking in a spasm of pain as he felt his abdomen contract. It was a smell, a stench so ghastly that it took less than a moment for his nose to tell his stomach that it was time to abandon ship, convulsions hitting him before his brain had even caught-on to what was going on. Rancid was too kind a word to describe the aroma that had engulfed him; something truly hellish. It was some unethical concoction of sulphur and sewage, a blend not dissimilar to the aroma that had permeated the Academy bathrooms following the short-lived Bolian night in the canteen. Yet somehow, this odour was more concentrated, and it had hit him like a bat’leth in the gut.

“I’m sor-HURAGH!” He attempted to apologise, before another retch wracked through his form, causing him to hunch as his abdomen spasmed, desperately willing himself not to vomit. He lurched forwards as the wave took him, stepping a few paces to brace himself against the wall not far from where the Savi had just been standing, the cool metal somewhat soothing against his suddenly inexplicably clammy body. He was thankful that he’d not eaten anything all day, but he’d indulged in a few cups of tea over the course of the afternoon, and the last thing he’d needed was to vomit up some mess of watery-brown sludge onto the Savi’s particularly shiny bulkheads. “I’m oka-HURGH!” Sylvain felt the sudden need to try and reassure Cora that he wasn’t having some sort of medical outburst, given that she didn’t seem to be reacting as strongly to the scent as he himself was. Somehow, she barely seemed to have reacted to it at all…

In fact, she seemed indifferent to it, baffling, considering that for him, it was only growing more severe, his nose physically stinging from the burn. His mind returned to the Savi who had made an expedient exit just a few moments before, only moments before the stench had hit him, and wagered that the alien had perhaps noticed the smell themselves. What else would explain such a rapid exit? Unless… The thought made another stifled gagging sound leak out from his mouth. Fighting Savi warships and attempting to stop a supernova from extinguishing the Romulan Empire was one thing, but inhaling alien flatulence was absolutely crossing a line. For such an advanced species, their diet had to be disastrous, if it had such an abominable affect on their bodies.

How was Cora not keeled over from this? Sylvain’s mind couldn’t comprehend how the woman was still standing; he certainly wouldn’t have been had he not been braced against the wall, dry-heaving as he desperately tried to keep his stomach within him. He knew his Yattho senses were somewhat more acute than Humans, but this was beyond foul… Surely she had to be able to smell it? Perhaps she had a nasal impairment?

And then the next harrowing thought slipped into his head.

It wouldn’t have been the first time that a psionic event had manifested in the form of a phantom aroma, though the last time it had happened, it had been a delightfully coconutty aroma that predated an enchanting encounter with Lieutenant Kandhari’s home-made nariyal laddu. Even as the acrid air burned at his eyes, Sylvain attempted to consider the possibility that this unforgivable fume, was actually some sort of precognitive occurrence… Though of what, he didn’t even wish to hazard a guess… Still Cora’s lack of reaction was proof enough; perhaps the Savi had just been affronted by the presence of ‘lesser’ lifeforms.

If his face could have flushed even redder at the realisation that he’d made such a spectacle of himself over nothing, it would have. Alas, Sylvain attempted to steel himself the best he could, straightening his back and leaving only one hand against the bulkhead for support, using the back of his free hand to wipe his saliva glazed lips. His eyes streamed with tears that tumbled down his cheeks, and his head throbbed with a nauseating dizziness that was lingering in the corners of his mind, but he did his utmost to appear as normal as possible; he would need to apologise profusely to Cora for the state he was making of himself. He breathed out what little air he still had within his lungs, closing his eyes for a second as if to will the premonition away, before he curtly inhaled a sharp new lungful of air.

“QUWARAGH!”

Sylvain promptly doubled over once again, all but throwing his head into the bulkhead in front of him with an uncomfortable thud, his mouth retching out a sound as though he was some sort of waterfowl that had just been penetrated by a Klingon pain stick. The contraction in his abdomen was violent enough that he could taste bile in the back of his throat, and the dizziness in his head now rang with the result of his impact with the wall, a dazzling concoction that echoed through his body as though his entire nervous system had become enveloped in a static fuzz.

As it turns out, the smell was, in fact, not diminished.

If anything, it now hit him even more potently than before, scalding his nostrils and burning his eyes, his face red with strain and wet with tears, saliva dangling from his lips as he used every ounce of his strength to stop himself from hurling up the contents of his stomach. His head rang, his stomach ached from the strain on his muscles, and the room seemed to spin whenever he opened his eyes, whirling into a vortex of white, chrome and the black of his boots, perhaps a touch more black than just his boots… He supposed it was his legs as well, though he didn’t think his legs were quite so all-encompassing…

“HURAGH-I th-RAGH-ink… Urghh…” His words were punctuated by wretches, gags and groans of pain, slurred slightly from both the dizziness in his head and the way that saliva seemed to pour from his mouth like an untended tap. He tried to blink away the darkening spots in his vision, and was vaguely conscious of himself moving, though he couldn’t recognise his own legs in his stupor. “I sh-RAGH-ould g-go to -HURAGH- Sick-RAGH-bay…” He babbled, his hand that was bracing himself against the wall slipping lose as his body seemed to go slack, his mind tumbling into a putrid abyss as his entire body seemed to numb into oblivion.

Sylvain wasn’t one to curse…

But now might have been an appropriate time for it, had he been conscious enough to form words at all...

Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

Reply #3 – August 23, 2024, 06:42:02 AM

[PO2 Cora Davison | Habitation Hull Common Area | Aft Recreational District | Erudite] Attn: @TWilkins

Once she’d recovered enough to realize what had happened, Cora had done what she could, given the circumstances. Repeated attempts to help proved futile, and really, even though she blamed herself for missing the fact that Sylvain was, surprise-surprise, not a Trill – that the whole plan had in fact gone tits up, really – there was nothing else for it. Her hands went out as he fell, but she misjudged both the Ensign’s weight and direction, so he ended up on the deck in a heap, sprawled out just a few steps inside the door. The doors, which, funny enough, kept trying to close – but just kept bumping into his body – as she dragged him into the lift.

“Come on,” Cora grunted, huffing hair out of her face. “Was just a little stink, wasn’t even that bad! Oh, bugger it,” she fumed, exasperated, tapping the controls to the lift rapidly so as to avoid being seen.  Once the lift finally closed, she leaned against the cool metallic wall and shook her head, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now…

Maybe 'please help' will work?

[Moments later... | Midaegyn qi Erudite | Biological Laboratory Quintus | Aft Tertiary Research Deck]

“This is quite intolerable,” she fumed, “given the complete lack of proper controls in place, not to mention the absurdity of the...situation; these...primitives – though I use the term lightly, given the fact they are barely above amoebic organisms, evolutionary speaking – given free reign to run amok? Has Barpin lost his mind?” It was all quite unthinkable, and dangerous. Of course, the opinion of a lowly tier three medicae researcher of Midaegyn’s standing counted little in the grand scheme of things. Discord amongst themselves was not to be seen or heard, in any fashion, not that the biological fodder that served as their ‘allies’ could even begin to comprehend what was truly at stake here. "I'll not be silent. This...madness...has gone on far enough! If I'm not careful, I'll end up raving at myself instead of that lunatic, Barpin, and that fool Echtand as well!"

Calm. I must retain my composure, Midaegyn closed her eyes with the last of her research station’s data cache’s cleared and powered down. Soon, this will all be concluded and we shall return to our true purpose, our true destiny. A sudden, inexplicable ruckus of sound breached the infinite silence of her sterile, tranquil realm. The Ante caste researcher spun her domed head, black voids of eyes snapped open with a look of mild shock at what she was witnessing; two of the mindless barbarians, one dragged by the other, had somehow barged into her domain!

“Intolerable,” Midaegyn muttered, watching them approach with clear disdain; which shifted into disgust soon after, once she noticed the trail of acidic bile left in their wake. The entire lab was now contaminated, and if any of her work had been exposed – which of course, it hadn’t, but that was beside the point – there would be no biological scrap left of them to identify. As it was, the researcher felt no need to report the incident just yet, as Barpin had already been bombarded with several such breaches of security already. I will not suffer this intrusion, nor its reflection on countless cycles of my work, Midaegyn vowed to herself, then raised a single palm in warding. “Cease your vocalizations, before you lose consciousness. This area is restricted to your...biology,” she half warned, half explained, and very nearly called them primitives to their ridiculously under-evolved faces. Instead, she turned slightly to input a command into the console at her station to re-activate a molecular forge near one of the panting figures; a female – human, given the obvious biological structures of its form.

Medaegyn sighed audibly as the idiot glanced at the masks she had just ordered, then back at her, then moaned some incoherent prattle of grunts and whines in it’s guttural language. “You are breathing our air, imbecile. It. Is. Toxic,” the Savi researcher explained as slowly and clearly as her patience allowed.

“Please, w-we need...help! Please, help him,” the savage yelped.

Medaegyn realized two very important truths before it was quite too late. One, the primitives were either incapable of following simple instruction or too panicked to realize the hazardous nature of the environmental situation they had quite rudely barged into. Two, they had ignored or not realized that the researcher’s hand signal had meant “stop.”

With what appeared to be the last of her strength, the human shoved her unconscious, fluid leaking charge directly at Medaegyn. For all her intellect, the Savi did not possess the physical attributes necessary to dodge or react in time to avoid the limp figure – nor, quite to her surprise and later disgust – could she stop herself from catching the biological detritus. She did manage to squeal in outrage, however.

Of course, by that time, the human had collapsed into unconsciousness as well.

“Utterly intolerable,” Medaegyn scowled, infuriated, but now bound by duty to both ensure both survived – due to the extremely unorthodox nature of their ‘alliance’ – before they would be promptly escorted back to their pens. With a heavy sigh, she let the male drop to the floor, then dragged him by one limb over to one of the examination tables. Once it was lifted and deposited in place, she repeated the same with the female. A few cycles of repiration purification would bring them around in due course; once they were both intubated with a lubricated bio-feed through the mouth orifice, deep into the trachea – Medaegyn turned her back on them to sterilize herself, first, then the lab. Of course, by the time she realized that in her haste and disgust to rid herself of the interlopers, Medaegyn had failed to ensure both were truly[ unconscious, she was already too preoccupied with scrubbing herself clean to really care.

[PO2 Cora Davison | Stuck in a Savi Lab, with a greasy tube of alien shoved down her throat]

It took everything she had to keep still until the Savi left. Yanking the thing out of her mouth without drawing her attention took even more, but she managed to do it without retching too loudly; all things considered. Whatever the foul thing was coated in must have acted as some kind of numbing lubrication - it tasted like watermelon chewing gum but burned her nostrils like rubbing alcohol. Cora wiped the worst of it from her face, then put the 'mask' on that the Savi had made.

"Fuck sake, hope you're still having a nap," Cora shook her head, feeling truly awful for what she had to do, but they couldn't stay here, and couldn't go back - not until she got what she needed. "Sorry 'bout this, mate."

One hand on his head, the other on the tube, Cora pulled the thing out of Sylvain's throat.

Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

Reply #4 – August 28, 2024, 01:14:08 AM

[ Ensign Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Biological Laboratory Quintus | Aft Tertiary Research Deck | Erudite ] @Dumedion

Sorry ‘bout this, mate.

Sylvain wasn’t fully conscious. Since he’d made the request to be taken to sickbay, the words leaving his mouth as easily as the heaving wretches that had wracked his body with spasms, he’d been stuck in a limbo between the conscious and the unconscious; not fully aware, but not entirely unaware either. It was a tumultuous place, ringed with enough consciousness to identify the absolute mortification that he felt, at the knowledge that he had wretched and gagged himself stupid in the Common Area, dripping saliva and bile all over the Savi’s floor. Equally, he could still feel the sting of embarrassment that he’d all but knocked himself out on their bulkhead, and the burning humiliation of having to request a visit to sickbay for actions entirely self-inflicted, whilst their ship hurtled towards a battlefield…

Truthfully, his actions hadn't been all that becoming of his rank or position...

But whilst he did retain some recognition of his emotions, the limbo also served to blind the rest of his senses, to keep him numb enough that he remained mostly imperceptive of the events unfolding around them, his mind processing his thoughts whilst his body became a ragdoll, thrown through an ordeal whilst remaining predominantly unaware of the particulars. Mostly and predominantly, being key words in highlighting his ordeal.

Whilst he hadn't been fully aware of what was going on around him, he’d been conscious enough to identify a vague series of events. At least, he thought he had; semi-conscious awareness was right up there with daydreams, on the list of things that were inconceivably confusing to someone with precognitive capabilities... Still, there were a few things that stood out above the haze that sometimes masked a premonition, a few sensations inflicted upon his body, movements that had happened against his will…

He recalled that something had repeatedly thumped into the sides of his chest, thundering into his ribs and then withdrawing, time-and-time again, until another unseen force had pulled him from their clutches. Then, the sensation of being dragged through some indiscernible distance, a motion that had left him perhaps even more nauseous than the scent that had perturbed his nostrils before; being dragged through an unfamiliar alien Starship, whilst the entire universe was spinning like a centrifuge, was disorienting, to say the least. A lurch had sent him hurtling through space-time, after which he’d fallen from orbit onto a hard surface, before he’d been dragged, once again, across miles of cold floor, his body threatening to tear apart at the seams as he was manhandled in every-which direction, hoisted and heaved with no grace or dignity, as one might treat a slab of meat, rather than a…

“HUARGHKRRRRK!”

The noise that fled his throat was unnatural, but warranted, given the circumstances. His consciousness returned somewhat abruptly, igniting his neurons just at the right moment for Sylvain to get to experience, with perfect clarity, as something disgustingly long, thick, and slimy, was abruptly wrenched out from his windpipe. It felt infinite, pulled from his body like an old-time nautical vessel hoisting an anchor from the depths of the sea, sliding across his lips like an abyssal worm emerging from his mouth. It was wet, slippery, foreign. His body was all too happy to assist with the dispelling of the foreign entity by attempting to vomit once again, atrocious gagging sounds squeaking out from around the sides of the tube as it exited his throat.

“HURAGH-ARGH!” The retching that exited his lips as the final inch of the tubing escaped his mouth, was even louder than before, his entire form lurching forward as Sylvain’s body made an abrupt jolt from a lying position, to sitting upright at almost ninety degrees, involuntarily flexing almost every muscle in his torso and delivering him a cacophony of agony in the process. “ARAGH!” The gasp was voluminous as it escaped his throat, his body slumping back down onto the hard surface below him instantly, his abdomen shrieking with a diabolical ache in response to his involuntary contraction of muscles, the impromptu work-out hitting him like a photon-torpedo to the gut.

“Argh…” Everything hurt.

And Sylvain wasn’t a stranger to a bit of physical pain; he’d been on the Parrises squares team at the Academy for crying out loud, he could handle a bit of pain... But this ,was different. It felt like he’d taken a shuttlecraft to the gut, all while someone had jammed Klingon pain-sticks into his ribs, unleashed a plasma torch down his throat, and kicked him in the head a few times for good measure…

Still, he forced himself to endure the pain for a moment as he attempted to gather his bearings, sucking a hiss of air into his battered body, and counterpointing it with a ragged exhale. The Ensign attempted to occupy his mind with the task at hand, trying not to think about the discomfort surrounding his torso as he forced his tear-stained eyes to open. Sylvain had been optimistic, hoping to see some sort of sickbay-adjacent facility, maybe a couple of Starfleet officers in teal undershirts, some sort of confirmation that he was in a location intended for rest and recovery, as opposed to anything more… Well, anything more Savi…

Unfortunately, the room appeared to be the latter.

The room was once again a drab spectacle of white and chrome, a harsh light burning down upon him from the ceiling, illuminating the somewhat alarming lack of variety in the colours of the room; if it hadn’t been for the black, grey and red uniforms of he and Cora, who lingered at the end of his bed, it would have been a wasteland of white-on-chrome carnage. Centred in the room were several examination tables, whilst the space beyond the tables was packed with dozens of consoles, monitors, pieces of equipment, tools, all of which were objects unfamiliar to Sylvain. As his eyes flicked back above him, his hazel irises swallowed by his widening pupils, he stared up into a disturbingly scientific bouquet of lights, sensors, scanners, and an untold amount of technology foreign to his eyes, though he had no doubt that the array was not something he wanted anything to do with.

His eyes returned to Cora, as he began to attempt to slide himself off of the table, manoeuvring himself onto his side, swallowing the pain that rippled through him as he did so. It took him a moment, but Sylvain managed to slip his left leg out from under him and down into open air, booted foot clacking against the floor as his right leg swiftly followed. From there, his torso naturally pursued, hoisting himself onto his feet with a gasp of pain, his body weight braced into his left arm as he managed to set himself into a standing position, the pain forcing a hiss of air from his mouth, like sitting on a very old chair. He was slightly hunched as he glanced at Cora again, forcing a ragged breath into his lungs as he tried to find a way to get his bearings on their situation

“W-whe w-whe aww-aww..?” He began, before he halted his attempts, in realisation that his tongue seemed almost completely unresponsive to his instructions, its numbness becoming even more apparent as he consciously tried to move it within his mouth. “W-whe-ruh, aww-ruh, we…?” He forced, overemphasising his letters as he desperately pushed past the fact that his tongue felt like a foreign visitor in his mouth, and tried not to dwell all too much on the somewhat sweet taste that was lingering around his palette like a ghost... He’d certainly had precognitive tastes before, they were never fun; most of the time he seemed to seemed to change the future by chasing whatever phantom taste had graced his tastebuds in the premonition, leaving him thoroughly unfulfilled… Yes, he'd learned to ignore any precognitive event that manifested itself as taste...

Unless, this wasn’t that?

A whirlwind of alarm overtook him before Cora would have had a chance to speak, immediately glancing down at his hands with abject horror peering through his eyelids as he did so. He stared down at his pale-skinned fingers with such intensity, that he threatened to vaporise the digits, relief bubbling up within his chest as he did so, though nowhere near enough relief to counteract the ascending panic in his soul. He hadn’t changed colour at least, he hadn’t fallen victim to some Savi experiment and turned green; Sylvain knew that he’d make a terrible Orion, all that hedonism would be far too uncomfortable for him…

Still, he couldn’t check his spots without a mirror, of which the room surprisingly had none. Thankfully however, the indecent amount of chrome served that purpose wonderfully, Sylvain taking a ragged pace over to the examination table that Cora had evidently occupied, and almost melting with relief that in place of any unwanted facial ridges or additional orifices, he was greeted by a familiar reflection… Still,  his relief was limited. He was in an unknown medical lab on a Savi ship, he had no idea how Cora and himself had arrived there, and after Commander Cross’ briefing on the Savi's proclivities for genetic resequencing, Sylvain didn’t intend on taking any chances…

Perhaps the gas he had smelt had been some biological weapon, a nerve agent designed to incapacitate Cora and himself in order to extract them from the Theurgy crew’s population as efficiently as possible; perhaps his Yattho biology expediated the process? The Ensign had to credit the Savi for their ruthless ingeniousness; they’d certainly chosen their candidates well. Sylvain hadn’t interacted with any of the Theurgy Crew since coming aboard, and he didn’t imagine that Cora would have had much chance to do so either... Since they were both new to the crew, only having arrived that very afternoon, they no doubt wouldn’t immediately be missed by their colleagues, especially with the imminent battle occupying everyone’s attention… Then, even if they survived the conflict, they could easily be mis-recorded as casualties following the battle, left in the Savi’s clutches as the Starfleet crew departed back to the Theurgy, damning them to lives of torment and modification forever…

Not if he had anything to say about it.

“We fould…” Sylvain began, turning back to Cora whilst trying to appear as authoritative as possible, a difficult task considering the aggressive lisp his numb tongue had gifted him; he was the ranking officer of their pair, and thus it was his duty to get them out of their predicament as soon as he could. What exactly he should do however, eluded him for a moment; Sylvain was hardly someone equipped to deal with a hostage situation… And then a brainwave hit him. He might not equipped to deal with such a situation, but the Theurgy had sent over a whole team of tactical officers to the Erudite for the mission, and Sylvain was sure that at least one of them, would know exactly how to handle something like this; he was pretty sure that he overheard someone mention that they also had a diplomat aboard, in case there was room for negotiations with the Savi.  

Sylvain felt a triumphant smile blossom onto his face; they needed to alert the chain of Command, just like Starfleet taught them to do. Maybe it was too early to give up on such ideals after all.

“We fhould ale-ruh-t Command-eruh Leavitt.” His sloughing speech was all but humiliating, and he wouldn't have been shocked if Cora hadn't had a clue what he was trying to vocalise at all... Instead, purely on instinct, he reached for his combadge, intending to alert someone to he and Cora’s predicament as soon as possible, somewhat ignoring the possibility that whoever he tried to communicate with would also have to contend with his slurred speech, and instead focusing on his goal of escaping their predicament as soon as possible.

Though on account of the fact that his right arm was suddenly screaming with pain, he hadn’t been able to make the manoeuvre from his hand to his combadge, quite as quickly as he would have liked…

 

Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

Reply #5 – September 02, 2024, 03:30:53 AM

[PO2 Cora Davison | Biological Laboratory Quintus | Aft Tertiary Research Deck | Erudite] Attn: @TWilkins

The Intel analyst busied herself, quite hurriedly, with several tasks while Sylvain recovered; first and foremost, she slapped the air purification device over the bridge of his nose – as soon as she could, anyway – while attempting to keep him calm and quiet. That wasn’t happening, not that she could blame him; knowing they could be revisited at any moment – likely by an unfriendly Savi tech that would also very likely blow any chances she had of completing her mission – the analyst backed away and searched her surroundings frantically. The lab, if it was indeed such, and not a secret house of horrific experiments just waiting for an opportunity to eat them both alive – was littered with tech and devices she had absolutely no idea how to use or identify. Her head snapped over a shoulder while the Ensign continued to make a ruckus, willing the Savi not to hear them.

“I’m so sorry, deep breaths, deep breaths, alright,” Cora tried to sooth him while she worked to dig the tricorder out of her satchel; a useless mantra, but spoken with earnest. It really was unfortunate how things had played out so far – not at all the way the analyst intended – but in her line of work, more often than not, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. That knowledge didn’t stop her from berating herself mentally for getting them into this mess, however, nor did it change the priority of the mission at hand...

Still, Cora was keenly aware of the stinging guilt that grew in her stomach. She knew what she was getting into, and hadn’t planned on keeping Sylvain in the dark – not permanently, anyway – but all that had to be thrown out the window now. So stupid, her dark chocolate eyes narrowed down at the tricorder, attempting to sync into and decrypt the console built into the examination table. Brilliant, Cora, really, she continued, as her fingers deftly keyed in commands, only glancing up periodically to assess the Ensign. “You alright?” she asked, clearly worried, only for him to start babbling incoherently.

“You what,” Cora tilted her head at him, confused. The tricorder bleeped negatively. She couldn’t crack the algorithm without the necessary understanding of Savi syntax – but downloaded the raw data with a mumbled curse anyway – and moved closer to him with a shh gesture. “Not so loud, we – oh,” her head snapped back to where the door the Savi used, and spotted a tablet device that rested on a workstation. “Just a sec,” she turned back to Sylvain, who seemed to be gathering his wits, or trying to, then ran – a tip-toed, awkward shuffle, hands up at her sides like she was trying not to fall on ice – to snatch up  the Savi’s PDA. “Hello lovely,” her tricorder was clamped to the device an instant later, set for full analysis and synchronization. Better work bloody fast, Cora huffed, just as Sylvain found his voice again. She caught the words alert Commander Leavitt, spun around, and repeated the same absurd half/run, half/shuffle back to him, mouthing the word nooo the entire time.

“Are you mad? What’re we to tell him, then? Sorry, we got muddled up in a Savi lab while takin’ a walk? We don’t even know where we are,” she whispered rapidly a few steps from him, but didn’t stop. A hand grabbed him by the arm, the one so close to tapping his combadge, and pulled him along. “Listen I’ll explain everything, but we have to go, quick time, march,” Cora patted her hands for emphasis, and made a bee-line for what looked like a maintenance hatch; a place to lay low while her programs broke into the PDA.

If there was even anything of worth on the bloody thing, Cora frowned.

“Please trust me,” the analyst asked emphatically, waving her hand over the opening mechanism; the waist high chrome portal slid open , revealing a tunnel lit with luminous bundles of what looked like biomechanical wires – their purpose and function unknown. “I’m…I’m with Intelligence,” Cora grimaced comically, as if that would explain everything. “Ugh, that sounds so stupid,” she added in a cynical mumble.

The door on the other end of the lab hissed open, the sound reminiscent of a blade sharpened by a whetstone. Cora breathed out a hissed curse, then grabbed Sylvain by the hand and started stuffing him in the maintenance tube. “Get in, get in, hurry hurry hurry,” the analyst pleaded, even as she squeezed herself in after him. Once the portal sealed, Cora panted and groaned at their new surroundings. She was pinned at an angle on her back, her limbs tangled up with the Ensign, who looked very uncomfortable – wadded up in the tight confines – his back to the ceiling, rear up, aimed at her, while his head dangled nearly between his knees. “Shh, quiet,” she whispered, then held her breath and listened.

Any other time, Cora was quite sure the two of them would look positively hilarious; maybe one day they would share a laugh about it – but she rather doubted it – judging from his expression. The luminous wires built into the tube’s walls pulsed with blue-tinted white, like a eerie heartbeat. A few minutes passed, and nothing else happened. Cora felt her neck cramping up, and tried to straiten herself out, but couldn’t move much without kicking or hitting Sylvain. Donning her best sympathetic but wholly authentic smile, the analyst quietly apologized once again.

“Right. Shall we sort ourselves out then,” Cora croaked ruefully, and managed to lift a finger and point down the tube which led to a larger opening a few meters in. “Perhaps...have a sit in there, before we both cramp up and knock out again? Reckon I owe you a decent explanation, but…it’s rather hard to breathe at the moment.”

Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

Reply #6 – September 13, 2024, 03:17:11 PM

[ Ensign Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Maintenance Tube | Biological Laboratory Quintus | Aft Tertiary Research Deck | Erudite ] @Dumedion

Sylvain had been in Starfleet long enough to know that there was a tendency amongst non-commissioned officers, to explore the concept of professionality a little looser than Starfleet guidelines intended. His initial months of serving as an Ensign aboard the Bowman, had given him a rude awakening as to how flexibly Regulation 256.15 could be adopted; he’d learned curse words in about twenty-seven different languages in his first week alone. But, as time had passed, and he’d accepted his promotion to department head, he’d learned that sometimes, it was easier to lend a little flexibility when it came to implementing professionality and that confronting some of his colleague’s less-professional behaviours, ultimately, was rarely worth the hassle… After all, as much as some of their rambunctious behaviours bothered him, what were a few lapses in professionalism compared to a happy and efficient staff?

As such, he’d learned to wince and forget when people used inappropriate language around him, he’d developed a tolerance for a certain degree of playful banter during duty shifts, he had taught himself how to politely refute ideas that blatantly ignored protocol, and in this case, he’d established an understanding that stressful situations could lead people to speak without thinking… However, Sylvain’s flexibility when it came to such things did have a limit, and Cora’s abrupt change in demeanour had shot at least two light-years past that particular line in the sand… The swift transition from her previously demure disposition, to this new, far sharper persona, was almost enough to give him whiplash, leaving him stunned enough that he couldn’t find the words to react to her sudden frenzy of hushed whispers, that so vehemently criticised his intention to contact Commander Leavitt, to follow protocol…

Had her only offence been to openly criticise his plan to contact their commanding officer, to follow Starfleet protocol, Sylvain would have forgiven her; it was a high pressure situation, and he was the first person to acknowledge that unfamiliar circumstances could make it easy for people to lose their heads… However, her decision to begin physically manhandling him, had certainly crossed a line; quite frankly, it was borderline insubordination; to physically grab him by the crook of the arm, and to actually drag him across the lab, quickly ignited his typically calm demeanour into something incandescent…

Physically apprehending any colleague, let alone a senior officer, was one thing, an act unacceptable in all but the most dire of circumstances. However, in her decision to physically restrain and drag him, not only did Cora breach Starfleet protocol in a most offensive of ways, she also defiled Sylvain’s own personal boundaries beyond any justifiable reason. For an individual so distinctly adverse to touch as he was, her choosing to put her hand on his arm and drag him, was an action so intensely intimate that the Ensign felt utterly violated by her choice of action; the only other physical contact he’d had in the past month, had been his extremely uncomfortable handshake with Chief Lok in the turbolift, and that had been agonising enough. He was only thankful that her grab had been over his uniform and not on his bare skin…

What right did Cora, no, officer Davidson, have, to manhandle him like they were participants in some sort of debaucherous Orion sex-pit?

He felt violated, so much so that his lips were a hair's-breadth away from delivering a rather fiery admonishment of her conduct, when her tone sharply changed once again, her full lips suddenly alight with promises to explain everything, implorations for him to trust her, all the while manoeuvring about the room with the ferocity of a woman possessed. Sylvain was still half-stunned, unsure of whether to admonish her, or to afford her the tiniest sliver of leniency, when the woman flung open a chrome port from the floor, most likely a maintenance hatch, and then dropped the bombshell that, apparently, she was an intelligence officer.

Then, before he could even begin to process that, several things happened at once.

A soft mechanical hiss echoed from behind him, at the same time that he suddenly felt a clammy grip crush into his fingers, his bare hand seized as he was once again yanked forwards, this time half-dragged and half-pushed into the maintenance tube that his companion had just revealed. The hand against his own was burning hot as much as it was cold as stone, Sylvain’s head spinning as Cora’s voice flung whispered pleas at him, begging him to speed up as his larger body crunched into the maintenance hatch, back practically one with the top of the tunnel, whilst his head was squashed down somewhere between his legs. Before he could even think about what had happened, Cora had shoved herself behind him and the hatch was sealed, her legs tangled within his own as he uncomfortably stared at the floor, his mind such a hellish miasma of emotions that he could barely comprehend what had just occurred.

More emotions rattled through Sylvain’s head than he could easily comprehend, but chief amongst them was the sound of a series of dull footsteps above their heads, a confirmation that whatever had entered the room as Cora had shoved him into the hatch, had noticed that they were gone… He swallowed down a shallow breath of nerves, shuddering at the feeling of ice that had enveloped his entire body, shuddering from this unforeseen chill as the space around them pulsed with a fallow blue glow, bathing the pair of them in a baneful light as they waited with baited breath.

As the footsteps continued, Sylvain felt a cool clarity salve his overheating mind, quashing the abundance of different emotion that was roiling through his head, and aiding his overwhelmedness to shrink in the face of cold logic, his genuine horror fading in the face of the life-or-death scenario that he’d suddenly found himself in; he could threat over the fact that he’d just experienced more physical contact than he had since he’d last hugged his own mother, later… And then, in that moment of clarity, Cora sharply dug her heel into the back of his thigh, and had the audacity to shush him for the inadvertent yelp that fled from his lips… Perhaps if she didn’t want him to make any noise, she shouldn’t kick him? Between the heel in his thigh, the phaser digging into his hip, the chest harness that was caught on his combadge and cutting into his back, the fact that he most decidedly wasn’t supposed to bend in this direction, that his entire body still hurt from the last ordeal that he’d been subject to, and the general mental anguish he was feeling, it was nothing short of a miracle that he wasn’t simply screaming.

Instead of obeying his more primal instincts and kicking Cora back in response, he refocused the stinking miasma of his own head into the space around him, attempting to analyse the tube the best he could, with the limited perspective he had, which wasn’t much considering that his cheek was squashed into the floor and his eyes were observing a glowing conduit… But even from that little information, he could hazard a guess that the space around them didn’t serve the same purpose as a jefferies tube… The Savi he had seen thus far had all been at least a foot taller than him, with vastly longer arms and legs, and the tight space that Cora had just bundled them both into, surely wasn’t designed to accommodate one of the creatures...

He wagered that this might well have been a ventilation duct, or perhaps a maintenance tunnel used only by drones or some such automated repair system… From what he’d read in the information that Commander Cross had provided him, he certainly couldn’t imagine a Savi crawling its way through a tube this small.

As the seconds ticked by with naught but the sound of the ragged breathing of the pair, the urgency that had prompted Cora to shush him faded, and before long, her voice had whispered a-thousand echos into the tube around them once again, instructions and recommendations, as if she wasn’t the one who had caught them in this predicament in the first place. A flush of irritation dawned on Sylvain’s face, recalling that he’d been a millisecond away from alerting Commander Leavitt of their situation, and leaving an avenue of diplomacy to their situation… But alas, Cora’s brilliant thinking had got them stuck in a maintenance tube, with the woman bleating at him to move to a location that he could neither see, nor likely move to, at least not without kicking the woman in the face multiple times.

Not that she wouldn’t entirely deserve it… 

Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...

Reply #7 – September 13, 2024, 03:30:22 PM

[ Ensign Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Maintenance Tube | Biological Laboratory Quintus | Aft Tertiary Research Deck | Erudite ] @Dumedion

“I don’t know how you expect me to move around when I’m curled up like a prawn with you laying on top of my legs!” Sylvain replied with a sharp hiss, his body trembling from a toxic blend of adrenaline, anxiety, discomfort and only slightly tempered fury. He tried to crane his neck enough to see what was ahead of him, rolling his head at a near-impossible angle before he was able to spot the opening in the tunnel a few metres ahead of them, no-doubt the location that Cora was indicating to. “Argh, hang on.” He huffed, anger dimming in the wake of possibly not having to have Cora’s limbs draped across his legs, and deciding to make an effort to move anyway.

He manoeuvred himself as gently as he could manage, but his attempts to flatten himself down enough to be able to straighten his body, resulted in barraging Cora with a salvo of knees, boots and ankles; not that she wasn’t deserving of the barrage. Eventually however, he managed to get into a position that allowed him to straighten up his neck, crawling his way forwards in the tunnel with as much gusto as he had left in him, and making a beeline towards the upcoming opening.

The larger space wasn’t enormous, but it was roomy enough that he could sit up without having to crane his neck, knees tight to his chest as Cora emerged through the opening behind him, the space ignited with the same ghostly-blue glow as the tunnel had been, but doubled in its intensity on account of the larger concentration of tubes that ran around them. The light danced off of the surface of the chrome sheen of the bulkheads, and lent into an almost psychedelic echo of light that danced across the room. Sylvain waited patiently for Cora to straighten herself up, before he defiantly struck a hand to his combadge, keeping eye-contact with her as he did so. Whatever ‘intelligence’ game that Cora was playing, he was certainly not planning on being a party to it any longer.

“Ensign Llewellyn-Kth to Commander Leavitt.” Sylvain spoke quietly, his brows furrowing into a steely expression that he hoped would express how disappointed he was in Cora’s conduct; this was hardly what he wanted from his first interaction with the Commander. “Ensign Llewellyn-Kth to Commander Leavitt?” He repeated, his first message going unanswered, his voice losing a little of his certainty as he did so. After another moment without recognition from the Commander, Sylvain tapped his fingers to his combadge a third time. “Ensign Llewellyn-Kth to anyone on the Theurgy crew, please respond.” A few more agnoising moments passed them by, before Sylvain simply huffed in indignation as he let his hand withdraw, pushing his head back into the bulkhead behind him, something of a scowl blooming across his face.

“Something must be jamming our communications.” He advised Cora, though he considered that she’d probably be overjoyed at such a prospect, given the lengths she’d taken to prevent him from signalling for assistance earlier. He sighed deeply, and tried to prevent a new deluge of emotions rushing into his head in the face of their newest obstacle, shutting his eyes for a moment to collect himself, before glaring at her with venom in his eyes.

“I think you owe me a lot more than a decent explanation.” Sylvain responded to her earlier statement, trying to remain collected even whilst he trembled from the cocktail of unpleasantness that was coursing through his body. “I just want to make it very clear to you, that being ‘with intelligence’, does not give you carte blanche to circumnavigate the chain of command and…” Mid-sentence, Sylvain noticed the soft glow illuminating Cora’s side, distracting his words away from his tongue as the Ensign realised that, secreted against her person, was a piece of Savi tech that she'd evidently stolen from the lab, some sort of datapad by its appearance, her tricorder clamped tightly against its sleek surface and thrumming away with the telltale blinking lights of a data transfer…

“Are you…? Did you…?” Sylvain was speechless as he focussed in on the device, acknowledging that sheer dumb luck wasn’t enough of an excuse to justify how someone in intelligence had ‘happened’ to stumble into acquiring some sort of Savi research tech and having the safe oppertunity to download its data... As the evening’s events began to unravel and reform within his mind, it began to dawn upon him that when he had blacked-out in the Common Area earlier, Cora had been the only person with him, and yet instead of ending up back with the Starfleet crew that were sitting not fifty feet away, both of them had somehow ended up in Savi research quarters… Had she used him as a distraction to get herself in some Savi lab? Had she been the one to release that poison upon him in the first place? Had she just endangered both of their lives in an attempt to get her hands on some Savi tech and make a good first impression to her superiors? Outrage filled Sylvain’s mind as he considered that, when he’d first met her, his mind had been overwhelmed with anxiety and stress, an intense feeling of unease and danger… Evidently, this woman’s intentions had been clear enough from the start.

“I… I can’t…” He was lost for words, swallowing down the flurry of fear and anger that bubbled up in his throat. “If you think there is any excuse that would justify you putting another officer at risk for personal gain, I would love to hear it.” Sylvain exploded at her, keeping his voice low, but his tone sharp as ice. “Because from where I am standing, it looks as though you took advantage of my friendliness, so that you’d have someone to help you out in case your little ‘heist’ went sideways.” He seethed, gesturing pointedly at the Savi item secreted against her side, before wiping at his face with the back of his hand to dislodge the stray tears of anger that had blossomed upon his eyelids.

“And now…” He gestured around them. “You’ve stolen Savi tech, they know that we’re out of bounds, and nobody from the Starfleet crew has any idea that we’re in danger.” His admonishment continued with a painful tone of betrayal upon his voice. He’d accepted her approach in the interest of possibly having a friend aboard, and she’d been intending to betray him from the start. “So there’s now a high likelihood that we’re going to get caught, probably be killed at best, jeopardise the alliance, and put the entire crew aboard the Erudite at risk.”

He blinked away more tears of anger as he spoke, feelings of betrayal and hatred at his own naivety spilling out; of course she had some sort of motive when she approached him, why would anyone go out of their way to try and befriend some Ensign in over-his-head? Either she thought he looked youthful and naive enough that he’d just go along with her crazy schemes without question, or she saw someone with a few muscles and decided that he could take a Savi in a fight… Sylvain was decidedly in neither of those camps.

“Struth, I’m the Chief CONN officer!” He snapped at her, his volume raising a degree. “Even if we get out of this, by some miracle, do you have any idea what sort of repercussions there might be for potentially jeopardising the alliance?” It took everything for Sylvain not to simply slump himself back against the wall in defeat. He was a pilot; he barely ever even went on away missions, let alone whatever twisted attempt at espionage he was currently a party to... The grim reality was that he didn’t have the skills that he’d need to get out of this situation alone, and he, unlike Cora, was enough of a Starfleet officer that he wasn’t going to get himself out of this situation at her expense…

He’d wait until they were safely back aboard the Theurgy before he sought out some repercussions for her to face…

“Right, so whatever ‘decent explanation’ you have, is going to have to wait, because right now, I need to hear your plan for how exactly we’re going to get out of this, because getting caught is not an option for us, or for the rest of our crew.” Sylvain responded grimly, straightening himself up and attempting to look slightly more severe than his tears made him out to be. “Your conduct thus far has been entirely unbefitting a Starfleet officer, so it’s about time that…” Sylvain coughed loudly, immediately stamping his hands over his mouth as he did so, in a better attempt to stifle the noise that erupted from him.

He’d been speaking with such ferocity that he scarcely realised how stagnant the air felt in the tunnels, how exhausted he felt as he attempted to breathe… When Cora had said that it was hard to breathe, he had been too stressed at their predicament to be able to pay attention, but now, he found his mind slipping back into the information that Commander Cross had given him about the Savi, recalling with a dour expression, that the Savi did not breathe a composition of air that was suitable for most other humanoids…

“I’m guessing that you didn’t put enough thought into this little heist, to bring along anything to help us breathe, did you?”