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Post by Nola on Jan 13, 2019 22:44:25 GMT
Condolences
Inala was hovering outside Jeannine's door, staring indecisively at the chime. She'd practically been kicked out of Engineering after a shift-and-a-half, despite her willingness to pull an all-nighter, but it had been made clear that the transporter mishap wouldn't be solved in a night. The diagnostics alone would likely take days, and it wouldn't help anything to work exhausted.
She had decided earlier that Jeannine's would be the first stop after-shift, and, in hindsight, that might have been why she was so reluctant to stop working. Inala didn't like trying to sort through personal issues in general. She got why Jeannine felt so awful, probably for the same reasons she felt awful, and she had no idea how she might relieve that feeling in Jeannine when she couldn't relieve it in herself.
That, and the whole 'you're basically running the department' thing had knocked her entirely off-balance. It had contributed to a low-grade panic that was lasting well into the evening, and maybe it'd be better to have this conversation tomorrow, and-
Inala tapped the chime, an act of bodily treachery she couldn't quite explain, and held her breath. There was no response until just before she'd convinced herself to run away.
"Who is it?" called Jeannine. The tangible muteness to her voice stole away Inala's cowardice for the time being.
"It's Inala," she answered.
"Come in."
Jeannine was curled up on a loveseat, dressed in PJs and a flannel robe. Some sort of laugh-tracked program was playing on a nearby terminal. A carton of ice cream sat on the coffee table. This was quite possible the saddest thing Inala had ever seen, and for some reason she had to keep herself from laughing, or making a joke.
"I know, I look stupid," Jeannine admitted.
"No, no," Inala meekly assured. "It's, uh, honestly kinda adorable."
"Why does that feel worse?"
'This is gonna take some work,' she thought to herself, and after taking a moment to confirm she hadn't accidentally said it out loud, she stepped into the room.
"Computer, pause program," called Jeannine. She ate a spoonful of melty ice cream and made some room on the couch, in which Inala sat with a sigh.
"I know what you're gonna say," she said.
"Oh, thank god - cause I had no idea," riffed Inala.
"You weren't gonna say it wasn't my fault?"
"I mean, it's not your fault, but how often does just saying that work?"
"Fair enough."
The pair sat in silence for a moment, and Inala found herself scrambling for something to joke about, realizing just how much of their friendship to this point had been dependent on being funny.
"D'you, like, replicate it in the carton, or do you keep a stock of the real thing?"
"They don't really give us a fridge, so, I replicate it."
"In a carton."
"Listen - if I'm gonna eat a pint of ice cream, I want the container to remind me that I'm eating a pint of ice cream."
Inala chuckled, which drew a smile from Jeannine, even as tears shone in her eyes.
"I'm gonna be eating a lot of ice cream after this," she admitted.
Inala knew what she had to do - or what she wanted to do, anyway. The trick was gonna be getting past all the hang-ups and intrusive thoughts that filled her head whenever contact was-
"C'mere," she invited, arms open, surreptitiously revealing herself as having been the traitor all along. Jeannine hesitated only a moment before slumping over into the proffered hug, sniffling heavily.
"It's not your fault," Inala murmured into her mousy brown curls.
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Post by Einar on Jan 14, 2019 13:17:58 GMT
more!
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Post by Nola on Feb 4, 2019 11:33:04 GMT
Unconventional Solutions
"Main power's gone!" shouted Jeannine, which didn't really help the crew chiefs who were trying to keep everyone calm. That stupid red light that kept flitting about didn't help, either, and Inala was on the verge of panic. If none of the consoles were working, then there was nothing for her to focus on, so she couldn't fix anything. She found herself looking for something, anything to help center her thoughts, and that's when she noticed the pulsing light dancing on the walls.
She briefly thought it was yet another invasive light from whatever galactic demon had inflicted this nightmare upon them, but there was something innately familiar about the rhythm. She stepped out of the control room and looked to the core, still humming along like nothing was happening.
Inala pulled out her tricorder and took some scans as Jeannine made her way over.
"Is this as bad as it feels? Cuz it feels-" she began, only to be hushed. Jeannine took the hint, and instead just looked over her shoulder at the readout.
"The core output's nominal," said Inala.
"Seriously? No deviation?"
"None."
"So what's-"
"Where's the nearest EPS port?"
"Uh." Jeannine scanned the darkened room, trying to recall the layout in the unfamiliar darkness. "Over there!"
The two scampered to the access panel and pried it off, revealing a darkened EPS tap. Inala crouched down and began to scan each component, trying to find where in the assembly the power was getting blocked.
"It's not the induction housing," Inala called, as if Jeannine were taking notes. She wasn't. "It's not the iso bank. It's not the primary capacitor assembly."
Her tricorder suddenly gave an excited chirp, and she looked up at her friend with a grim determination.
"It's the quantum inductors. They're out of sync."
"Oh, those sons of bitches," rued Jeannine. "I don't know who I'm mad at, but I'm both mad and impressed."
Inala wasn't listening, already working on a fix. She plucked the toolkit out of Jeannine's hand mid-rant, picking out a modulator probe and attempting to resync the inductors. A few minutes passed, a couple of annoyed grumbles, and suddenly the tap lit up. She looked up at Jeannine with a victorious smirk.
"Snap," she offered. "Do that a couple thousand more times, and we might get partial power back online."
"No time," declared Inala, returning Jeannine's toolkit. "Take Paulsen and Tam to deflector control, see if you can't get that wave thingy to go through, while I... try something crazy."
"Like, how crazy?"
"Like, I might be able to remove those little parasite things that plastered the front of the ship. Maybe."
"If I'm gonna go crawl in jeffries tubes and try to manually restore power to the deflector dish, I at least want some specifics."
Inala took a deep, unsure breath, and held it for a moment to decide.
"Biofilters," she eventually said.
"Biofilters? Like-"
"I'm going to see if it's possible to transport the foreward half of the priamary hull."
Jeannine blinked. Then Inala blinked. Jeannine blinked again and Inala got all shifty-eyed.
"I don't, uh, I don't know what that look means," Inala stammered.
"I think that might be the most batshit insane thing I've ever heard," said Jeannine. "Let's do it."
"I think I'll run some numbers first, see if it's even possible."
"Right. Do that, uh, and I'll go try the more sane thing, and we'll see where we're at in a couple hours."
Jeannine didn't make to leave right away, just staring dubiously at Inala.
"This isn't helping," said Inala.
Jeannine just snorted and turned to find her fellow tunnel rats.
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Post by Einar on Feb 4, 2019 11:55:19 GMT
haha that was fantastic, and I love how real this scene is in my head. Great writing CJ!
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Post by aoibheni on Feb 4, 2019 12:51:09 GMT
I love these two, seriously. Such great characterisation, CJ.
Can't wait to see how many ways I can come up with for this plan not to work!
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Post by pscotty90 on Feb 4, 2019 18:19:01 GMT
I feel like Trip, Scotty, La Forge, O'Brien and Torres would all just be staring at that idea and going "I'm sorry... You want to do what to my ship?"
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Post by Nola on Feb 25, 2019 19:38:12 GMT
Joint Log with Connor as Cmdr. Gutey
COMMENCING LOG, STARDATE 11902.19
Starbase 56.
Lieutenant Commander Gutey visited the station several times during his career, and he didn’t mind stopping by it one more time. It felt more like a civilian location rather than a Federation starbase, thanks to its many events and attractions, holographic or otherwise, that made it a very desirable destination for captains looking to have their ships repaired and their crews satisfied.
Walking down the corridors, Geoffrey noticed several maintenance workers on various decks, but it didn’t look they were performing structural repairs, but rather cosmetic alterations: some were applying a new coat of paint to the greyish walls, others were simply doing routine checks. The Chief Engineer leaned intermittently to casually inspect the tools they were using, nodding to the crewmen who acknowledged his presence.
After a few minutes, he reached one of the many cafés of the station. It looked almost exactly as how he remembered it: classy, with comfortable chairs and old Earth jazz music softly playing in the background. The room was fairly occupied, but still inside Gutey’s comfort levels. Looking around, he approached the white, glossy bar and noticed Lieutenant Emeric enjoying a drink.
Inala stuck out like a sore thumb. She'd wedged herself firmly at the end of the bar, hunched over her drink and avoiding eye anyone. She was wearing what looked to be two layers of Zorya-branded heavy sweats as she meekly nursed a cream-colored drink in an old-fashioned glass, and she seemed to be far from enjoying herself.
Her superior wore differently, however, still sporting his uniform. He rarely wore casual clothes unless he was on ELOA, and contrary to Inala he was appreciating the atmosphere. He noticed the difference in mood and almost changed his pace to find another seat, but the two made eye contact when the half-Orion woman casually gazed upon his direction. Leaving now would have felt too awkward for the Commander, so he tentatively started the now inevitable conversation.
“I didn’t think you would enjoy jazz, Lieutenant.”
Inala bobbed her head indecisively.
"It's alright," she said. "More of a Blues girl, but this is close enough."
The lieutenant straightened up a bit on her stool, turning to face Commander Gutey as she subconsciously smoothed out her bulky attire. Now that he was closer, he'd be able to see the sweat on her temples, implying over-warmth.
“Actually, now that I think about it, jazz would really suit your personality. You know why?” He said while sitting next to her. Gutey just waited for an acknowledgement with her head before continuing. “Jazz can be pure, relaxing, close to perfection... but also chaotic, dissonant and improvisational, depending on the flavour.”
He looked at her waiting to see if she recognised what he meant by those words.
Inala gave a somewhat mirthless smile as she lifted her drink.
"Which is another way of saying 'anxious,'" she offered, before taking a sip.
He tilted his head in disapproval. “Not exactly,” he corrected her, while noticing the bartender had been patiently waiting for his order. “A Manhattan, please,” Gutey told him before returning his attention to her.
“Fusion music can be full of energy and unpredictable, which sometimes translates into originality. But it is not something for everyone’s tastes.” The Commander briefly looked at the preparation of his cocktail, hoping to take a sip of it soon. “What I’m trying to say here Lieutenant...is that it’s OK to occasionally feel the adrenaline from a tense situation. It can give you that extra instinct that transforms into a life-saving idea. On the other hand, if the situation requires patience,” he continued, “it might be your undoing.”
Gutey heard the sound of his glass being gently rested on the bar. He thanked the bartender and picked it up, before completing his thoughts. “You need to try and control your emotions in the line of duty.”
He was hoping to get a positive reaction from her.
Inala visibly deflated. This was far from the first time she'd received this advice, and it was never a good sign for her. Visions of staying huddled in her quarters and butchering her hair and staring hatefully in a mirror played in her head. She closed her eyes, mostly to hide the mist forming in them, which would just lend credence to Commander Gutey's apparent assessment of her.
"Yes, sir," she said quietly, turning back to her original position and taking a longer drink.
He shook his head and started savouring his drink as well. “I’m sorry. This is probably the last place you would want to be hearing about this from me,” he said in retrospect after a long pause. “And the last thing I want to do is to make you feel even more uncomfortable, so let’s change the subject. What would you like to talk about?”
Inala didn't answer immediately, taking a few moments and discrete sniffs as she nursed her drink.
"I want to talk about this," she finally offered. "I, um, I want to say some things, but I feel like I should ask for permission to speak freely about it."
“We’re off-duty, with drinks on our hands,” he pointed out raising his glass, “go ahead.”
Inala finished her glass, sipping through the ice remains before indicating a desire for a refill to the bartender. She took a deep breath and looked down at her bulky clothes, thinking about how best to express what she wanted to say.
"It's really hard for me to do this job," she explained. "To be in a department where I'm working with scores of people. I used to do that, control my emotions and be reserved and not make any small talk. I hated it. It made me miserable, and my performance slipped, and I just..."
She paused as her refill arrived, and she gently stirred it with the accompanying straws, upsetting the dark liqueur on the bottom.
"I had a CO tell me I just needed to get over my problems, and see a counselor. That I was a Sarfleet Officer and more was expected of me, so I sucked it up. I shut myself off, and I did my job, and I hated every minute of it. Here on the Zorya it's been different. I have an actual friend, now, and I'm not constantly terrified that people are staring at my ass or fantasizing about me, and I feel like I'm doing a good job, only for you to tell me that I'm not."
Gutey looked straight in front of him for a minute, reflecting on her words. Somehow his mind wandered back to his time on Vulcan. He wasn’t exactly sure of the connection. He thought perhaps the feeling as a teenager of being stranded on a completely different place, with people who could not understand his emotions would be a similar sensation to what Inala was experiencing. But even then, he did manage to control himself thanks to the guidance of his teacher, Suvek. And in his opinion, she needed something comparable for her behaviour.
He felt ready to resume the conversation, hoping he would not be misunderstood this time.
“Inala, no one is saying that your performance has been subpar. And I understand that at times I may appear rough on you, or on someone else from the team.” He put his glass down to get her attention. “But if I do, is because I want you, and everyone else, to always improve. Try to consider me like a sports coach or manager…I believe that you have fantastic potential, but it needs to be 'unlocked' somehow. And you can’t unlock it if you can’t respond to encouragement or follow my advice.” He adjusted his seat. “You could do so much more, but you need to start listening to my advice and deal with your psychological problems. You can’t become Chief if you are constantly anxious. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
His tone of voice became exponentially more serious, but never to the point of being aggressive. At least, that’s what he hoped.
Inala closed her eyes and lowered her head, jaw grinding a bit. She understood what he was saying, but she wasn't so sure the opposite was true. 'Deal with it' wasn't advice - not to her, anyway. To her it was an ultimatum. Do better, or else...
That wasn't what he meant, though. She knew that much, even if thinking otherwise was good cause to be upset - something she desperately wanted. It wasn't what Captain Adano had meant, either, and her taking it as an ultimatum was what caused her to be so miserable. Her doing, not Adano's.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, gently wiping them with a sleeve.
"This is me dealing with it," she said. "This is me trying to get better. I'm anxious because I'm taking a risk by trying to be myself, and I feel vulnerable, but that's what it's going to take to deal with my 'psychological problems.' Like, I get that you didn't know me at the time, but this is already so much better than I used to be. So, if you want to be encouraging, then tell me that I'm doing a good job. If you want to give me advice, give me actual, specific advice. Don't tell me that I could be better 'if only,' y'know? Because that doesn't actually tell me anything."
Gutey was starting to lose his patience, but not out of anger towards her. He was frustrated she wouldn’t understand his message, that she wasn’t doing enough. He cared for every member of his team to give their best. And he was her superior officer; if she failed to improve, it would mean a failure on his part too.
“You want specific advice, Lieutenant? Fine, here is my advice,” he said after downing his Manhattan, “talk to the Doctor. Or to a counsellor. I don’t want to order this to you, but if I see a glimpse of anxiety that affects your job…I will.”
He got out of the chair that now felt as uncomfortable as ever. “I will see you back on the Zorya,” he finished before storming out to find the nearest holodeck.
Inala managed to wait until Gutey was out of sight before starting to cry, hastily making her exit and retreating back to the ship.
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Post by Nola on Mar 4, 2019 5:44:33 GMT
Tryhard
Inala had immediately returned to the ship and disappeared into her quarters, on the verge of breakdown the entire way. This was bad. This was really bad. Not only had Commander Gutey forbidden her from being anxious, but he'd also - in her mind, anyway - questioned her worth in front of the entire senior staff and Admiral S'rendar. That was bad. Then she got a commendation for saving him from what one might consider an embarrassing blunder.
That was really bad. He would hardly be the first vindictive department head, and she was already imagining the indignities he might put her through to soothe his ego. What if she showed anxiety, too? Would he bust her down to Ensign? Would he have her scrub the deck? Would he put her in charge of waste treatment?
This was a mistake. This was all a huge fuckin' mistake. She should never have gotten the award, and she should never have returned to duty. She should be home with Mom and Dad, sulking in her room, getting fat or something as she stared ruefully out the window at the bullshit world that spawned such an object.
She paced as she catastrophized, her heart racing in panic as she interchangeably bit at the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, pulled roughly at her hair, or loosed anguished, muffled grunts against her hand - a familiar freak-out, but one she hadn't done in ages.
This was it. Her career was over, done in because she'd let herself be stupid and vulnerable, as if a freak show like her could ever have a normal life. Doctors, boys, girls, all sizing her up and poking and prodding and leering. At best, she was just a curiosity, a glitch of genetics. It was the only thing of note she would ever contribute to the world, and it had already come and gone by the time she'd first drawn breath.
As the energy burned off, she flopped face-first onto her sofa and sobbed as the sheer exhaustion of her constant state of near-panic finally took its toll. None of this was fair. She'd been trying so hard to be better, to not let people get to her. Worse, she'd felt like she'd been making progress, like she'd been leaps and bounds beyond where she was a year ago.
All of that undone in one candid conversation with a superior, who'd so deftly triggered all her worst fears in one fell swoop. She'd done her best, tried so hard every day, and, in that moment, she believed it would never be good enough.
The chime sounded, and she froze, not daring to answer, hoping they would go away. It rang again, and again. Inala sniffled and wiped her eyes, having to physically force herself to speak.
"Who's there?" she managed.
"Commander Theroux," a woman answered. "I'm Admiral S'rendar's attache."
The award had been a mistake. Maybe this would be humiliating enough for Gutey to leave her alone, so she could just shrink away to nothing and do her job until she could gather the nerve to give up.
Inala pushed herself off the sofa, still wiping at her eyes and doing her best to clear her nasal passages.
"Just a minute."
She flipped over the cushion she'd been crying into and looked down at her hand, a firm indentation where she'd bitten. She hid it behind her back and stepped awkwardly aside.
"Come in," she said, unsure whether she should be standing at attention. Commander Theroux stepped inside as the doors parted, a pleasant, professional smile on her face.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Emeric," she greeted. "I'm afraid there was a small mix-up in the Admiral's Office."
There it was. Inala debated whether she should stay where she was or go retrieve the letter.
"You were supposed to receive additional commendations, but the Admiral missed them," Theroux finished.
Inala blinked, brow furrowed in confusion.
"W-, uh, what?" she stammered. Theroux indicated a pair of padded folders in her hands.
"The Admiral's busy at the moment, unfortunately, or she would have presented these herself," Theroux explained. Inala stared as a deer in headlights, and Theroux only just then seemed to notice Inala's confusion.
"At attention, Lieutenant," she instructed. Inala straightened and reluctantly dropped her hands to her sides.
"Lieutenant Inala Jane Emeric," Theroux began. "For creative problem solving in removing a hazardous contaminant that was threatening the crew of the Zorya, you are hereby awared the Captain's Letter of Commendation."
She handed the folder to Inala, who took it only as a reflex to being handed something. Her brain hadn't quite caught up to what was happening.
"Further, for creative problem solving in restoring power to the Zorya during an encounter with a hostile vessel, you are hereby awarded the Captain's Letter of Commendation."
Another folder. Inala held the pair out before her, glancing between them and Theroux, not entirely sure any of this was real.
"Um," was all she offered. Theroux held out a hand, and it took her a moment to realize she could hold both in one hand before she took the proffered one.
"Well done, Lieutenant," offered Theroux. "Keep up the good work."
"Er, yes ma'am," managed Inala, giving the Commander's hand a shake. Theroux was gone a moment later, leaving Inala dumbstruck.
---
Jeannine flexed her arm, wincing a bit at an apparent triceps strain. Going back to challenge the Caitain had been a mistake - clearly - but, really, what was life without regret? Boring is what.
A couple consolation shots and a quick shower later, she found herself trotting down a familiar corridor, wearing capris and a knit sweater just snug enough to announce her pudge - peak Tocato Casual. She stopped in front of Inala's door, checked her curls in the panel, and then hit the chime.
No answer. Push it again - maybe she was asleep. No answer. She pushed it repeatedly, tapping out a catchy rhythm.
"Jesus, go away!" came the reply.
"No," answered Jeannine, her tone suitably smug. "Lemme in."
"Not now, Jeannine," said Inala.
"You already know I'm willing to break in," Jeannine reminded her.
"Fuckin'... fine," huffed Inala. Jeannine grinned triumphantly right until the doors opened and she stepped inside. Inala's quarters were festooned with strips of shredded fabric, a variety of shirts and pants and underthings rent asunder and cast about, perhaps as a dire warning to potential invasive clothing. She was suddenly very worried for her top.
"Um," hummed Jeannine. Inala was sat in the corner, stuffed in a makeshift fat suit of Zorya sweats. Her eyes were cast squarely on the floor.
"I feel like this was either a really good party or a really bad one," Jeannine mused. Inala wiped at her eyes and heaved a sigh, gently tossing a laser cutter towards Jeannine, which clattered to the floor.
Definitely a bad one.
"So, can I come sit in your general vicinity?" asked Jeannine, her tone more gentle than before. She felt a bit bad badgering her way in, but now that she was here, she would have felt bad to leave. Classic Tocato.
Inala shrugged in response, so she carefully stepped forward and lowered herself to the floor, legs crossed, trying to gauge her friend.
"Do you wanna talk about it at all?"
Another shrug.
"Will you talk about it?"
Inala sighed and hid her face in her hands for a moment, sniffling as she stuffed herself further into the corner. Jeannine just sat and watched, letting Inala decide for herself. The Half-Orion took several deep breaths before finally lowering her hands, hugging her knees to her chest.
"I was in that jazzy place on the promenade," Inala explained. Already Jeannine was making plans to hunt someone down and kick their ass.
"Commander Gutey came in," Inala continued, bringing those plans to a halt. For now, anyway.
"He told me that I needed to control my emotions, and that if he ever sees me being anxious during a shift, he's gonna order me to see a counselor."
Jeannine frowned, all joviality gone.
"What, uh, what prompted that?" she asked, perhaps unhelpfully. Inala shrugged.
"He said that I could, like, live up to my potential if only I weren't anxious all the time, and I actually told him, honestly, how hard it was for me to do this, and how hard I was trying to open up and actually be part of the crew. I told him that if he wanted to give me advice, then give me actual advice and don't just tell me I could be better if only I weren't myself, and he got all mad."
Jeannine glowered, lowering her gaze. She couldn't help feeling protective of her friend. That Inala had actually said all that to him was proof enough of her gains, and for Gutey to just shut her down like that must've been devastating. He probably had no idea how much. And hadn't Inala just saved the ship like twice? How much more was he expecting of her?
A quiet sob brought her from her thoughts, Inala burying her face in her arms. Jeannine leant forward and crawled over carefully, wrapping her arms around her friend, something that was becoming a more common occurrence - not that she would ever mind.
"I'm sorry, 'Nala," she muttered.
"I'm trying so hard," replied Inala, her exhaustion breaking Jeannine's heart.
"And you're doing so well," she said.
"I was."
"You are," asserted Jeannine. "You actually told him how you felt. When was the last time you'd ever felt up to doing that?"
"Look where it got me."
Jeannine loosened her grip just enough to direct Inala's gaze to hers, using her thumb to wipe away a few tears.
"You can't control Gutey," she explained. "It's not your fault he's trying to do a bad Vulcan LARP, okay? It's not your fault he doesn't understand what you're dealing with. You are absolutely trying so hard, and you're absolutely doing so well, you've come so far - he can't take that away from you, alright? So what if he orders you to see a counselor? See a counselor. I'm sure they'd agree that you're doing a fantastic job of dealing with this shit."
"But what if I'm not? Look what I did to my clothes, Jeannine."
"You can get new clothes. As bulky as you like. Hell, you could go full-on Lurian cosplay if you want - you'd rock the fuck out of that silver puffy butt suit."
Inala snorted, a sign of victory for Jeannine. She snickered and hugged Inala close.
"If you wanna spend less time around people, that's fine too. You can take a break from trying if you need to, okay?"
"I don't wanna do that."
"If you need to."
Inala sighed and snuggled against Jeannine, which Jeannine didn't mind in the slightest.
"You're a really good friend," said Inala. Jeannine had a few witty comebacks for this one, but it didn't feel quite right this time around.
"You deserve some good friends," she offered instead. Inala smiled - another victory - and the two of them sat like that for as long as they needed.
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Post by Einar on Mar 4, 2019 6:22:26 GMT
That was fucking beautiful CJ
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Post by aoibheni on Mar 4, 2019 14:11:11 GMT
Everyone needs a Jeannine, I have decided.
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Post by pscotty90 on Mar 4, 2019 14:49:33 GMT
Really great CJ. Really got across what she's feeling.
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Post by Nola on Mar 11, 2019 9:19:00 GMT
Approval
Inala considered bailing, and not for the first time. She hated the waiting, and thus the waiting room and the pre-flight checklist of psychotherapy: know what you want to talk about, identify triggers, 'I' statements, etc.
She didn't know what she wanted to talk about. She didn't want to talk about anything, really, but she knew which way the wind was blowing. Perhaps without meaning to, Commander Gutey had ensured that she would an anxious wreck on-duty for the foreseeable future, and so this appointment was inevitable.
'Why wait?' she'd thought. This was answering her question. It's also why she knew bailing wasn't really an option, and she'd just have to wait. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if her anxiety didn't force her to be early whenever possible - she'd only have to dwell on it for five minutes instead of fifteen.
"Are you alright Lieutenant?" came the counselor's voice. Inala froze. She'd been whittling away the last few minutes performing an odd breathing ritual she'd developed at the academy, one that sounded suspiciously like labored breathing. Inala imagined it more as a very subtle screaming.
"Yes, mostly," she answered, after returning to a more-calm breath rhythm.
"Would you like to come in?" invited Counselor Hix. Inala managed not to say 'no,' and made her way into Hix's office.
"Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?" asked Hix, her tone a well-practiced one from the sound of it.
"I'm okay," refused Inala. She sat on the loveseat, and Hix sat in a comfortable-looking chair on the other side of a small glass coffee table, like nearly every other counselor's office she'd seen.
"Why don't we start with introductions?" asked the Counselor. "I'm Jayda Hix, one of the ship's counselors."
"Inala," Inala replied awkwardly.
"Would you prefer to be called Inala, or Lt. Emeric?"
Inala sighed, rubbing her eyes as she fought a wave of doubt.
"Inala's fine," she eventually managed. Hix offered a pleasant smile.
"What can I do for you, Inala?" she asked.
"I dunno," Inala groaned. "How much do you already know about my, uh, about me?"
Hix took a deep breath, and Inala briefly wondered if she was already tired of this, too.
"I read a summary of your psych profile," she explained. "I haven't dived in fully, yet. I thought I'd get a baseline, first. What brings you in?"
Inala hesitated yet again, closing her eyes as she imagined being weighed down by massive Bob Marley chains. Why did she keep fighting this? What was the point? Why wasn't she already on a shuttle home?
"I'm convinced my superior is going to order me to resume therapy," she said, with clear effort.
"Why is that?" asked Hix, not skipping a beat. Another round of struggle as Inala tucked her legs under her and hid her face in her hands. Hix waited with the frustrating patience apparently inherent to the position.
"Because my anxiety is spiking," said Inala. "Because he made it spike."
Hix didn't reply, letting Inala set the pace, which she hated.
"I was in a bar on 56," Inala began. "I just wanted a real White Russian, so I went onto the promenade after putting up my lumps."
"Your... lumps?" asked Hix, brow furrowed dubiously. Another sigh from her patient.
"When I'm feeling particularly self-conscious, I wear bulky clothing to hide my figure," she explained with some difficulty. "Sweats, usually, sometimes stuffed with other sweats."
"So you were in a bar feeling vulnerable," Hix reasoned.
"I guess, yeah," Inala sorta-confirmed. "My superior, Commander Gutey, came into the bar and came over to me, and I was instantly panicking. I believe he was going to yell at me, or tell me off or something."
"Why did you think he would do that?" asked Hix.
"I dunno," huffed Inala. "I don't think it was a rational fear, it's just that I'd been, um, standing out, I guess, in Engineering."
"And you don't like to stand out."
"Not really."
"Because it makes you feel vulnerable."
"I suppose."
"What happened next?"
"He, uh, tried to give me some kinda Jazz metaphor," Inala recalled. "It was a Jazz-themed bar, and he said something about improvisation and energy or something like that. Oh, and he'd initially said he didn't think he'd see me in a Jazz bar, but then he said that actually it was fitting because I was like Jazz or something, and..."
Hix didn't reply, brows raised in amused curiosity.
"Long story short, he said that I would never reach my full potential if I couldn't control my feelings."
"And he feels you haven't been doing that?"
"I guess."
"Do you have any thoughts on why?"
Inala took a moment to try and settle her thoughts, her memory of the scene in the bar still freshly burning in the back of her mind.
"I think maybe I've been less-than-proper, like in how I'm communicating with people," she explained. "He got laid up for a while with an injury, and me and Jeannine were sort of running the department, and our communication is, um, casual, I guess you'd call it."
"Jeannine?"
"Yeah. Ensign Tocato. Saleen, too, but we don't talk much for reasons that are probably my fault."
"And I'm assuming these are in reference to the events you were recently commended for."
"Yes." Inala shrank slightly at the mention of her awards.
"So you were communicating informally during a crisis, and you feel Commander Gutey saw that as an issue with your feelings. Is that correct?"
Inala ran a hand through her hair, doing her best to ignore her raging sense of regret.
"I dunno. I guess-" she stammered. "I think maybe it's obvious to others that I'm generally anxious. I felt like I'd been doing a lot better since coming aboard, but maybe that's just relative. Maybe I still seem like a nervous wreck to everyone else."
Hix paused to jot down a few notes.
"Was there more to the conversation you had in the bar?"
"Yeah," lamented Inala. "I did something crazy and I actually told him how I felt. Like, I told him how hard it was for me to do my job, and I told him that I felt I'd been doing better. I told him that I'd tried to just shut myself off from everyone before, and that it made me miserable. I said this was me taking risks, this was me dealing with it and trying to be a better crewmate. And then I said something that was probably stupid."
Hix again waited for Inala to continue in that psychotherapist manner.
"I told him that just telling me to control my feelings didn't help me, and that if he wanted to give me advice, he should give me actual advice."
"And he didn't take that well."
"He got mad," whispered Inala, her eyes tightly closed as she felt the same sense of dread wash over her, eliciting tears against her will.
"He, uh, he said that, uh, if he ever saw me being anxious on duty, he would order me to see the counselor."
The silent sobs came of their own volition, and Inala tried to make herself as small as possible, wishing she could just melt into the couch and disappear. Hix didn't say anything, letting Inala feel what she felt.
"It's not fair," Inala mewled. "I'm try- I'm trying my fucking best. I, um, I'm doing my best to not, uh, not just be fuckin' paranoid all the time, y'know? And I'm- I was doing so good! I thought I was doing a good job, and I actually felt proud of myself for a fucking minute, like I could finally send my parents a message where I was actually happy about my job for once, and he- he just took that away in an instant, like it was nothin'."
Inala was sure at least some of that was intelligible, her words variously slurred and muffled as she repeatedly wiped her eyes. Hix let her cry as long as she needed, and Inala managed to compose herself a few minutes later, wiping her eyes with an offered tissue.
"I know this might not mean a lot coming from me," Hix began. "We've only just met, and all I've got to go on is your service record and a brief summary of your struggles. For what it's worth, though, I think the fact you just got three Letters of Commendation is a testament to your performing well."
Inala didn't respond immediately, some part of her still unwilling to accept the commendations as real.
"I think if you keep doing what you've been doing, you'll continue to be a valuable asset, whether or not Commander Gutey acknowledges that directly. Even if he doesn't, even if he's unsatisfied with your progress, I'm not sure he's the person whose approval you actually need."
"Please don't say it's min-"
"It's yours."
Inala sighed heavily, flopping over on the couch.
"This shit again."
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Post by pscotty90 on Mar 11, 2019 11:21:26 GMT
Inala makes for a great character to read about. All the stuff with her anxiety feels so familiar to me. Again, I note that the entire lower decks officers of the ship are just big balls of tension.
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Post by aoibheni on Mar 11, 2019 17:47:47 GMT
"...on the other side of a small glass coffee table, like nearly every other counselor's office she'd seen." I've literally been in this room. Great description. And that ending. hehehe. Perfect.
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Post by Nola on Mar 11, 2019 18:52:03 GMT
Thanks, guys
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