Post by aoibheni on Apr 15, 2019 10:53:47 GMT
There had been a fire behind one of the replicators on Deck F.
Charles King had been located, but not apprehended.
A fight had broken out in the upper mess. Two noses and a table had been broken.
Three incoming hails had been jammed mid-transmission by an unknown source.
And, “...Ezia has gone off book again,” he announced as he strode into her bedroom without knocking.
Danann barely stirred from her position on the bed. Blankets were tossed and tangled around her body, twisted around arms and legs as if she was being held in place by a sea monster. Peep-holes in the wayward fabric revealed flesh decorated in blackwork.
“I said, Ezia's-”
“I heard you,” she responded, her eyes still shut. She stretched and groaned.
Leeson stood and waited silently.
Danann twisted and curled onto her back. “Coffee”
Leeson tossed a hypo at her.
“umph!” Her tired eyes finally flickered open. “Good call,” she croaked, picking the hypo up from her stomach and pressing it immediately to her neck. She touched the control unit, waited for the hiss and then sighed. Much better.
Leeson watched as his Captain finally came to life, colour returning to her pale cheeks, her eyes brightening. He rested a steaming cup of coffee on her nightstand and respectfully turned his back.
She detangled herself from her bedclothes and padded around in search of something to wear.
“What's she done?” she asked him.
“Hm?”
“Ezia. What little shit storm is she causing this time?” Leeson heard Danann zip something up then suck down a mouthful of coffee.
“She's gone dark,” he told her, his arms folded, and his eyes studiously trained on the bulkhead in front of him. “...but the last location report we had from her ship had her orbiting Betazed.”
There was silence for a moment.
“...Fuck off.”
“Not a word of a lie, Cap.”
“That fucking Bajoran, I swear to god” Danann sighed. “No self control. I'm telling you, they were better off under the Cardassians. There's a people that need the fucking whip.”
Leeson huffed.
There was a lot about Captain Danann he admired – she'd risked her own freedom to ensure the safety of her crew countless times, she'd swiped whole supply shipments from under Starfleet's nose, she'd given her heart and soul to the Maquis cause, and she wasn't beyond bloodying a few noses when necessary – but one thing he didn't approve of was her burgeoning distaste for Bajoran people.
Leeson turned around just as Danann fastened her belt tight around her hips.
Between the shot from the hypo and the strong, Italian blend coffee coursing through her veins, she was suddenly a different woman.
She was slim and strong, her mass of red hair was streaked with a shot of grey at her temple and pulled back into a nest of well-defined curls. As usual, the neckline of her top was low and wide, rakishly revealing a galaxy of freckles across her pale chest and shoulders. The long sleeves of her trade-mark targ-leather jacket hid the entirety of the Celtic serpent tattoo that twined its way down her right arm, but he knew it was there. When things got tough, the jacket would come off. Catching sight of her ink was an omen they had all learnt to trust.
“Let's sort this out, shall we?” she asked, breezing past him and out onto Deck A of her pristine, Maquis battle cruiser.
Danann had gone up in the world since her powerless, cargo ship days. The Granuaile was no more, now they travelled in style. The “Queen Maeve” bristled with power, and as she stepped confidently onto her bustling bridge and assumed her throne - surrounded at every station by former Starfleet members, disgruntled colonists and a few trusted mercenaries - it was clear to everyone present that Danann did too.
“Report.”
Charles King had been located, but not apprehended.
A fight had broken out in the upper mess. Two noses and a table had been broken.
Three incoming hails had been jammed mid-transmission by an unknown source.
And, “...Ezia has gone off book again,” he announced as he strode into her bedroom without knocking.
Danann barely stirred from her position on the bed. Blankets were tossed and tangled around her body, twisted around arms and legs as if she was being held in place by a sea monster. Peep-holes in the wayward fabric revealed flesh decorated in blackwork.
“I said, Ezia's-”
“I heard you,” she responded, her eyes still shut. She stretched and groaned.
Leeson stood and waited silently.
Danann twisted and curled onto her back. “Coffee”
Leeson tossed a hypo at her.
“umph!” Her tired eyes finally flickered open. “Good call,” she croaked, picking the hypo up from her stomach and pressing it immediately to her neck. She touched the control unit, waited for the hiss and then sighed. Much better.
Leeson watched as his Captain finally came to life, colour returning to her pale cheeks, her eyes brightening. He rested a steaming cup of coffee on her nightstand and respectfully turned his back.
She detangled herself from her bedclothes and padded around in search of something to wear.
“What's she done?” she asked him.
“Hm?”
“Ezia. What little shit storm is she causing this time?” Leeson heard Danann zip something up then suck down a mouthful of coffee.
“She's gone dark,” he told her, his arms folded, and his eyes studiously trained on the bulkhead in front of him. “...but the last location report we had from her ship had her orbiting Betazed.”
There was silence for a moment.
“...Fuck off.”
“Not a word of a lie, Cap.”
“That fucking Bajoran, I swear to god” Danann sighed. “No self control. I'm telling you, they were better off under the Cardassians. There's a people that need the fucking whip.”
Leeson huffed.
There was a lot about Captain Danann he admired – she'd risked her own freedom to ensure the safety of her crew countless times, she'd swiped whole supply shipments from under Starfleet's nose, she'd given her heart and soul to the Maquis cause, and she wasn't beyond bloodying a few noses when necessary – but one thing he didn't approve of was her burgeoning distaste for Bajoran people.
Leeson turned around just as Danann fastened her belt tight around her hips.
Between the shot from the hypo and the strong, Italian blend coffee coursing through her veins, she was suddenly a different woman.
She was slim and strong, her mass of red hair was streaked with a shot of grey at her temple and pulled back into a nest of well-defined curls. As usual, the neckline of her top was low and wide, rakishly revealing a galaxy of freckles across her pale chest and shoulders. The long sleeves of her trade-mark targ-leather jacket hid the entirety of the Celtic serpent tattoo that twined its way down her right arm, but he knew it was there. When things got tough, the jacket would come off. Catching sight of her ink was an omen they had all learnt to trust.
“Let's sort this out, shall we?” she asked, breezing past him and out onto Deck A of her pristine, Maquis battle cruiser.
Danann had gone up in the world since her powerless, cargo ship days. The Granuaile was no more, now they travelled in style. The “Queen Maeve” bristled with power, and as she stepped confidently onto her bustling bridge and assumed her throne - surrounded at every station by former Starfleet members, disgruntled colonists and a few trusted mercenaries - it was clear to everyone present that Danann did too.
“Report.”