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Post by aoibheni on Sept 17, 2017 17:31:21 GMT
Danann had always sought solace in small, cramped places behind bulkheads, or in tumbled corners of half forgotten cargo holds when she was young. Despite the danger of wedging herself among half-working machinery and unreliable structures, it had always felt safe to her. Station rat by name, station rat by nature, right?
And so now, as a grown woman, with raw nerves jangling and body craving the inadvisable, she felt momentary relief as she pulled herself into her blessedly small berth to recover from her encounter with Lil, the Orion woman. With a deep breath held behind tense lips, she surveyed her minute queendom. The walls were rough, and almost close enough to tip each side with outstretched fingers. The ceiling slanted drunkenly towards the door to allow space on the deck above for a coolant unit, and the floor was covered almost entirely with a small faded rug that may have once possessed a deep, rich, rose hue but which was now closer to a thoroughly defeated mauve. Resting by the far wall, tucked carefully away behind a few scattered packing boxes, lay the slender, polished neck of a bass guitar. It wasn’t hers. She didn’t play, but she held on to it anyway; One of the very few sentimental things she had retained from her years as a Starfleet Officer.
Considering how often she butted heads with the other captains on the council, the prospect of displaying much else from her uniformed years was unwise.
She loosened the fasteners of her well worn, brown, ankle boots and kicked them to the side of the doorway. She shrugged her leather jacket off her shoulders and lay it with more care next to her boots. Taking the few steps towards a small ladder bolted to the wall on the left, she climbed with a weary grunt into her bed; a hammock suspended diagonally across the tiny expanse of her room.
She shifted unhappily and the hammock swung gently, adding a lazy metronome rhythm to the drumming tattoo of images that were plaguing her overwhelmed mind. The prospect of tasting Lil’s red lips haunted the boundary of every single thought, as did her glorious, smooth skin. She yearned to reach for her, to explore the exhilarating curves of her waist and hips, and the electrifying press of her flesh. She was desperate to give in to urges she hadn’t felt powerfully in well over a year, feelings which now, were cascading through her body in a torrent of emotion and wild need.
She knew what she was feeling wasn’t real. She understood this was simply a predictable, chemical reaction but that didn’t stop her fantasizing about flinging caution out the cargo bay doors, leaving her responsibilities at the airlock, and indulging herself, heart and soul, in the arms of that sublime woman for as long, and as completely as she could. Hang the Federation, Screw the Council, Fuck propriety, she thought, as she leant up on her elbows. She wanted to get some.
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Post by aoibheni on Sept 19, 2017 16:07:20 GMT
To say that Engineering was not a tidy place would be to fall so far short of the truth that you may as well have not bothered drawing into your lungs the air necessary to utter the statement to begin with. There were star drive sections of crashed Galaxy Class starships that were more in order than those small rooms in the belly of the Granuaile.
But, despite outside appearances, the super team that were Richley and Winston did have a “system” down in the bowels of the ship; a system Danann was loathe to disrupt.
“I swear, Carrick…” she’d exclaimed on one of her rare visits to the lower deck, “I dunno how you even find the Warp Core in here”. Winston’s voice had called out from somewhere in the chaos of essential repairs, “Wait... we have a warp core?!” Richley, barely able to contain a chuckle as he dangled his legs gleefully in the air above her head from his perch on an overhead catwalk had shouted “Who said that?!”
Danann had rolled her eyes, dropped the fried ODN relay she has been examining back on top of the tottering pile of trashed units it had crowned, and retreated to the relative sanity of the cockpit. Lesson learned. Leave them to it.
But now, despite the characteristic disarray, Richley was able to find a patch of bare bench to set up his scanner and record every facet and flaw in the fist-sized gem the Captain had entrusted him with. A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. He jumped and spun on his seat. “Oh, hey, doc.” He hadn’t heard Doctor Zoy’s soft footsteps nearing him as he worked. “You scared me”. “You ready to go, Richley?” she asked, shifting a deflated, fabric bag onto her shoulder. “Just gotta hide this nugget”. He stood, hefted the gem, and surveyed the jungle of machine parts, tools, and bulkheads that surrounded him in hulking lumps. “One sec.” He disappeared around a bramble of wires, reappearing moments later empty handed. “That should do it.” He pulled a small data nodule from the side of the scanner, checked his pocket for the bag of credits, and lead the doctor away from the gigeresque nightmare that he called his “office”.
“I know I’m seeing a silver lining on a cloud full of shit here,” he said as they ducked under the blast doors, “...but I’m looking forward to getting off this boat to go shopping. Is that terrible?” “I get it. Being cooped up like we are, any opportunity to stretch our legs and see strange faces is therapeutic.” “Don’t get to do this often enough. They said if I joined, I’d see the galaxy. I see more of the inside of bulkheads if I’m honest. Hey,” he continued, turning and walking backwards for a few paces, catching the elder woman’s attention, “how about playing hookie and getting some real food for once? They might even have fresh coffee.” “If we’ve anything left after the replicas and anti-pheromones, and we see anywhere half decent, it’s a date. No-one will miss a few loose credits, right?”
They passed the turn off to the bridge without seeing the shadow pinning itself tightly to the wall in the darkness.
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Post by aoibheni on Sept 22, 2017 11:12:49 GMT
Her boots were barely fastened on her feet once more when she thumped the door release with a shaking hand, and ducked through her low hanging hatchway, out into the sparsely lit, rough-walled corridor beyond. Her loose hair fell in russet ringlets across her face but that didn't impede her progress; after a year on board the Granuaile, tumbling up and down her three decks in all manner of emergencies and states of disarray, she definitely knew her way around. So, as she finalized her game plan, she pulled her jacket onto her shoulders and ploughed on down the short, cramped corridor. As she neared the hatch to the deck below and thence to the station, she reached a free hand up to pull the mass of red away from her eyes. Her vision restored, she came to a sudden, abrupt and guilty halt. “Oh… hey”.
Winston was standing like a statue mid stride a little further down the corridor facing her, a frozen expression of surprise on his face. “Oh”. The exit down to the main deck lay between them. “Um... “ Danann panicked. “So, I er… I’m just stretching my legs.” Winston took note of her nervous posture, her freckled cheeks flushed pink and her eyes wide in the gloom. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Caught. Shit. “Yea, no… I er… thought tea might help. Was on my way to the mess.” “Which is…” he pointed to the hatch behind her “...that way.” “Yea… um... “ she turned at the waist and surveyed the direction from which she had come as if this was her first day on board. “Missed the turn, I guess. Distracted, you know. Dying for…” she coughed self consciously, cringing at her obvious and unavoidable transparency “... a cup of tea...”. She attempted a smile, knew it wasn’t working, then sighed.
Winston pursed his lips and made a decision. “To be honest, I was… finding it difficult to ignore the lure of… tea, too....” Danann felt her body relax a little, her lips forming a silent “oh”. Suddenly his unexpected appearance on this very spot didn’t seem so surprising. God bless Carrick Winston and his honesty. The most trustworthy thief she'd ever had the good fortune to meet. “That… makes me feel a little less shitty, actually,” she admitted with an audible huff of relief. He understood her weakness way better than she had anticipated.
They stood in silence, each surveying the other with the renewed sense of comradeship that only develops with the sharing of an unspoken secret. The object of both their clandestine expeditions now frustratingly out of reach, they were equally at a loss, unfulfilled and stuck.
“So… you maybe wanna… go get some tea with me?” Danann gave him a sheepish smile.
He blinked and straightened, surprised by her unexpected forthrightness, especially now. After so long at her side without so much as a brush of the hand, or a late night lingering glance to indicate attraction, he'd never really considered the possibility that she might be harboring secret feelings of any kind for him. I mean, he thought, unrequited love among command crews was a classic trope for a reason, especially in their less than orthodox set up… And maybe a little… “tea” would be a good way to relieve all this tension? Get their heads back in the game? “I didn’t think I was your type, Niamh.” He never calls me by my first name… “What?” Uh… “Wait… what…?” “... -” “Oh, you meant…” “Oh god, yea...no… No.” “So… you meant actual tea. Not…” he gave her a significant look “...'tea’.”
She turned briskly, thumping her flushed forehead dully on the cool bulkhead and intoned, “I hate everything about this entire mission.” “No offense taken.” Winston muttered, a little relieved. He moved towards her, paused briefly at the exit hatch, sighed at the lost opportunity it represented, then ploughed forward, brushing carefully past his Captain. He patted her on the shoulder in a show of exaggerated platonic affection. “C’mon, Cap. Last one there gets the Earl Grey.” “If it’s good enough for Picard...” she called after him as she pushed herself back into a standing position and followed him through the hatch. “Don’t let Captain Loran hear you say that.” “Ugh. One battle at a time, yea?”
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Post by Einar on Sept 22, 2017 15:10:20 GMT
hahaha lovely
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Post by aoibheni on Sept 22, 2017 15:46:20 GMT
Thanks!
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Post by aoibheni on Oct 8, 2017 12:28:54 GMT
The station was exactly as Doctor Zoy had imagined it would be; cacophonous, dank, and with just enough post-apocalyptic flair to make one uneasy about the total lack of metal studs on one’s clothing or piercings in one’s face. “In and out, before this place rubs off on us,” she said as they carefully walked down a wide promenade lined with a towering shanty of huts and workshops. Hovels and shelters teetered overhead, tottering and menacing in a disorganized jumble. “In and out”, Richley agreed. “Before anything falls on us.”
The pair passed by a long, narrow dais, upon which a series of dazzlingly beautiful men and women stood, clad in next to nothing. Each had a small display console at their feet, with a series of lurid, universally understood symbols in solid light advertising their skillsets. In the centre of the circle was a flashing number; their hourly rate.
Zoy gave each one a cursory glance. Gesturing towards a young man who was busy flexing his biceps, she glanced at his card and said “He should be charging more”. Richley studiously looked at everything but the people for sale.
Soon, they passed through the brothel district and entered a murkier area beyond. “Keep an eye out for a replicator.” Richley nodded and coughed as his lungs filled with the acrid stench of street food being sold off a sputtering grill. “I get the feeling all this would have gone very differently if the Cap was a dyed-in-the-wool border woman.” Zoy sighed, resentful that she had been pulled away from her burrowlike Sickbay for what essentially amounted to glorified grocery shopping. “What? I thought she was.” “Sure, she grew up on stations like this,” Zoy explained, her hands plunged deep into her pockets, fiddling with the trinkets she’d stuffed into them before they left. “...Her medical scans are evidence of that, but those years in Starfleet...” Zoy clicked her tongue in mild disapproval. She glanced at her young companion, naive in so many ways despite his years of service. “I think they saw her coming. And it’s not the first time.” “I like her”, Richley replied, meekly. “Oh, me too. Don’t misunderstand… but it's not like the grand council are loving this whole Danann/Winston duet either. I’ve heard that the Vercingetorix crew call us the “Starfleet” ship. And I won’t repeat with I hear they say on the Boudicca… It grinds my gears.” They ducked under a half fallen support beam and wound their way through a wave of children, all looking for a hand out. “From the outside looking in, I wouldn’t trust us, either,” she added, careful to bat away any light-fingered hands that got too close. “There’s one!” Richley interrupted with relief, anything to get off that uncomfortable topic. He veered off to the side, and started to haggle at a small stall.
Several minutes later, the away team left with a bag full of crystal replicas. “Not sure why we even need these.” “Classic decoy, love. The more chances you give a thief to ‘find’ what they’re looking for,” she pulled her tunic pockets inside out; they were completely empty after their encounter with the children. “...the less likely it is they’ll take the thing that actually matters.” She patted the small pouch she kept around her neck. “Cap hides these replicas all over the ship, maybe we get lucky and the real one stays hidden.” Richley saw the wisdom in that. “OK, next, we find something to counter those pheromones, right…?” Zoy nodded. “Right.”
---
“I don't think anyone ever truly knew him. He was pretty closed off, like. Hard to read. ‘Stoic’, you know?” she raised her hands to indicate the distance that she usually felt between him and his crew. “… But that, I think was part of the appeal.” She considered her words carefully. “If he let you in, even a little bit, you felt you'd been handed a gift. Like ‘wow, he's trusting me’, you know? Seeing him vulnerable was rare, so even the tiniest glance of indecision seemed precious somehow.” “He was the kinda person you just needed to impress.” She laughed, recalling her first few encounters with the now legendary Captain Rome. “I was so nervous. You think I’m tough to ex-oh for? He… was… a… nightmare.”
She twirled her tea, watching the loose leaves tumble in a rolling dervish in the depths of the dark liquid. “One of my own making, in fairness. I was nervous, and, you know, I could not figure out what he needed from me. Not like I lacked ex-oh experience. I had bounced around like a tribble in zero gee for years before that gig, temping here, replacing on short notice there… I swear, it felt like I was on the Admiral’s fucking speed dial for a few years.”
She sighed, tentatively allowing herself to dwell on the last glimpse she’d had of the Captain; alone, on his crumbling bridge, brave and terrified and determined as he ordered her and the few remaining bridge crew off the ship. He’d gone down with the Hyperion, observing the greatest and saddest of naval traditions, and in doing so, saved many of his crew, and countless colonists on the planet below. “There was only one time I think I saw the real Rome.” Her lips tightened into a thin line.
From the surface, she recalled staring in numb horror as a silent streak of fire ripped across the sky and heralded the sudden destruction of both her home and the end of the Captain she had idolised for so long.
She often wondered if she’d have the raw courage to do similar if it came to it. Her survival instinct was incredibly strong; she wouldn’t have made it through her childhood on Orion-held stations and mining colonies if she’d been weak. But strength, she had learnt, came in many forms.
“I dunno… I can’t explain it. There was something about him that made me desperate to impress. Just… from the last moment to the first, I never wanted to disappoint him. The fact that I let him down so publically…” She’d refused an order on the bridge of the Hyperion, and had forced Rome to relieve her of duty. “… it still eats me up.”
Danann sipped her tea and eyed the empty plate nestled between her leaning elbows. “He wanted me to set a course that would have taken us off grid, on some sort of cloak and dagger bullshit. I couldn’t do it. I just… couldn’t. Sneaking around always leads to trouble, you know? But the look on his face when I said No nearly killed me. I swore I’d never deny him an order again, so… in the end… when he told us all to leave…” she sighed, shrugged and pressed her lips tight against her rising despair. She gathered herself and whispered, “How could I say No...?” Her gaze cast up at her XO. “Sorry, I lost track of myself, there, uh…” she tried for a self-conscious laugh. “... what did you ask me again?” Winston drained his own cup and surveyed his captain with a healthy dose of unease. “I was wondering how you’d deal with an insubordinate crew member?” “Oh…” she cleared her tight throat and gripped her tea cup tightly. “Hadn’t given it much thought. We’re all on the same page here.”
“Actually, Captain. I’ve a, er, confession to make.” He pushed his left-over hasperat across the table towards her. “Now seems like a good time to tell you.” “This a bribe, huh…?” she responded, taking the food offering without ceremony. “It's about Leeson.” “Sent Captain Loran another complaint about me, did he?” “... you know he has his trust issues.” Winston began to explain, not for the first time. “He’s a weasel”, she interrupted, her mouth full of food already.
Truth was, she knew Leeson’s life had been tough, and she certainly empathized. But while both she and he went through remarkably similar childhoods, Leeson had come out of it with a robust distaste for all things Starfleet and its pampered ways. Whereas Danann, on first learning about the Federation saw it as her saving grace. Leeson resented it, hated it, and hated her as a direct result.
Danann swallowed the mouthful she had been chewing on, and wiped her lips on the back of her hand. She saw the impatience on Winston’s broad face. “Still hasn’t warmed to me, huh? Could have sworn he was getting less jumpy recently.” “Just cause he’s settled down doesn’t mean he trusts you.” Sigh. She took another bite. “You remember that message you got from Starfleet a while back...?” Winston ploughed on. Niamh stopped chewing and looked over at him, knowing what was coming. She put the last of the hasperat down with a dissatisfied plunk, and wiped her fingers on the side of her leg. “Uh-huh..?” “Well,” Winston began. “He didn’t delete it, did he?” she asked, swallowing. “Not exactly.” “Not… exactly?” “No.” “Dammit, Winston! This is something you should have brought to me immediately! How am I supposed to run this ship the way the council wants me to if I can’t even trust my own-” “Hey, set phasers to stun, lady! Stand down red alert, Captain Core Breach! I didn’t know until last week. And by then you were covered in larva babies… didn’t seem to be the right time.” “...Fair point.” “Leeson sees you as incurably Starfleet.” “Are you’re not…?” “I left the ‘fleet and joined up here years ago. He thinks you only left when things got… tough… inside the Fed’. I think he sees that as a sign that you’re less than committed to the cause.” “He does, or you do?” “You don't have to worry about me.” Niamh paused to consider his words, decided she had no reason to doubt him and waved him to continue.
“Getting that message, and seeing your reaction to it probably made him suspicious.” “So, to allay his irrational fears, I should have stuck it on screen for all to see, and read whatever it was out loud over the comm?!” The hasperat was all but forgotten. “Winston, I have constant pressure from the council on one hand, and a sly little shit of a pilot on the other. I swear to god, this bollocks is enough to make me wanna throw in the towel, you know?”
“Let’s put a pin in your resignation letter for now. The message? He, er, brought it to me. I think you should read it.” “Why?... Wait, you read it?” “Some.” “Some?” “About half” “How do you know it was half unless you read the whole thing?” “Keen observation.” “And?” “And I'm glad I read it, but I wish I hadn't?” “Get Leeson. That little asshole is gonna be recalibrating the grav plating on B Deck til I can glide along like a motherfucking swan.” “Right away, But… read it, OK?” “Yea. After I kick his fucking ass til it’s bluer than Kring’s face.”
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Post by Einar on Oct 8, 2017 15:46:19 GMT
brilliant log and I am really excited to see more!
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Post by aoibheni on Oct 17, 2017 19:11:34 GMT
Like an oak come to life, Winston lumbered to his feet and nodded once. Danann silently watched him leave the mess with a sense of warm gratitude in her chest. Even now, when his mind must be at least as preoccupied as hers with thoughts of how soft Lil’s delicate green skin would feel under searching fingertips, he kept himself under control.
This mission, she felt, had been a bust at every turn, but she found she could count on her XO without question. “You can trust me”, he'd said, and despite his blemished Starfleet service record, she believed him. Her lips twitched thinking what a loss to Starfleet he had been. How quick they had been to punish him for one lapse in honesty.
She wondered briefly if they missed her or him more on the other side of the border.
With a calming breath, she followed him out of the small, cramped mess but as she ducked into the short, badly lit corridor beyond, the comm unit on a nearby bulkhead chirped. “Cap, situation” was all Winston had to say to make her hair stand on end. “Tell me” she ordered with rising dread. “He's not on board.” “Get the doc and meet me in the mess.” “Aye” The comm cut.
Danann punched the unit once more, shipwide “Richley, check on our cargo, immediately.” “No need, Cap, it’s safe” the young engineer chirped back. “Check it now” she said, urgency punctuating every syllable. There was a pause. Danann heard the crunch of metal and the shuck of a collapsing pile of stembolts over the scuffed speaker. Seconds later, a panic-stricken Rich’ wheezed, “It’s gone ma’am!” Danann cursed Leeson in a manner wholly unworthy of a lady, her voice echoing through all three decks of the Granuaile.
---
“Doc, have we got protection yet?” she asked, the second Zoy’s head appeared through the mess hall’s entryway “I was working on it til you summoned me!” Danann stood, stretched, her neck cracking with tension, and set her teeth. “Not fast enough!” She brushed past Winston, their earlier misunderstanding already forgotten, and headed for the door. Winston looked at her with barely hidden incredulity. “What’s the plan? Have you even got a plan?” he asked, his brows knitting at the sight of her determined expression. Danann removed her disruptor from its holster and swiftly installed a fresh power unit. She snapped the cover in place. “I’m getting that gobshite back.”
Winston stared at Zoy, unsettled. He could hear his Captain’s booted footsteps already receding rapidly. “Well, she’d not coming back…” The doctor observed him dryly, “Guess that’s gonna make you Captain, now.”
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Post by Einar on Oct 18, 2017 6:55:15 GMT
....and what happens next??
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Post by spacedaisy on Oct 18, 2017 16:08:03 GMT
Those last lines were fantastic!
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Post by aoibheni on Nov 4, 2017 14:52:10 GMT
“Look,” she snarled through tightly gritted teeth, “I’m sick of this shit.” The business end of her disruptor was pressed firmly into Trite’s chest. “I want my pilot back, immediately.”
Trite felt himself pushed harder into the back of his chair, his balding head pressed against the rough surface of the transparent aluminium window that overlooked the cacophonous merchant deck below. Niamh’s left hand had grabbed a fistfull of his tunic the moment he was in reach. She pulled him forward, and launched him back against the window once more. His head bounced with a satisfying thud. A few merchants below glanced up with mild interest, then got back to their selling.
“That idiot isn’t worth all this palaver”, he appealed, raising a placid hand to the barrel of her disruptor, attempting to swat it aside. He was rewarded only with a painful poke. “Yea,” she growled, “but he’s my idiot. And you, and your green goon stole him. And I swear to you, Trite, if I see him anywhere near that flesh market you call a red-light district, heads will fucking roll, is that clear?!” Niamh’s index finger brushed against a small control pad to the side of her disruptor. For a moment, Trite’s attention flickered to a spot over Danann’s shoulder, but he quickly regain focus.The weapon whined as it warmed up. “Safety’s off, asshole. I’ll be getting my pilot, and my gem back immediately, or I’ll see you, and your little corner of the universe torn to shreds.” Trite smiled briefly. “You and whose army?” Danann felt her blood boil. She leant close. “My fucking army,” she growled, sliding the disruptor up to rest on the man’s clavicle. “I don’t see ‘em anywhere.” He shifted his weight, once again glancing over her shoulder. “Besides, you’re Starfleet. You won’t kill me in cold blood. Not your nature.” The aggression building in her blood spilled over. Before she thought it through, she’d swung her heavy weapon and let it impact with his jawline.
Trite winced, spat blood, but remained infuriatingly calm. “Just because your little organisation named itself after a bunch of self-righteous and, may I remind you, very, very dead, former Federation citizens with a genuine grudge… doesn’t give YOU an ounce of clout.” He eyed the weapon now pressed menacingly under his chin. “I could call myself the Grand Nagus tomorrow, but that wouldn’t put one more slip of latinum in my purse, love.” “You’ve reneged on a deal, Trite!” “The meds are delayed, I swear! If you take a breath, calm down and think this through, you’d see this isn’t some big conspiracy. “I am calm!” she yelled. Trite let a thin chuckle escape his ratty little lips. “Lil really did a number on you, I see. She really is something, that woman.” “It takes more than a pretty face to turn my head.”
“So brave,” a voice cooed from the space behind her. She felt her skin prickle. Her.
“So gallant,” the voice continued, <<I like that>> “selfless…” <<so brave>> “I like that…”
Niamh tensed up as she felt Lil’s feather light touch tickling the curve of her lower back. Trite’s expression changed immediately, his eyes no longer trained on the disruptor, but now, watching Lil’s every motion with deep and steady interest. “Your pilot must be very special to you, to…” she glided to Niamh’s side, her fingers trailing a slow, meandering line along Danann’s belted waist, <<so brave>> “to come in, disruptor drawn, and risk everything to save him in so dramatic a fashion.” Lil smiled, her broad red lips parting to reveal perfect, white teeth. “So heroic.”
“I’m not interested,” Niamh intoned flatly, her voice strained, “in idle chatter with your side-kick, Trite. Get her out of here.” Her eyes were still fixed on him, but she was battling hard to keep them there. Blurred vision, heavy lids and an almost irresistible curiosity were threatening to break her hard-fought resolve. Her disruptor quivered gently in her tense, sweaty hand. “Pity your pilot thought so little of you…” Lil purred, as she let her fingertip play with the gilted edge of Niamh’s side-slung belt buckle. She curled a red-taloned finger and chuffed the metal with her nail, <<you deserve better>>, picking at it briefly with cat-like disinterest. “He was desperate to throw everything away just to satisfy his own desires.” <<you deserve more>> “You should have seen him waving that gem around… No regard for you, everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve here, no respect.”
Danann’s grip wavered as her disruptor shuddered violently against Trite’s chest. She knew she had to get out of here, but she already sensed her body wasn’t going to obey without concerted effort. She tightened her grip on her weapon. Get out of here, and go find yourself a nice Risan or two with a duffel bag full of horgons… You got this, Nia. Piece of cake… On the count of three, turn and leave.
“Look at me” Lil purred. Ignore her… “I want... my pilot back… I want…” <<You want to give in. You deserve to relax.>> “Tell me what you want, Captain.” “I w-” Three... “I can give you anything you want if you look at me.” <<look at me>> Lil rested the pads of her green fingertips lightly under Danann’s chin, <<I know what you want>>. The contact sent a dizzying shot of adrenaline through Niamh’s tense body. She heard herself draw a breath through gritted teeth as her back straightened. She hardly noticed, but she’d completely let go of Trite. Both he, and his chair had scurried away out of sight. Two... “When was the last time anyone put your needs before theirs, I wonder?” Lil slid her hand across Danann’s smooth neck and applied the barest of pressure to her jawline, turning her head with ease. Lil smiled, this one would be easier to break than she had anticipated. Danann’s green eyes widened as she focussed on the woman now moving gracefully into the space Trite had occupied moments before. ...One “When was the last time someone dedicated themselves selflessly to your needs? Hm?” Niamh’s eyes drank in the vision before her, her breath quickening as her head filled with pheromones; her countdown immediately forgotten as her attention slid from Lil’s mesmerising eyes to her perfect, cupid-bow lips. “...discovering what you like, recognising what makes you shiver,” Lil inched closer with every word, “...where you like to be touched”... with her lips mere inches from Niamh’s, her hand snaked around the back of Danann’s neck, and trailed her nails in small, neat circles on her tattooed skin… “how you like to be kissed?”
It was all Danann could do to remember to breathe, she felt her body drawn towards Lil’s intoxicating touch in ways she couldn’t process. She heard herself mumble something about a Starfleet Captain. “It’s been that long, hm?” Lil pouted, leaning in with a soft smile. <<You deserve more>> “That’s a long time to deny yourself pleasure,” Lil cooed, brushing her plump, lower lip against Danann‘s.
Niamh reacted before she could stop herself, lunging forward hungrily and catching Lil’s perfect mouth against her own in a crush of animalistic need. Her disruptor clattering harmlessly to the ground, her arms greedily pulled Lil close.
She lost herself in the kiss and yes, god yes, she deserved this. Her skin cried out to be touched and scratched and, god she needed this, she deserved this, she wanted this, and kissed in a hundred places. She drank in the feel of Lil’s perfect, soft body pressed against hers, her fingers frantically exploring the ebb and flow of her thighs and hips and the curve of her back and yes!, she shuddered and gasped, Lil’s lips and teeth finding softness on her neck and nipping sharply then soothing and sighing and whispering promises, then nipping again. Niamh’s mind filled with a million desires, tumbling and boiling, I want this, and shot through with greed and need and a craving for Lil’s body that went deeper than anything she’d felt before. “I need you to do something for me”, Lil purred breathlessly as she guided Danann back against the edge of Trite’s desk, and reclaimed her mouth. Niamh melted once more into the kiss, nodding blindly, a malleable and willing volunteer. She gasped, her fevered blood filling with pheromones with each deep, ecstatic and laboured breath. "Anything"
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Post by aoibheni on Nov 5, 2017 14:54:34 GMT
“You are confined to quarters until further notice, is that clear?”. Her voice was hoarse and rough. “You're seriously sending me to my room?!” Leeson scoffed, indignant and red-faced. “You will remain there until I say otherwise. Zoy will bring you your meals. Dismissed.” “You can't dismiss me. This isn't Starfleet!” Danann slammed her fist on the small galley table, fury flashing across her features. “I SAID DISMISSED!!”
Wilson watched silently from his vantage point as Leeson was been carted reluctantly away between Zoy and Richley. “Gonna take his pocket money too?” he asked softly. Niamh remained bent-backed, her weight on her fists, but she turned her head to glare at him. “Don't you start.” “I'm not,” he replied gently. “Hell, he's lucky you didn't keelhaul him.” “My hypocrisy is making you uncomfortable, is that it?” Winston watched her silently. Niamh straightened, folded her arms defensively and tried not to think about Lil. “He went in there to get laid. I went in there to get him back. What happened was -" “-inevitable.” Danann felt her cheeks flush. “Maybe a part of you wanted to get caught,” he raised a hand hoping to silence the barrage of excuses he knew was coming, “and that’s OK, Cap. Hell, I’m kinda jealous. That shit looked hot.” His attempt at humour fell flat, so he changed tack.
“You’re taking your anger with yourself out on him...” Niamh bowed her head, eyeing up the filtered breathing apparatus, sitting on the table at an angle, that Zoy had fashioned for Winston’s rescue attempt.
It had all happened in a flash. She had been so completely caught up in Lil’s web that she hadn’t heard Winston blast open the door and charge into the room like a panzer. She had been so thoroughly entranced by the Orion woman and her own growing need, that the feel Winston’s strong forearm around her waist hadn’t registered until he’d pulled her bodily across the desk and slammed a hypo into her neck.
“...And that’s a lot of anger you’ve got bottled up, Cap...”
The next thing she remembered was him holding her struggling shoulders down on a biobed while Zoy took samples and administered a cocktail of drugs to counter the effects of Lil’s chemical manipulation. She couldn’t recall what she had been shouting, but she had definitely been shouting - her rough voice was evidence of that - and she was damn sure she had given away more details of her past than she’d have liked.
“...Can’t blame him for reacting the way he did.” “Watch me.” she replied, but her shoulders had relaxed. She knew he was right. “This…” she sighed, waving a hand at herself, “is just the aggression that comes with an Orion’s effect on the human body,” she explained. “It’ll wear off.” “No, it’s not. And no, it won’t… Look, Cap,” he paused, picking his words with care. “I don’t know who this Tony guy is, what happened, or... why you think comparing me to him was an insult… but I do have a notion about this ‘Sarah’ you talked about… yelled about, really…” Niamh fought the urge to turn and run. “Oh god…” “Don’t worry. Zoy amended the Sickbay visual log.” “That doesn’t make me feel a hell of a lot better.” “Have you read that message yet?”
When was the last time anyone put your needs before theirs, I wonder?
Niamh’s eyebrow twitched. “It’s from them…?” “It’s from… one of them.”
...discovering… where you like to be touched...
Her eyes filled with unwelcome tears.
… how you like to be kissed?
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Post by aoibheni on Dec 31, 2017 16:56:46 GMT
“Computer,” she said, her voice soft as she sat alone in her tiny cockpit. The air was cold, power supply from Orion station El was intermittent at best, and the crew had resolved to grin and bare the discomfort rather than constantly switch forward and back from station to ship power. She huddled down in her thick, full length coat, the fur-collar giving some warmth in an otherwise hostile chill. She set her booted feet on the side of her console and breathed out, watching her breath condense in etherial wisps. Eventually, sluggish from the cold, the computer responded with a chirp. “Regular search parameters, scan Federation bands only. Search for transmissions, news articles, declassified data, since last complete scan. Begin.”
The computer chirped its assent and the screen slowly filled up with a list of terms. Danann had done this search during moments of melancholy so often she could have recited the parameters from memory, but somehow, setting the the computer to automatic meant she didn’t have to say aloud all that she was missing.
The first; Hyperion - Rome - Captain - Jonathan One never knows, she thought, hope lives on.
The second; <USS Bremen in relation to: * Adalberto - Tony * - Anthony *> Tony Adalberto/Anthony Adalberto - “MIA” - “Missing In Action” - “KIA” - “Killed In Action” - “Found” - Known Associates Someday, she knew, someone somewhere would say something, reveal something…
So far removed from him in time, she had lost all desire to see him again, she believed. But the “why?” of it, the “where?”... that still haunted her, angered her, upset her beyond her ability to shake.
Just a snippet of information would, she thought, satiate her curiosity. “* Adalberto, crash landed shuttle, rescue mission, derelict moon, died of atmospheric exposure” Or “Married Academy sweetheart, retired, owner and manager of "Tony's Bologna" Italian restaurant on Risa”...
Anything, really. She just needed a direction to aim her hurt feelings… but so far, her searches had revealed absolutely nothing. Her anger was left to swirl aimlessly around her head like her misting breath.
“Hungry?” The voice made her jump, her fingers fumbling with the viewscreen controls, cancelling her active search moments too late. Winston chose to ignore her guilty reaction as well as the words flickering across the viewscreen. “I have spiced blood soup” he said, raising one sealed tub and ducking into the cockpit, avoiding banging his head on the overhead controls by a whisker, “...or smoked fish head broth… I kid you not that’s the best lunch we have on offer.” “This is unacceptable, I want to speak to the manager.” “‘Fraid that’s you, doll” he groaned, shivered and settled back into his own seat, wrapping a heavy scarf around his thick neck. “I long for the Andorian Red Bat stew days…” she replied quietly, and held out her hand. “Surprise me.” She felt a tub pressed into her palm. “At least there’s bread.”
“Thanks…” She stalled a moment, shifting herself against the backrest and listening to her old seat creak “...I miss burritos…” she admitted, carefully opening the small tub, balancing her bread on her leather-clad knee. “... and samosas… and those little, damn, what are they called?” she clicked her fingers, “...Bajoran wrapped things, crazy spicy… baccarat, kadis-kot?” “Hasperat,” “Yes! Damn, I miss them.” “I miss real food.” They both looked down at their steaming ration packs and sighed.
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Post by aoibheni on Jan 2, 2018 13:23:32 GMT
“Sooner we get back to Zeta Nine the better, huh?” Winston said, spearing a morsel of his meal with his spork. He examined his selection with mild disinterest before dropping the food, spork and all back into the tub and giving up. “For more reasons than one,” she agreed, quietly.
They had taken a number of unscheduled detours on this trip, and they both knew time was wearing thin. Getting that shipment of dertarium to Zeta Nine was becoming more urgent by the minute.
“In a way, I feel responsible,” Winston admitted. Danann nodded softly as she lifted her bread to her mouth and bit into it. “Neither of us were there, but…” “Yea, but… we both wore the uniform…”
Zeta Nine had, for a brief moment during the Dominion War, been the focal point of Starfleet retaliation against the last organisation to bare the name “Maquis”. It had been a dirty move on Starfleet’s part, dirty, spiteful and catastrophic.
“Damn that man,” Winston all but snarled. “Which man?” came his Captain’s reply - dry, rhetorical, conflicted. Winson shrugged. “Both? Neither? Plenty of blame to go around.” “One hell of a mess…”
Eddington, a hero to some, a villian to many, had attacked several Cardassian colonies in the demilitarized zone with a deadly biogenic weapon. Lacing the atmosphere with the nerve agent cobalt diselenide - among other creative compounds - he made the planets effectively off limits to anyone with Cardassian physiology. In direct retaliation, (and to halt further Maquis attacks), Captain Sisko, a hero to many, a villian to others… pulled the same trick on the Maquis outpost, Solosos III, this time using tricobalt resin to flush the planet of its Maquis inhabitants.
Many of the Maquis barely escaped on time, many suffered from a shopping list of ailments; partial paralysis, bell’s palsy, loss of vision, memory lapses, arrhythmia, pain, insomnia, depression… some, only felt the degenerative effects of the attack years, even decades later. Settling en masse on Zeta Nine, those who thought themselves free from injury renounced the Maquis, and picked up the pieces of their broken lives, vowing amongst themselves to live quiet, peaceful lives away from the ravages of powerful men’s egos.
It wasn’t until their children began to present with nerve damage that they realised Sisko’s punishment would continue unabated for quite some time.
“Those poor kids…” Some had weaknesses in their extremities, some dealt with gradually increasing pain, others needed medical help from their first, belaboured breath. The attack was twenty years ago, and the effects on the atmosphere would continue for another thirty at least. Danann knew right well most of the affected kids wouldn't live to set foot on their parents’ home planet without regular medical help.
Dertarium was a complex compound that had been shown to slow down the degenerative effects of this dominion era recklessness, and in some cases, halt it entirely. But, Zeta Nine was a planet on the wrong side of the Federation border. This hadn't been a problem while the Federation was strong, and mighty, and generous. Starfleet had made regular trips to the Zeta system with supplies and medication; a necessary and continuous apology for the careless, thoughtless actions of one of its most decorated and admired captains.
But, things change, and thanks to the Tzenkethi war, and the rise of the True Federation, the nature of the beast had gradually morphed. The federation’s borders had contracted suddenly and Starfleet had become increasingly lax in its duty of care to the population of Zeta Nine. Shipments were delayed without warning, urgent planetary communiques were ignored, deliveries dwindled in size and frequency until the Zetans were effectively left to fend for themselves.
That's when the Maquis had stepped in, saving those who had effectively renounced them half a generation earlier. A magnificent PR coup.
When Danann had joined, it seemed fitting, almost poetic even, that the one-time Starfleet commander should take on the responsibilities that her former colleagues had seemed so casually to toss aside.
“One hell of a mess, indeed…”
<credit is very much due to CJ for key plot points here>
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Post by aoibheni on Jan 2, 2018 17:09:35 GMT
Silence fell again as both of them cast their eyes on a timer counting down the seconds. “Three minutes…” Winston read aloud prompting Niamh to reach up and tap a small control over her head.
A compartment opened in her armrest and she dug a hand in, retrieving two sets of eye-wear. Tossing one to Winston, she closed the compartment with an elbow, twisted in her seat, depositing her now cold ration pack behind her, and put her own headset on, lowering the its transparent viewer over her eyes. She shivered and rubbed her cold fingers together.
In front of her, she could still see her cockpit controls, and the Orion stronghold of Space Station El, beyond her viewscreen. Projected over that however, she now could see a series of small, round platforms, low and flat, set in a perfect circle and extending in an arc in either direction away from her. She was one link in this holographic chain. The Council of Captains.
As time counted down to zero, more of the platforms became occupied with the holographic projections of captains from other Maquis vessels and mini fleets. Their ExOhs would also have the opportunity to watch and learn, though they, like Winston, would not be permitted any input.
Each one had a similar headset on, each one took up a link in the chain. Each was projected directly from their bridge to this group comm channel.
A few of the captains acknowledged each other with a nod or a wave, or a suspicious glance. All had learnt early on that comm links like this were not the place for idle conversation.
One by one the Captains took stock of their colleagues, each one paying attention to the few empty seats still waiting to be claimed. Three remained unoccupied as time ticked down to zero. A male human appeared within the last ten seconds, his hair wet against his face, his clothing half-fastened; someone had forgotten the time. A Vulcan, with three seconds to spare appeared, sitting straight-backed, unhurried; Tanal. He was exactly on time, as always.
One seat remained unclaimed. All eyes turned to it in tense silence.
“Has anyone been in contact with Oseth?” Captain Loran asked, breaking the uneasy silence. “Not since he crossed the border…” Ezia, a young Bajoran woman offered. Danann bit her lip. Oseth, an Andorian, had ventured into Federation space with his small band of raiders. She had advised caution when the mission was proposed, but when it came to the Fed, her opinion was habitually dismissed; her words of warning disregarded as evidence of her loyalty to her former uniform.
“Anyone got eyes on him?” Loran asked. “Maybe we should ask Starfleet’s Finest...” “Where is he, Danann...?” Loran’s voice once more, and Niamh felt her stomach drop. This again. “Wish I knew, Loran” she kept her face neutral and turned to look at the older woman. “It seems to me…” Ezia chimed in, her high voice and slow speech combining to create a uniquely sycophantic drawl, “that you hop in and out of Fed space without so much as a scratch, but when one of us do…” “One of ‘us’?” Danann interrupted, unable to hide her hurt feelings. Ezia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “When one of us cross it, we go missing almost immediately. Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”
Danann clenched her teeth. “Maybe it’s just bad luck, Ezia,” she surveyed the circle of suspicious eyes examining her every move. “Maybe his instincts failed him… Maybe.. He made a mistake… Maybe he defected, did you consider that? Maybe he had enough of your shit, took his raiders, and sailed off to Risa for a glass of ale and a well-deserved fuck...” “Or, you're feeding information to the Federation.” Loran was leaning forward in her seat, elbows on her knees, glaring at Danann. “Your continued smuggling successes point to direct help from inside the Fed. Who’s helping you?” “Dammit... Oseth could be sitting on the surface of Enceladus right now, holed up with his shipment of biomemetic gel, and a badly timed broken comm unit for all I know... just waiting for a chance to make a break for it!” “Occam’s razor would seem to apply here,” the Vulcan observed. “Thanks a bunch, Tanal…” Danann huffed.
“Chuckles has a point…” Ezia all but sang. “Jesus, Ezia, I mean, I know paranoia has basically been bred into your people over the last few hundred years, but -” Winston groaned beside her. “Bred?!” the Bajoran exploded, standing suddenly, and jabbing a finger directly at Niamh. “Bred??!? What are we to you, livestock?! Fuck you and your human superiority! No better than the damn Cardassians!!” Loran raised a hand for silence. “Jesus!” Danann snarled back, frustration and indignation mingling into a heady cocktail of self-righteous fury “...How many fucking times do I have to almost die before you get it into your thick skull that I’m not Starfleet anymore!?!” “That’s enough…” Loran ordered. “Oh, at least once more...,” the Bajoran snapped. “Oh, fuck off...The day I've fucking had?... you're lucky you're halfway across the fucking quadrant, you little shit…” “Oh yea?!” “Damn right! I swear to you, if you were here I'd smack those bitch-ass ridges right off your Prophet-huffing nose!" Winston sucked in a hissing breath. Danann ignored him, her outrage making her blind to anything but that fucking Bajoran and her shit-stirring ways. “I SAID… ENOUGH!” Loran roared, slamming her fist on her armrest.
In the moments that followed - in a silence laced with furious, laboured breaths and shot through with loathing - an Andorian appeared. His leather jacket was ripped at the shoulder and his young face was blackened with a smudge of soot. He held his side carefully, fresh blood shining on his hand, and sat heavily in the only vacant chair. “Sorry I’m late…”
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