Good to see you around again Eol! 

If they got somethin' to say, they can say it to our face! *cracks knuckles*

Per the "DM's note", Kith would want to know if the woodsman could say anymore about the man dressed all in black--facial features, hair, noticeable marks or scars or anything like that, symbols or markings on his clothes, could he see his hands and if so was there anything of note on them, weapons he may have had on him.

Whoop whoop

What is your age? 31
What is your gender? Female
Where you are from? Washington, USA
What is your relationship status? Shacking up with a cute gingerbeard man
Do you have children? Nope. Nada. Never. No way. Not even once.
What sort of work do you do? Slave away at a desk, trying to find a way to break free and not end up in a gutter
What is your dream job? To be required to travel around the world, exploring different cultures and trying new foods--basically whatever you might call what Anthony Bourdain's job was, that's my fever dream 
What hobbies do you have outside of gaming? Rock climbing! I'm horrible at it but I love it. Hiding around the apartment and jumping out to attack my boyfriend. Concerts. A very healthy Critical Role obsession. Sometimes I dress up as strange characters and go do stuff. Nerdy conventions. Random bouts of anime binging. Podcasts.

Stardate 2365.02.20
U.S.S. Peregrine; Deck 2 - CMO Quarters - 0445

"Mom!" Eleanor's little voice calls out to her, irritated though there's no one else in the world she would call for in a situation like this.

"Mom's busy right now, Peanut," Melody calls back as she dumps the young man's innards back into his stomach cavity and molds the open skin flaps back together like clay, "I'll be there in a minute!" She stands up and moves to the next patient, who is sleeping awkardly over the back of one of the shuttle seats. Her body is stretched impressively, but she would probably be more comfortable if she sat the right way.

"Moooooom!" Eleanor's voice is closer, even more agitated at her.

"I said just a minute, Ellie, it's rude to interrupt," Melody holds the woman's spine in place as she gently moves her into a proper sitting position.

The woman looks up at her, smiling wider than she had ever seen anyone smile, "Thank you Doctor Reine, I am much more comfortable now!" And then her head turns in a strange way and she falls back to sleep.

Melody sighs, holding her hands out to help the woman again just as her daughter's voice rings in her ears once more.

"MOM!" This time it's sudden and shrill and Melody jumps, spinning around toward her voice and the shuttle disappears.

They are in a forest and blood soaks them both. Five-year-old Eleanor is standing there impossibly, her sweet little body twisted and disjointed in a way she will never forget.

"Mom you were too late," she says, still irritated, but a little sad this time as well.

"Eleano-" her daughter's body falls to the ground, her face turned away from her in the way she had found her after the crash--

Melody bolts upright in her bed. The room is pitch black and sweat covers her body. She tries to regain control of her breathing and slow her heart rate. The tricks she had learned in the five years since this began had helped her learn to regulate and reorientate herself after waking up from the nightmare, though nothing had helped her stop them from happening, and she knew from experience that nothing would help her fall back asleep.

She looks at the time and is grateful for nearly having made it to 0500. Instead of worthlessly trying to sleep, Reine dons her fencing gear and carries her large, heavy duffle bag of swords in both arms to the holosuites.

Stardate 2365.02.20
U.S.S. Perigrine; Deck 5 - Holosuite 2 - 0510

Melody lowers her mask and steps away from the duffle she's settled in one of the corners of the holosuite, brandishing a well-used rapier in her right hand.

"Computer, begin rapier program Reine 4, Challenge 5," a little warm-up before she got to what she was truly here for.

The grid-like walls of Holosuite 2 melt away to a stone plateau on a gray day, overlooking a bavarian landscape. Her opponent materialized in a black garb, across from her in her whites.

She salutes them with her sword, then together they drop into their starting positions, "En-garde," she says, her father's French accent much more prominent now than the usual Arabic lilt bestowed on her from her mother, "pret," she takes a long, deep breath, "allez!" And the two begin their bout.

Melody allows her opponent to dance around her for a while, blocking and lightly parrying their thrusts as her body begins to wake up. Challenge 5 was a moderate difficulty, but nothing more to her than a way to get moving.

A few minutes pass of their back and forth before she ends the program and begins Challenge 10. This was nearly the fight she was looking for. Both parties lunging and blocking, dodging and parrying. She allows corps-à-corps in Challenge 10 and graciously accepts the consequences as she is shoved into the large rock face behind her. She ducks to the side as her opponent's blade lodges into the space her head had been and she jams her shoulder into their stomach, shoving them away to give her more room.

Mom, she hears in the back of her mind and stops.

"Computer," she says through heavy breaths as her opponent recovers and charges back at her, "pause simulation," their blade stops near her midsection and their body is still. She pushes up her mask and walks around them. She leans over her duffle and pulls out a long dagger, "Begin rapier and dagger program Reine 2, Challenge 10, reset." Another opponent in black garb appears, this time holding the two weapons.

This bout begins and continues more ferociously than the last. Melody wastes no time in attacking. The extra blade makes it more difficult to hit or parry and the hate and anger she usually keeps to herself she gladly begins to share with this opponent. They land a hard hit in her left shoulder that would have gone all the way through had she not been wearing her protective gear and she responds even more harshly.

Her tactics change, trying instead to maneuver her small frame to within arm's length. Growing up usually a little smaller than anyone she was sparring with in both hand-to-hand and sword combat, Melody had been forced to reconcile her disadvantages in reach and turn them into her strengths. Eventually she moves in such a way that catches her opponent off-guard and he stumbles for just a moment, and that is all she needs. She steps in too close, tightening her hand around the hilt of her dagger and unleashes a punch up into their jaw. Their mask flies off and Melody turns her body, delivering a side kick into their gut, and as they gasp for the wind she's knocked out, she sends another side kick into their knee and they collapse into the dirt.

Moooooom, it comes again.

"Computer!" she shouts, stomping back to her duffle bag and throwing the blades to the ground, she reaches for another sword and a small shield, "begin shamshir and separ program Reine 1, Challenge 20," the curved sword feels dark in her hand, perfect for what she needs, "reset!"

This time her opponent wields a similar curved sword and matching small shield, and the landscape changes into a Lebanese countryside.

The Middle Eastern style sword offers the sort of bloody, hacking, slashing style of fighting she is craving. Sweat pours down her face now, nearly obscuring her view in the mask. Her opponent kicks her feet from under her and she rolls away from a killing strike, using the strength left in her legs to jump back up and block another onslaught with her increasingly bruised, shielded arm. Melody goes on her own attacks, unleashing more pain, her technique almost non-existent in the face of the brutality she feels. Which is why once more she ends up cornered, hardly able to lift either arm anymore. A strike hits her hard across her chest and she hears the last one.

MOM!

"Computer, pause simulation," she throws off her mask, and can hardly speak through her heavy breaths, "begin jiu-jitsu progam, Reine 0."

Her opponent is in a black gi, and the holosuite transitions into the jiu-jitsu sparring space she trained in as a young adult. Melody takes off her gloves and approaches the man. She takes her stance, her arms a little lower than they should be but as high as she can raise them, her posture off enough to make her an easy target.

She is thrown to the ground immediately. Even not worn down and weary, Melody was not the greatest jiu-jitsu fighter. She had always preferred a pointy stick.

She hits the gound hard and the wind is sucked out of her lungs. Her opponent is on her immediately, holding her in place and bending her arm in such a way that excruciating pain is sent down her entire body. She stares at the ceiling as the simulated jiu-jitsu master wrenches her arm, waiting for her to yield, and finally she does. He jumps away and Melody ends the simulation. She lays there for a moment, still staring at the now grid-patterened ceiling of the holosuite, in pain and unsure if she will be able to move for a while, but finally feeling better.

Eventually the doctor rolls onto her side and forces herself to stand. Hobbling over to her duffle bag she gives herself a sardonic smile, wondering how she's going to get the heavy thing filled with all of her weapons back up to her room.

It always ended this way and she never learned.

Yeah, I always have a bunch of tabs open too, This will be SUPER useful!

((Collab with Altaira))

Stardate 2365.02.20
USS Peregrine; Deck 4 - CMO's Office, 1030

Melody leans back in her chair, rubbing her sore shoulder. Even on her day off she finds it difficult to occupy her mind with anything more than work. She hates the way her mind wanders and finds any way to get it to go in a direction she can manage. She had already spent time in the holodeck though, competing with fencing warriors from across the galaxy. Now the only thing on her mind was this: Chief Dana Cook's files lay before her. Her medical records, her service record, but also and perhaps most interestingly, Dr. Synklar's private files on her.

She taps her comm-badge, "Reine to Chief Cook."

=/= Cook here, Doctor =/=

"Apologies for disturbing you on your day off, Chief, but I would like to speak with you regarding your medical record. Please finish up whatever I may have interrupted and make your way to my office at your earliest convenience. I would like to see you within the hour."

There was a hesitation of a few seconds before a reply from Cook. =/= Aye Doctor. I'll be there within 10 mins.=/=

"Excellent, I will see you then. Reine out." She leaned forward again, skimming once more the files that had occupied much of her time--at least, the time that wasn't spent researching Betazoid mutations, cybernetic prostheses, writing up courses to ensure her team was up-to-date with the inner-workings of each of the races represented on the Peregrine, or anything of the sort. No, she had been observing the Chief since she had read Synklar's private CMO files three days ago, when she had first boarded the ship.

Cook was young, she was strong, commanding. That she would contract such a thing as Irumodic Syndrome was improbable, but not impossible, and that was one of the more devastating things about it. There was no cure for this thing, it just ate away at your neural system until you expired. In the meantime it could affect your behavior and your decision-making, it could make you delusional and irrational.

There hadn't been much reported in the doctor's file since her first few entries after her diagnosis, and nothing from the CMO who followed her. Thus far, Melody hadn't seen anything in Cook's behavior warrenting attention, however it had only been three days. This meeting would be to get Cook's firsthand account of how she has been affected and how she could be supported, as well as to let her know exactly where Melody stood on the issue.

Stardate 2365.02.20
USS Peregrine; Deck 3 – Chief Cook's quarters, 1030

=/= Excellent, I will see you then. Reine out. =/=

Cook sighed and slowly sat down as the weigh of what this meant; Dr. Reine had obvious found some reference to her condition in Dr. Synklar's private records. She had dreaded this since Dr. Synklar had left the ship. The last CMO, Dr. Moore, was only here a short time and had apparently not delved that deeply into the records, so Dana's condition had not been exposed. But, the new Doctor had apparently found something in the files, if she was wanted to talk to her regarding her medical record.

Taking a deep breath, Cook stood up, unconsciously straightening her uniform as she steeled herself for the conversation that she wasn't going to be able to avoid. She headed out the door of her quarters and towards the CMO's office.

Stardate 2365.02.20 
USS Peregrine; Deck 4 - CMO's Office, 1038

Dana paused outside the door to the office, where she took another deep breath before entering. She stood before the desk which the Doctor was sitting behind.

“Yes Doctor?” Dana asked as if she didn't know what this was all about. She was going to let the Doctor expose her condition, if that was the situation. She wasn't stupid enough to open her mouth and assume she knew; that is often how people exposed themselves when they assumed someone knew something when they didn't.

"Please," Reine said, gesturing to one of the chairs across from her, "have a seat."

Dana made no verbal response, but she nodded and sat down with a grim expression on her face.

"Very well." She leans forward, "I'll be blunt with you, I have read through Dr. Synklar's files and have found her diagnosing you with Irumodic Syndrome. First, I am sorry this has happened to you and will work to support you the best way I can. That being said, I am disappointed that with something like this, you chose not to tell me yourself. That isn't to say that I don't understand why you decided to keep it a secret from me, but I am your CMO and you are my Head Nurse. I expect more transparency and trust in the future, is that clear?"

Again Dana said nothing, though her expression hardened slightly, before she nodded once.

"Now," she says, softer but still direct, "to the main reason I asked you down here. Tell me about your condition. I know what it is and what it does, but tell me about your experience with it. Specifically, I would like to know from your experice how the symptoms began to manifest, when Synklar noticed the symptoms, and how they have progressed since your first being affected by them. I would also like to know how the peridaxon has been helping you, and if it is having the same effect against your symptoms now as it did six months ago." Reine leans back in her chair, her eyes never leaving the Chief, as she awaits her response.

"Doctor," Dana began, then stopped and swallowed visibly before continuing, "It began with me having issues with my memory, and incidents of confusion where I wouldn't remember what I was doing or why. Then there were some moments where I 'imagined' things happening that didn't. Finally I began to experience some shaking of my hands which were uncontrollable. It was at that point when I approached Dr. Synklar and she diagnosed me after a series of tests and consultations with Star Fleet Medical."

It was obvious from the clipped tone of the Chief that she was not comfortable talking about it to her, despite her being the CMO. Cook's posture was very rigid as she spoke; her expression showing signs of trepidation.

"The Doctor did a lot of research, during which she agreed to keep my condition just between us as long as it didn't interfere with my work. Eventually, she told me what it was and that it was incurable, but that some studies did show that Peridaxon had some success in alleviating the symptons and slowing the progress of the disease. It did help, a lot, and she authorized me to self administer the drug under her supervision. Since I started the treatment, I have had no delusional incidents, less confusion and the neurological symptoms have been few. I believe the treatment is working."

Dana paused for a moment, and once again visibly swallowed; her fears at telling the new CMO and what the new Doctor might do about it.

"Doctor," Cook continued, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you first. May I speak freely?"

Reine nods her confirmation.

"You are new here, only a few days. You speak of trust we should have, but we're talking about my career here. I don't know you Doctor, and I don't know if I can trust you. But now I don't have a choice since you now know the situation. So I have to put my life, my career, in your hands."

"Chief Cook, I understand your concern for your career, but mine is with this crew. That includes you. While I can see the reasoning behind your concerns, I hope that you can see the validation in mine and understand where I'm coming from. The symptoms of Irumodic Sydrome aren't just a cough and a sore throat. They have the potential to cause harm to yourself and to others aboard the Peregrine." She paused a moment, studying the frustration in her head nurse. It was wasn't fair, she knew, but things like this never were. And regardless of the fairness of the disease or the current results of her treatment, that didn't negate what could and would happen over time.

"Despite how I'm sure I'm coming off, I am relieved that the peridaxon seems to be having a positive effect on you. I don't see any need at this time to bring this to light and will keep it in my private files for now. You are due a physical exam though. I'll see to that myself as well," she holds up a finger, "My only stipulation, is that you keep me up-to-date on how your treatments are going, if the peridaxon continues to have the same effects, and if anything at all changes regarding your condition. Are you able to do that?"

“Doctor,” Dana started then paused and seemed to reassess her words before continuing, “as I said, we don't really know each other, but I will tell you this right now so that you will understand me. I would never let my condition jeopardize the crew or anyone. If I perceived a possible threat that my symptoms would be hazardous to others, I would gladly come forth and expose my illness and relieve myself from duty.”

Reine was grateful for that, however despite her talk of trust, there still lingered that cautious modicum of doubt in the back of her mind. She had no doubt in the Chief's abilities or determination, but a patient's well-being could often fool even themselves.

“Now as to your stipulations,” she goes on, “I agree with them and I will keep you updated at a minimum of weekly, or immediately if there are any sudden changes. I would appreciate you conducting my physical, for the record. I appreciate you willing to keep this between us for now, and I promise that I won't betray your trust. I do hope that we can both learn more about each other, and we can grow to completely trust each other.”

All of the tension that was evident earlier in their conversation has all but disappeared; Chief Cook's demeanor is now one of relief that they can move forward and work together without any unpleasant awkwardness.

"I feel the same way," Reine gives her a small smile as she walks around the desk, meeting the Chief as she herself rises from her seat, "Trust takes time, I know, but on a small ship in the middle of nowhere, it's a luxury we can't afford to squander. I hope I didn't cause too much contention with my frankness, I just thought you might appreciate that to any sugar-coating." She walks with her to the door of her office, "Thank you for your time, Chief, I'll see you soon."

Steam turned to face the worthless clone, to which rank and title obviously meant nothing, and already regretted the breath he was about to spend on him, "If that's what Team Leader wants, Morale Officer, I'm not one to speak out of turn though," he smirked as he turned back toward Team Leader, tired of wasting his time, "I didn't even learn that in the military, though it helped. That was a good old fashioned Friend Computer upbringing that taught me that. Great job at the morale boosting, by the way," he says, his back completely to the clone again, "I can honestly say I haven't ever felt this way about getting a job done before."

I haven't heard of it not working 

Here, let me write you a doctor's note, Giddy, that oughta do it!

The line moved another half an inch forward and Steam buried his hands deeper into his crossed arms to restrain himself from recycling everything around him. Didn't these idiots know they worked for Friend Computer? He squinted, trying to see the front of the line. Such inefficiency.

An Orange steps out of line, trying to cut the process, and is blown to clone hell.

That cheers Steam up a bit and he doesn't even try to hide the glee on his face at the smoking of a traitor. His hands twitch once more for his laser pistol, wishing only that it had been his finger on the trigger. The glee only lasts so long, in the long run, as it's three more hours before it is their turn to talk to the pastey-faced Infrared behind the counter.

GerblegrumferdumberlInfrassholesperkinmothrerderk, Steam thinks to himself, too disgusted to make out his own inner rantings anymore. He stands where he should, behind Team Leader, but he can feel the heat of his anger radiating off of him.

"Welcome to the PLC, Citizens!" the scumbag oozes and Steam wants to soak the blades of the hoverbot with the Infrared's shit-eating grin, "I am here to expedite your equipment requests. Please provide your mission number to begin." When it's made clear that their team has no mission number, that grin falls away, "If there is no mission number, then no equipment has been reserved for you. Thank you, and have a nice day."

Infraredsuckingpireciashitiafacenkerntmcokbitinghor.

Blowz turns to the jackobot, "Jackzie, Ze Mizzion nomber. Zu punched it inzu se dorz beforz. Zu muzt knowz it. Tellz se nizz zuperiorz clonz ze numberz. Yez?"

Steam snaps out of his internal grumblings at the sound of Blowz having an idea.

"Hey," he says under his breath and pokes Team Leader in the shoulder, "Hey Team leader, wouldn't ever try to tell you how to do your job or anything, but this guy's an Infrared," he says louder, glancing at the pipsqueak, "you have authority over him. You could recycle him for being uncooperative with Friend Computer's orders," louder still he says, "Which clone number do you think this inefficient traitor is on, anyway? I hope it's six."

Cracked up at "standard evented" lol

Aww, that looks like a fun day, Olan!

Aranwen was over by the family so I was just waiting for him to chat with them and get some info. I imagined we'd probably do something with the bodies (?) but for the most part try to get as much info from the family and either head back out, or stay the night since I believe it was starting to get dark when the woodsman approached us.

In the area you write for your replies/messages/etc, check out the format bar at the top of your message area. All the way to the right there is a smiley face. All of the emojis are there. You can choose from a list of animated ones or otherwise.

Some people just want to watch the World Cup.

Buuuut srsly, good to know we're in good hands!

Thanks Olan! That sounds so frustrating.

Ditto. Lost a collab post I was trying to send because of it.

Dragon, that was great! Like Bromern said, that one detail was just a little off, but that's a simple enough thing to retcon.

Excellent first-ever post!

First post up for Cho'Ra! 

Cho'Ra Fa'hiri knew she must be close. She had been on his tail since leaving Tarabon all those weeks ago. Granted, it was a very long tail, but she could just sense he must be near. The air here was nearly agitated with it--the stench of the vile. She strode the streets confidentley, determinedly, every bit the Domani woman her mother had taught her to be, despite her father's protests. Cho'Ra smiled at the thought of her parents, her father's clever wit never stood a chance against her mother's unbridled charm. The smile vanished, remembering her last interaction with them.

She clutched at the intricate handle of the knife, hidden beneath her cloak, sheathed at the back of her hip. The blade she had once flaunted from her neck on a collar, now lay in wait to serve its purpose. And she was close, she could feel it.

A harsh, cold breeze swept through Cho'Ra's now dark red hair, as she arrived at the door of the Gleeman's Abode, five others seeming to materialize at her side. While her lavish (to some's standards) dark blue Domani dress covered her from neck to ankle, the sheer fabric clung to her body and offered very little protection from the cold. This said, she was the first to step forward toward the door after all six of them had strangely stopped together right in front of it.

However, as she reaches for the handle, a woman cries out in anguish and Cho'Ra's heart goes out to her even before she sees her, "Noooo! You cannot take her, please! No! Please!"

Cho'Ra tries to move toward the commotion, tightening her cloak closer around her, but a tall, lean woodsman and another curly-haired man blocked her path and her line of sight.

"I won't let you take her!" the same desperate woman screams, as Cho'Ra finds a space between the two men to watch the scene unfold, "I WILL NO-"

And then one of the guards knocks the life out of the old woman and Cho'Ra finds herself following behind the woodsman as he makes his way toward the guards. They are picking up that unconscious girl again by the time they get there while the old woman sobs behind them.

The woodsman's hand goes to the hilt of his blade, "Where I come from, you don't strike an old woman, coward!" he shouts at them, in a rage, but he releases the sword's handle and Cho'Ra is grateful for it. She looks at the bleeding woman and the unconscious girl, the less I have to waste my strength out here, the better.

The curly-haired man now appears behind the guards, “And where I come from, neither does a man drag an unconscious woman toward a destination she wishes not to go.” An Ebou Dari, of course it would be. This man's hand remained on the hilt of his ornate sword and there is a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen.

Cho'Ra takes this chance to move forward as well. She steps toward the guards, dangling the young woman between them, and releases her clutch on the front of her cloak, allowing it to flow out behind her as she dons one of the one hundred and sixty-two smiles her mother had taught her. Perhaps she was a little out of practice, but she hadn't come this far to right the worst wrong done to her by being the complacent little mouse she once was. Her frame is slight, standing at barely 5'3, but presence was worth so much more than appearance.

"Excuse me gentlemen," she says, walking as close to the guards as they will allow, and leans slightly to the side, "you as well, Sir Ebou Dari," she straightens, "There seems to have been enough blood spilled today, there need not be more, do you agree?" She continues before they can respond, "These women, they are harmless against your might, are they not? Surely this manner of extraction is more than necessary." She looks at the girl once more, then back up to the men, "What could this young woman have done to warrant such treatment?"

“…anyone else wanna recycle themselves while we’re waiting for Artie?” Team Leader says with as much amusement as Steam feels, his feet sticking slightly to the floor of the Friendliness Hoverbot as he paces back and forth. With the exception of Slipp, still ambling to get back on, and of course Artie, everyone seems to be in no worse shape than when they first hopped on board. And that was saying something. That was really saying something. 

After a few more minutes of waiting, Brighte addresses the group, "Since that went a bit less perfectly than could be hoped for, does anyone actually know how to drive one of these things? Not that I expect it will result in a better outcome but just maybe it would result in less dead clones."

Before Steam's rage could truly boil this time though, the newest Artie arrives and everyone takes their places once more.

Ignoring Brighte for now, Steam re-takes the pilot mantle and once more careens them down the road. To his growing dismay, it has somehow become even more difficult to control. Friend Computer must have allowed him to try again though because it knew Steam was adaptabe, hardened by battle, and never one to give up so easily. He could not allow another accident delay, for the sake of effiency, he would not let it happen.

Blood dripped from his tongue as he bit down on it, weaving through the traffic, trying only, really to stay on the right side of the road.

At last, this time only one motorbike the victim of this ordeal, the fans slow and the Friendliness Hoverbot has landed.

Steam takes a moment ot wipe the sweat from his brow, and the blood from his chin, before he turns back to follow his team. None of these weak little bastards could have managed what he had done there. That's why he was Steam, the most trusted of Friend Computer, the only one who had been capable of moving this team along.

As he finishes the thought, they stop, parked at the end of an ecruciatingly long and slow line. He tries to see who is running the line. It seems very inefficient. Are any of these clones on a mission for Friend Computer? He doubted it.

Slipp is taking pill after pill beside him and still looking pretty badly injured. Steam looks over to Brighte, who is now pestering the jackobot, "Well, we made it.  Now what?" Now what? What's it fucking look like? Steam glares between him and Slipp, wondering how much longer it will take for Brighte to shoot the Morale Officer in the head once again. By the looks of it, not long.

"Hey, Jackobot, how long is this supposed to take? Does Team Leader need to fill out any of those forms?" he asks, nodding his head to the form table.

Haha glad you liked it! I had another bit about bringing dead animals into the house but I thought it would be too much.

Entertaining some out of town fam today, but you will be getting a Steamy post by EOD tomorrow!