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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Towel?


Are you kidding!? With as much as you face lick and how infrequently the towel is washed, I find it difficult to even approach it. The last time I tried, IT ran away!

I have posted a little something about Asovil retiring for the night just because I haven't seen a post in a bit.

Posted on 2016-09-28 at 15:46:48.
Edited on 2016-09-28 at 15:47:18 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: A little something to round out the night...


Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Asovil's Quarters - 23:15



Tired doesn't begin to describe the Andorian as she shuffles into her quarters. The door closing behind her, Asovil falls back against it and closes her eyes. Diplomatic engagements are exhausting! she exclaims to herself with eyes closed and head tilted back, her antennae pressed against the cool metal. Images of the night's events casually stroll through her thoughts neither welcomed nor shunned, just there for her to observe. Reliving the engrossing conversations, the way her aggravation bloomed when D'Lar so flippantly tossed insults about using humor to slip every slight through the cracks, and the way that the evening ended; most of all the interactions she'd had with Tochi and the way he had so adeptly handled the event. Having multiple lives to draw upon certainly has its benefits, she smiles softly and clasps her hands, pressing them against her lips. The Peregrine is not what she thought it would be.

Her father would not be impressed with her recent behavior, of that she is certain. He's a man of strict Andorian principles despite his forward-thinking in cybernetics. He is proud of her scientific endeavors but is prouder of her time at the Imperial Academy and in service to the Empire. Sevar used to say that he could never fully earn their father's approval because he was just a soldier. That's why joining Starfleet wasn't such a big deal to her older brother. He just knew that he could never live up to Ekassol's vision for his future. Tethaas, her other older brother, never bothered to try and joined the merchant fleet as soon as he was able like their mother had done before children were in the picture. Right up until Sevar's untimely death, Asovil is certain she was following a path that her father was absolutely ecstatic with: science and military service. Transferring from the Imperial Guard to Starfleet Academy had been a disappointing change in the future he had planned for her, but he condoned the move due to being honor bound by Sevar's commitment to serve, so he had supported her.

As if he isn't going to be furious enough, Asovil pushes away from the doors and feels the jubilation of her new friendship with Tochi Zai subside to be replaced by the trepidation surrounding the eventual communication with her mother and father. Demoted, transferred, and infatuated with a Trill. Shaking her head, the Andorian woman begins to undress, returning everything to its place with the precision of a practiced soldier and the attention to detail of a successful scientist.

"Computer," her badge is placed in its case on the vanity shelf as she softly addresses the ship's systems. "Are there any messages for me?"

=/= There is one message for you, Lieutenant Sh'iraolnas. =/=

Fluttering immediately ensues within her bosom. Making her way to the personal computer at the desk, she slips out of her dress coat and activates the screen. A message is displayed on the screen within a couple of seconds and the excitement within is destroyed by a sudden rampaging rage. Simple words from an individual she had hoped to never hear from again practically dance before her sapphire eyes.

Enjoy your new post. - Lieutenant Namesif


His long, pale, oval face with stringy, receding black hair and a full beard and mustaches instantly appears at the forefront of her mind. Even his smile is insufferable as she imagines him chortling over his victory. Deprived of her affections, he has obviously taken consolation in the black mark on her career.

Stabbing the computer screen with her right index finger and nearly breaking her nail in the process she deletes the message in a huff. Squeezing her eyes shut, the scientist clenches her fists at her side and breathes in deeply, then releases the air slowly through her nose. She repeats this process until her hands naturally relax and the rage has subsided.

As a girl, Asovil's temper had delivered her into more tight spots than she cares to remember. It wasn't until the Imperial Academy that she learned that control technique. Knowing full well that another wrathful outburst would likely land her a desk job at some podunk outpost in the quietest regions of the galaxy she knows she is going to have to put that method to practice more often than not aboard the Peregrine. She cannot afford to allow her natural combative tendencies to get the better of her.

Methodically changing into her shorts and leaving her undershirt on, she secures her uniform in the wardrobe. Moving with a forced listlessness, the blue-skinned young woman pads over to her bed and folds the blankets down just enough for her to slide underneath. Another deep breath in and released, then another, and she closes her eyes. I'll remove my makeup when I wake, she decides as she remembers that she hasn't done so already. I've the meeting with Ensign Maize first thing in the morning. I hope that this mess with Chief Crane stops with Lauren. What a disaster to walk into.


"Computer," she begins her request of the system. "Wake me at oh-four-thirty hours."

=/= The alarm has been set. Have a good night, Lieutenant Sh'iraolnas. =/=

I wonder at what time Captain Drake will call me up to his office? she shifts and pulls up the blankets from underneath the bottom of the bed to keep her little blue toes from being bent uncomfortably beneath the press. He seemed very reserved tonight at the dinner. He allowed Tochi to handle most of the conversation. Perhaps he's a man of few words—a man of action. That, I can appreciate. Those are qualities of a good Andorian captain, Asovil's line of thought begins to make unplanned for turns taking her from the path of productivity into a dreamland filled with possibilities.


Posted on 2016-09-28 at 15:43:40.
Edited on 2016-09-28 at 15:44:01 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Facelick


I still have a rash from my last face lick.

Posted on 2016-09-28 at 10:43:33.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: I feel so much better now!


I thought I was going crazy. Now, I still think I'm going crazy, only not because of this.

Posted on 2016-09-27 at 18:12:35.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Anyone else experiencing a blank page?


The end of this Q&A thread is showing up with nothing there for me. I hope that I'm not missing something.

Edit: Oh, now it shows something! My post.

Posted on 2016-09-27 at 15:46:39.
Edited on 2016-09-27 at 15:47:02 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Car accident!?


I hope you're OK. car accidents can leave some pretty indelible prints on more than just your vehicle.

Posted on 2016-09-26 at 17:19:50.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Everyone has been moved forward.


All right, everyone has been moved forward. Vegas and Fixer will receive a reply from Blossom, but we've yet to determine what that is. So, proceed as though a message was received.

Posted on 2016-09-26 at 13:05:08.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: Moving on...


Outside The Rat Pack Night Club | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 1:40 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sirens. Fixer hears them every night, but he never thought that they would be coming for him. However, he did just get into a firefight in public, caused total damage to a vehicle that was not involved in said firefight, and would likely be held responsible for any medical bills incurred by the occupants of said vehicle. This is a night of firsts for him. A quick glance around tells the techie that he has moments to make some good happen from this mess. As Casino starts back, Fixer reaches over the body of the Grease Monkey draped out of the door and snatches the exposed Militech Arms Avenger from the body's waistband. The Ingram Mac 14 submachine gun that the shooter used is lying on the floor on the passenger side as well, so the techie snatches that up too. Extra parts could be needed or the weapons could be sold if it came to that.

With a slight limp, the techie heads over to regroup with his companions. Once the three of them are in front of the club again, Casino speaks up.

"Ok," the big solo growls, "cops get here and the run is done, pretty much, for whoever stays. Now, me? I'm shot up bad and need a medic; pain blocker gonna quit soon. Starlight is hurt too, so pretty clear I'll stay with her till her AV gets here and pulls her out. I figure cops will get me patched up. You and Vegas need to get out of here to keep the mission on track." Moving to Vegas's and Starlight's side with Fixer behind him he sits down next to her shouldering Vegas to the side in the process. Taking over the care of the lady fixer, the large man speaks to his partner and this time, he's the one giving the orders.

"I got her. You and Fixer need to get out of here now and get back in touch with the others. This run is still on choomba, no need for all three of us to get jailed. No bulls*** this time Vegas. The run is first priority, like always." Turning to Fixer he hands the techie his MPK, its extra ammo and grenades, and the Armalite he had used to deliver the headshots with leaving him with the other Armalite tucked under his right arm. "Now, take these and you two get the f*** gone!"

Vegas did not like this one bit. Over the years he had gotten used to the mood swings of his partner, so being pushed aside and 'ordered' to ‘clear out and get in touch with Blossom and the others for the sake of the run' had long ago not become offensive to the Dapper Solo. But he still did not like it one bit.

He moves away from Casino and Starlight before the former could sound any protest or add any further orders. The Frank Sinatra look-alike makes his way to a nearby drain pipe to wash away any remaining traces of the wounded fixer's blood from his hands and clothes that the drenching rain has not already removed from his person.

"Will Vegas know how to get in touch with you once we're done," Fixer poses the question as he puts the sidearm along with ammunition and grenades into his pack along with his newly acquired weaponry. The tech is very careful to place the grenades in the side pouches of his pack where they fit snug and will have the least chance of accidentally going off. The SMG is slung to the opposite side of his bag.

Looking over his shoulder, the Chairman calls out to Fixer, "We have our ways!" He waits a few more moments, using the rainwater as best he can to remove Starlight's blood from his person, and allowing Casino to answer Fixer's question further. The sirens are growing louder and nearby, the AV is loudly moving into position over the street.

The drenched and dapper solo strides further down the street in the direction from where the Boosters had driven, the pending police and the arrival of the Trauma Team® apparently having no effect on him. Vegas is intent upon paying the remaining Grease Monkeys a visit, possibly launching one of Casino's grenades into their lair in hopes of smoking out a stoolie were any of them able to survive the blast. However, the thought of Dimples incurring any type of injury from an act of revenge just does not sit well with the dapper solo so, Vegas dismisses his boiling, raging thoughts and turns enough to motion that Fixer should follow him.

Now hefting the more heavily laden pack onto his shoulder, Fixer speaks up once more, "Don't like leaving a person behind, but you got my word that we'll come get you when we've got the chance. I'll keep ahold of these for ya." Fixer knows the meaning of a sacrifice, and looks to Vegas for a lead. After all, these are his streets.

There's no place for the sleek Aerodyne to land so it continues to hover overhead as the team of specialists lower a gurney, the door gunner eyeballing their surroundings for any further issues. Two of the paramedics with the Trauma Team® drop down on ropes and rush the gurney to Starlight's side.

Vegas is still intent upon finding Dauntless Dog and Dimples has given him a lead. Although, in all the excitement, the Frank Sinatra look-alike has all but forgotten about it until now. She had told him that although she had no idea where Dauntless would go at this time of night, the Mob he ran with hangs out at Frizzoli's Restaurant about a five-minute walk from the Rat Pack. So that is where Vegas is heading, hoping to gain a respite from the approaching police sirens, by taking a seat in a 'den of lions' where the police might avoid looking for anyone who had been involved in the shooting minutes earlier.

"I got some unfinished business," is the dapper solo's explanation to his 'new partner' Fixer, "but first a hot cup of tea and a warm plate of spaghetti sure would hit the spot about now."

Ducking into a nearby alley for a bit of cover, Vegas only explains to Fixer that he is pausing to send a message to Blossom regarding a rendezvous point while he pulls out his agent, the screen highlighting his face beneath his hat, rain rolling from the brim. Vegas hurriedly taps out a few 'innocent words' to Blossom on his agent, sending an 'invitation' into the Deep: "Been a bit busy darling. got time on your calendar for a breakfast date?"

"Stand aside!" the first responder from the AV moves in on Starlight whether Casino obeys or not, pushing him away. Starlight points her left hand at the big solo and calls out to him as she's hoisted easily from the ground to the gurney.

"Remember, Casino! No media, no heat!" Just as the fixer begins her ascent into the hovering AV, the reflected lights of the squad cars begin their play across the rain-soaked ground, windows of nearby buildings, and stalled ground cars in the street. Further down the street, in the alleyway Vegas and Fixer have just ducked into, the two watch as three squad cars whip past, lights and sirens.

Left on his own, bleeding profusely from his arm, Casino watches the pretty little woman get secured in the AV just as the machine tilts to the side and peels away from its hovering location. Trauma Team® support is an expensive monthly cost, but well worth it for those who find themselves in troubling situations as often as edgerunners do. The sirens are loud and the sounds of doors being slammed shut can barely be heard over the Aerodyne's departure, but they are enough to draw the leather clad soldier of fortune's attention from his departing employer to the approaching officers.

Decked out in riot gear that includes helmets and body armor, the NCPD number six strong. Each approaches from a spread of approximately five meters apart, four with H&K-2020 submachine guns and two with Militech Bulldog Assault Shotguns aimed right at him. As they draw closer, seeing that he's not offering a threat, three peel off to inspect booster's vehicle while the other three continue up to a few paces away; just far enough out of reach that if he were to lunge at them, they could still get a shot off. Even if her were boosted.

"Keep your hands where we can see them," the lead officer barks. "Get down on the ground, face first and put your hands on the back of your head."

(OOC: assuming compliance)

One of the officers approaches quickly as Casino follows the orders he's been given and lies down, belly-first, on the wet concrete. The officer straddles the large solo's back and clamps reinforced steel handcuffs on his wrists as he twists the injured man's arms around to his lower back.

"You have the right to remain silent," the cop begins reciting the Miranda Rights as he finishes up his job, "and not answer any questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have right to an attorney,"

Now cuffed, Casino is practically hauled to his feet, though most of the work is still handled by him. His Pain Editor is still functioning enough to keep the injury to a pulsing ache rather than the screaming heat he would otherwise be feeling. While the cop that cuffed him stands behind him, the cop with a shotgun keeps him covered and the third pats him down, removing all weapons and bag before placing a small device at his temple and activating it.

This is where the pain begins. Whatever that little device is, Casino's cybernetics are rendered inert and with the Pain Editor shut down, the damage done to his arm is something he is very aware of. Toughing it through, the large man is able to keep focused as he's led to the squad car. He ducks his head and with a little help, is pushed into the back seat, the door closed promptly after.

Within a few seconds, two cops enter the car: a driver and a passenger. There's a protective bulletproof screen between the front seats and the back, and these officers are confident enough in it that they remove their helmets. The driver is a man with a shaved head while the passenger is a bit younger with blond hair cut short about his ears.

"Call it in," the driver instructs, and the younger officer obeys.

"Car Alpha-Delta-Two-Five-Three-One enroute to Night City Regional Hospital with a suspect in gang violence. ETA ten-minutes."

>

While the cops are dealing with the aftermath of the team's encounter, Vegas and Fixer return to the main street as passer-bys and begin their trek towards Fizzoli's restaurant. The two watch as the cops cuff and load Casino into the back of the squad car, passing the scene close to the buildings in order to not draw attention to themselves. Fate is on their side as they make it through the area without a single cop paying them any mind. Those citizens brave enough to stick around and answer the police officer's questions pay them no mind as well, and within seconds the pair have made it out of the hot zone.

Keeping a pace that won't draw attention, the paid of edgerunners hunch against the storm and do their best to keep from hacking and coughing as the poisonous air scratches and bites at their throats and lungs.

Not a minute from the site of the firefight, life in the Night City Integrate continues as normal. The city certainly does not sleep whether the commotion is caused by people employed at one of them any shops, eateries, or offices that line the street, or the hubbub consists of those just hanging out on a stoop preferring the weather to the confines of their conapt, Vegas and Fixer are not alone. The activity is comforting as it provides a means to blend into their surroundings more and despite the weight of the events they've just endured, Casino did have a point. He was going to get patched up, and if he plays his cards right, the gambler could be out fairly quickly. Starlight's use of the Trauma Team® means that she is most certainly taken care of, and that means that the two of them can focus on the run.

Fizzoli's Restaurant's sign is bright red neon on a cheese wedge marquee that juts out beneath an extension of building overhead. The two edgerunners have to cross the busy street at an abortion clinic, arriving on the same side after dodging a couple of honking cars in front of a busy laundromat. Passing a kitchen and cutlery storefront, they pause at the street corner to wait for a cab to make its turn. Once the vehicle has passed and the hooded sign across the street indicates it is the pedestrian's turn, the two make their way to the front of the restaurant and duck into the alcove containing the establishment's glass doors.

Fizzoli's looks like a nice enough restaurant from through the windows, but at this time of night the additional neon sign in the window reads, "CLOSED" and the hours show a dining time of 11:00 AM to 12:00 AM. At close to 2:00 AM, the only lights on in the place are security lights.

Some miles away, the squad car pulls into the Emergency Room delivery lane. The officers exit on their respective sides before Casino's door is opened and the younger officer pulls him out by his injured arm's elbow. Despite the constant, gnawing pain of his wound and the aggravation having his arm pulled on causes it, the tough solo is able to grind his teeth and endure. Led into the hospital through sliding glass doors, the bright lights of the facility wash over him, forcing a squint.

"We need a doc to look at his arm before we book him," the older officer informs the admitting nurse seated behind the bulletproof glass administration booth.

"Have a seat over there." The nurse is an older black woman with a bit of weight sitting upon her bones and blond-dyed hair cut short to her scalp. The sight of a bloody, leather-wearing, cyborg doesn't seem to phase her.

"All right," the older officer turns to Casino and directs him to follow further instructions with a wave of his hand. "You've been a decent fellow thus far. Let's not ruin things."

Seating Casino between them, the two officers make sure to take chairs further away from the general populace of injured and sick people. There's no point, after all, in making the citizens of Night City any less comfortable than they already are.

"Well," the older officer begins once they're seated. "How's that arm holding up?"

(OOC: assuming a tough guy answer.)

"That's good." Shifting in his chair, the cop looks up a little at the giant solo, his gaze severe. "You've got a long night ahead of you that could turn into longer days to come. There's three dead, I saw an AV taking another wounded away from the scene—rest assured we'll find out who that was—and reports were that bullets were flying all over the place. That traffic accident wasn't nothing to ignore neither. You got an explanation for me?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maintenance Tunnels | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 1:40 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ok," Ghlahn decides, "we make our way to the school using back alleys as much as possible. Best to avoid contacts or more people are gonna end up dead. I'll cover our rear. Ready when you are."

Echo looks at Blossom and grins, "If you can handle it, so can we. Let's go!" and heads out the door after one final peek to see the way is clear, and keeping an eye about them for any who may see them as suspicious.

"Whoa there, Turbo!" Blossom grabs the nomad's trenchcoat and pulls her back from the door. "Let me get us hidden, no?"

That said, the netrunner pulls up the software on her agent and begins to plug in the correct commands connecting her device to the wifi signal. Her thumbs work across the large screen typing out code into the interface while her neural link helps inserting the snippets of pre-generated code where appropriate. Thirty-seconds of this returns the results she is looking for.

"Bingo!" she cheerfully declares. "Now we can go traipsin' through the daisies. Oh! Wait."

The small icon of her agent's avatar pops up on the side of the screen and makes the typical anime motions of yelling while a pop-up box displays a message: Been a bit busy darling. got time on your calendar for a breakfast date? At first the message confuses the young wardriver, but then she realizes who it's from and looks up. "Vegas just sent a message. I think he's trying to arrange a meet."
(OOC: room for suggestions, interaction, etc. and assuming the message doesn't change the group's direction.)

"Got it," Blossom holds her agent up triumphantly, "and sent. OK, let's get on the move."

Opening the door, Echo glances about once more. There's no sign of police, the hotel security has moved its VIP inside and have removed themselves from the street, and traffic is acting normal. Even the man with the dog is nowhere to be seen.

The all clear given, the motley group of edgerunners make their way in casual form down the street a ways before crossing between heavy traffic and cutting down a covered alley. Odors of decay and mold wash over their noses with intense ferocity. Pools of water have collected from rain runoff and trash lines the areas of the alley where winds make their deposits.

Echo's sharp vision takes in their new surroundings quickly and is able to determine no threats, so she leads the group down the corridor without delay. This is the practice that carries the troupe across the living city and those five kilometers they need to cover. Echo in the lead, Blossom following a few paces back picking off wifi camera feeds as she comes across them, Bloodbank helping Ghlahn keep an eye on their six and the man of little words bringing up the rear, his rifle slung once again over his shoulder, keen eyes frequently turned to the way they'd come.

Standing in the shadow of a large living starscraper across the street to the East of the Bartholomew School, the team of edgerunners takes in the tall metal security fence surrounding the grounds. While the school itself is nice, the surrounding area is most certainly an eyesore for the High city residents. On every side of the school, what was once likely nice structures has turned into slum housing due to the volatile nature of the construction cores and their lifespans. Signs of material reharvesting can be seen in the structures, including the one that the team stands beneath, with flickering firelight in windows or flashlights giving away locations of occupants within. The fence itself is three meters tall with overhangs leaning both outward and inward topped by razorwire—more of a prison than a school by appearance. Spotlights shine over the gate and entry and are placed every six to seven meters along the fence. The fence itself is completely opaque providing privacy from the fallen social structure beyond and making it impossible for the team to see in.

The gate is a standard iron gate with a guardpost that includes a bulletproofed booth manned by at least one heavily armed guard. The decrepit starscrapers on either side eventually converge overhead providing the school with a space of a few hundred feet between the top of the school's tallest building the the underside of the starscrapers overhead.

"Ok," Blossom looks up from her agent once more. "There's no wifi signal, so that means that security is all on a private network. I'm gonna need to wardrive and that means I'll need to get into that guard booth if we're wanting to go that route.

"I was able to pull up an old building schematic of the school that they used for parents, but I don't think it is to scale or anything like that. Still, if it's correct, the dorms are in the southwest corner of the campus.

"So, what's the plan?"


Posted on 2016-09-26 at 13:03:04.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: I agree!


I did see your cauldron work, Eol. And it is beautimous.

Boo Boo and I worked up a little post as well. So, we'll start the week off right.

Posted on 2016-09-26 at 10:30:46.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: And, Boo Boo, you have a PM in response.


McTavish, I don't know if you missed this, but the delegate called out to you. I didn't want to continue posting that D'Lar feels ignored or thinks you didn't hear, so I thought I'd bring it to your attention here first.

"Interesting," D'Lar mutters while still looking towards the Chief Engineer. Quite suddenly calling out, he attempts to get McTavish's attention. "Lieutenant McTavish! Please join us, I would enjoy learning more about this vessel we are guests upon."

Glancing over her shoulder, Asovil absent-mindedly brushes her hair over her right ear and awaits the officer's response.


Posted on 2016-09-23 at 11:06:22.

Topic: Supernatural / hunter interest?
Subject: Thank you.


That explanation helps a lot. I've resubmitted my character to you via PM.

Posted on 2016-09-22 at 13:24:16.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: So it would seem.


I have, however, posted something that could potentially engage multiple players in character play! Hoo-ah!

Oh, and Boo Boo, I've taken the liberty of bunking Crane and Cook together seeing how they are both Chief Petty Officers and women.

Posted on 2016-09-22 at 13:12:46.
Edited on 2016-09-22 at 13:46:58 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: Engage in character play! Make it so, number one.


Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Captain's Mess - 19:11



Sipping with gentile etiquette from a glass containing a Rytainian berry wine, Asovil remains mostly a quiet observer of the interactions between the dignitaries and the other officers who have arrived and engaged in polite conversation. Deciding to follow Tochi's sound advice, the young Andorian woman uses scientifically analytical skills to assess the disposition and behaviors presented. Two Cycles of Sociology and another of Anthropology had been required for her education at the Andorian School of Science and Arts. Applying the principles she learned from those classes to her study, the willowy woman finds herself feeling more at ease.

From this observation standpoint, she has watched the arrivals of each of the officers she is to serve with, made their acquaintance as they joined the group Tochi has initiated, and been able to come to minor conclusions about their person by the way they are interacting. This is the position she finds herself when into the room strides a large man with neatly combed hair wearing the gold of either Ops, Security, or Engineering. He pauses at the entrance, making a quick decision, and takes determined steps to the chair Tochi had been sitting in minutes before while talking with Asovil before the delegates arrival.

Odd that he has chosen to sit instead of introduce himself, the Andorian notes. Azure eyes glance at Tochi, but the Trill is laughing at something she has missed and doesn't seem to be aware of the new officer's arrival.

One of the Ops personnel acting in a server capacity approaches the large man and bends just enough to better be heard while asking, "Would you like a drink, sir?"

(OOC: McTavish's response,)

Lt. Sh'iraolnas runs through the list of officers aboard the Peregrine and their ranks to determine who he is. Seated next to her at the table, that would make him a department head of a lower rank and the uniform colors, she squints just a little as she looks to his Starfleet insignia and the symbol within. Ah, Engineering! she immediately recognizes. That would make him Lieutenant McTavish, as new to the ship as I am.

Feeling an immediate empathy for his reticence to join them, the beautiful scientist wonders if she should excuse herself from the conversation and invite him to over. Surely, he'll feel as out of place as she, and were it not for Lt. Zai's friendliness she would likely be seated at the table in awkward loneliness as well.

"Is that security that has just arrived, Lieutenant Zai?" D'Lar shifts his weight to his right foot and looks past the Starfleet personnel to where McTavish is now alone while the Ops server moves off to fulfill his order. "Are you expecting trouble?"

(OOC: Tochi's reply)

"Engineering?" the Kuldarian expresses his amazement by blowing air through loose lips. "It would seem that he is the entire Engineering department!"

"His size is impressive," the Honorable Threel of Rytain notes thoughtfully. "Would he not be better suited a combat position?"

Asovil returns her attention to the conversation and considers the implications behind their observations. On one hand, they are both from a culture that is (from what she's been able to gather) perpetually at war. It stands to reason that their thoughts would immediately turn to the combat readiness and fortitude of an individual, but throughout her training at the Imperial Academy she was always taught that the front lines were nothing without their support staff. So, in her opinion, engineering was a vital aspect of any military organization and they should surely recognize that value.

(OOC: Tochi's reply)

"Interesting," D'Lar mutters while still looking towards the Chief Engineer. Quite suddenly calling out, he attempts to get McTavish's attention. "Lieutenant McTavish! Please join us, I would enjoy learning more about this vessel we are guests upon."

Glancing over her shoulder, Asovil absent-mindedly brushes her hair over her right ear and awaits the officer's response.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 3 - Chief Petty Officer Quarters - 18:11



Lauren sits at the small nook that contains her desk, a PADD before her, the personal computer screen on the desk showing a series of on-going reports concerning her various projects. The brunette slowly spins the PADD about with one finger, absently and unconcernedly using the corner as an axis. Her mind is replaying the events of the day over and over again without mercy and her disposition is dark.

In an act of defiance upon arriving in the quarters she shares with Chief Petty Officer Dana Cook, Lauren tore the badge from her uniform's chest and tossed it to the ground before stripping out of her blues and changing into a pair of lightweight dark gray loose-fitting pants that she is forced to roll at the waist in order to keep from falling down, and a dark purple, slightly oversized v-neck short sleeved shirt. One bare foot is now tucked under her, the other barely skimming the rough gray carpet with white and yellow speckles.

He had the Captain's approval, she argues fruitlessly once again. I couldn't have gone to the Captain. Should I have gone to Lt. Zai? But he's always on the Captain's side. Thoughts such as these keep her gaze unfocused a slight frown on her mousy face. She wants to cry but the tears have dried up since her meeting with the new science officer. Who is she to come in and just assume Horatio is a bad guy! The irony that it had been her, Lauren Crane, who had turned Horatio Tesenblen in to Starbase 118's security does not escape her as the defensive thought flitters across her mind. Imagery of Horatio sitting alone in a cell separated from the world by a force field, his career—his work—on the line because of her causes her to sob suddenly and squeeze her brown eyes shut as though it will dispel the vision.

A chime sounds overhead indicating someone is at the door. Lauren's right hand clenches and she whispers, "Go away." The alert sounds again, and once more the science chief utters her command, "Go away." She knows that the command is quiet enough that the computer won't transmit it, but she doesn't want to face anyone at the moment. She hates herself too much to see the disgust from a fellow shipmate. That would undo her, she's confident of that. The visitor is persistent and the chime rings yet another time.

Frustratedly spinning about in her chair to face the door only a few meters away, she practically yells, "Who is it?"

"Crewman Smith, Chief," is the response through the intercom system. "With Security—" Lauren's heart skips a beat and she freezes. "—I've brought you dinner, by order of Lt. Sh'iraolnas, Chief."

Adrenaline coursing through her veins, Lauren takes a halting deep breath and closes her eyes to calm her nerves. For a moment, she had thought that they were to take her away for a court martial. That stiff and insensitive Andorian officer had made it known that under the best of conditions her behavior had been deserving of discipline. Chief Crane can still see those sapphire eyes looking across at her from the other side of the desk hungry for Lauren's dismissal.

Swallowing the venom she feels, Lauren slips from the chair and hikes her pants back up a bit from where they'd slipped on her slim hips. Walking to the door, she pauses before pressing the button that opens the portal. Standing before her is a security crewman she's seen about the ship before, but never really spoken to. Thin in the face, blonde hair combed from the left to the right and trimmed neatly in a fade about his ears, the man is in his mid-thirties but bears young features. His athletic build and slim waistline fit well with his height and broad shoulders, and in his large hands he holds a tray with a covered plate and a metal lidded cup. Utensils are wrapped in a white napkin to the right of the square-shaped, off-white plate.

"It's nothing special," he says as he hands her the tray. "But the Lieutenant wants you to have your meals, so someone will be back with your morning meal at oh-six-hundred, Chief."

She nods sullenly and accepts the offering. "Thank you, Mr. Smith."

He nods and turns to his left with a smartly executed spin on his heel. The door closes as he walks away, returning to whatever duties he has been assigned outside of food delivery. Scents of roasted chicken, potatoes, and green beans waft to her nostrils resulting in her stomach complaining of its mistreatment.

Trodding back to her desk, Chief Crane sets the tray down and lifts the metal lid allowing the built-up steam to rapidly escape. Her nose has not lied. A single chicken breast sits atop a small mound of leafy spinach next to a mound of garlic mashed potatoes and a pile of steamed green beans. Removing the lid to the cup, Lauren takes note of the water with a frown before setting the lid aside and removing her silverware from the napkin. There's no doubt that she's hungry, but her appetite is reserved solely for self-loathing. She picks at the food with her fork, sampling a bit of it, but really leaving most of the morsels untouched. What she consumes is just enough to settle the grumbling in her tummy, nothing more.

Replacing the lids, Lauren pushes the tray to the far side of her desk and stares for a moment at the blank computer screen. She's certain that big changes are forthcoming but doesn't know how to prepare for them. Captain Drake is a man of principles—a good man, but a strict leader. Lt. Sh'iraolnas is new and doesn't understand the Captain. Not that I do, she adds bitterly. That Silas Drake wouldn't have seen the potential dangers associated with having Wolfsbane on board at the same time as combatting delegates from warring cultures absolutely baffles the scientist. The force fields Horatio had in place would not have been enough to keep one agent from getting at the poisonous plant if they'd so wanted, and there weren't security personnel posted. The Andorian had flat out accused Lauren of insubordination, but Chief Crane still feels that she had no other choice.

"Computer," she snaps at the defenseless artificial intelligence. "Explain Starfleet's Chain of Command regulation."

=/= The Chain of Command serves everyone. There are situations, such as emergencies or when the next senior is not available, when bypassing the chain is unavoidable. However, intentionally bypassing the chain may cause several detrimental results.

Division Officer's Duties: The division officer reports to the department head on assigned duties. The objective as a senior or master chief assigned as a division officer is to help fulfill the mission of the command. To fulfill that objective, you must use your leadership and management skills to ensure the goals of your department and your division are met.

Policies are conceived by the senior leadership as a statement of what action is to be taken under a predetermined set of circumstances. Policies govern the affairs of Starfleet. Policies state requirements that are not open to interpretation. You can translate policies to your division and assure compliance with set policies by doing the following:

Knowing which policies are in effect and enforcing them.
Setting an example.
Explaining policies to your division in simpler terms at division training sessions or at quarters.

The division officer is accountable for managing the affairs of your division to successfully accomplish the mission of your division. You are responsible for all activities of your division, like training and maintenance. You are also responsible for managing the many types of correspondence, reports, and records required about your division's performance and achievements— =/=

"This isn't telling me what I need to know." Frustrated, Lauren stands and folds her left arm under her breasts, rests her right elbow on her left forearm, and tugs at her bottom lip while considering how better to phrase her query. "Computer, under which circumstances can the chain of command be circumvented?"

=/= Article 138 complaints can be used in a variety of situations. Perhaps you are being forced to to violate your physical profile, or your chain of command is turning a blind eye to harassment against you by your peers or NCOs. Maybe you've been refused the opportunity to see a doctor or mental health counselor, or you've filed an application for a hardship discharge that hasn't been forwarded to the appropriate authority. Article 138 complaints are appropriate whenever you feel your rights are being violated by someone in your chain of command. Because your CO is responsible for you and your well-being, you can approach him or her for assistance even when the problem lies with your NCOs.

The process for filing an Article 138 complaint is— =/=

"Computer," Lauren interrupts, hope fluttering to life in the hollow of her chest. "In the case of a ship's captain being subject to question, would Article 138 work to absolve an NCO from potential insubordination or circumventing the chain of command charges?"

=/= Such actions could be subject to in-depth investigation by a Starfleet Personnel Rights Committee should the NCO be found guilty of stated charges and seek to retain the services of a SPR Advocate. However, under the Personal Authority of a Captain regulation, the starship captain maintains full authority aboard the vessel and there are only a handful of case files in which the captain's decisions have been overruled by the SPR committee. =/=

"In those situations," Lauren's face screwed up with concern. "What were the results for the charged?"

=/= Three such cases resulted in the charged personnel being transferred to a different post. Two cases resulted in the charged personnel receiving an Other Than Honorable discharge from Starfleet. Four additional cases resulted in the charged personnel receiving a demotion— =/=

"So, nothing good." Pacing, Chief Crane continues to pull at her bottom lip. "Computer, is it possible to invoke an SPR Advocate's services while the ship is underway?"

=/= Affirmative. Such proceedings would take place with the advocate being represented by a hologram. =/=

Burning a path in the small quarter's carpet, Lauren Crane continues her pacing as she grills the computer for more and more information that might help her not only endure this situation, but perhaps even come out basically unscathed. Her scientific mind is put to use gathering the data and looking for patterns or components that will add to her armor. She has no delusions as to her success percentage should she attempt to go directly against the Captain, but the information she is gathering does provide her with hope. The SPR has always been in the wings, never something she thought she would ever have to call on. She's only ever heard of one situation years ago where a crewman felt it necessary to call upon the SPR and she never did hear what became of that. The ship's computer is very forthcoming, revealing that she is due representation in her defense from a senior officer—likely even the XO—which both concerns her and provides her with some hope. Lt. Zai is rumored to be quite the diplomat, and he has always been friendly towards her. Still, he is the Captain's right hand man,

Thoughts of these sort carry her through the evening, and it is with her PADD in hand taking notes on her findings that Chief Cook finds her upon retiring to their quarters.

Posted on 2016-09-22 at 13:12:04.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Me too!


I'll likely be posting some more today. Love keeping this ship moving!

Posted on 2016-09-22 at 10:41:02.

Topic: Supernatural / hunter interest?
Subject: I've sent the concept.


I have provided the concept via PM.

Posted on 2016-09-21 at 17:56:51.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: Dinner Continued


Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Captain's Mess - 19:02



Waiting, she decides, for everyone else to arrive is almost as discommodious as arriving in the first place. Taking time to visually investigate the work that Ops has put into these festivities, Asovil finds herself engaged with the curiosities of each cultural spread and only vaguely hears the swish of the hydraulics opening the doors far to her left. The table is set for nine; a little squishy with barely any elbow room in a space usually comfortably sitting eight, but it works.

The science officer is seated at the end of the left side of the table as is appropriate what with her being the lowest ranking officer amongst the department heads and this not being a science vessel. The delegates would be seated to either side of the captain's chair at the head of the table, Toch'si—Asovil finds her cheeks warming involuntarily at the thought of the XO—position will be to the right of one of the ambassadors on the opposite side of the table from her's while the 2nd in command (the Andorian woman struggles to remember the name of the Chief Operations Officer as she can't recall having met him yet) would be across the table on the left of the other ambassador. Then the Chief Tactical Officer would be to Tochi's right, the Chief Engineering Officer across from him, and the Chief Medical Officer across from where Asovil sits. The end of the table opposite Captain Drake's chair is to remain empty.

"Good evening, Lt Sh'iraolnas. No bells?"

Asovil feels her shoulders tense up and the butterflies that had settled in her stomach now fly into her chest. Attempting to retain as much composure as possible, the blue-skinned young woman rises quickly from her chair and turns towards the handsome man addressing her. Offering a snappy salute, she barely constrains the smile she wishes to wear to the corners of her mouth and the light in her eyes.

"Lt. Zai," acknowledges the lower ranking officer. "Unfortunately, the creation of bells to adorn my uniform is not part of my replicator rations. And, I could find nothing in the Starfleet manual about the placement of bells on a dress uniform, so I chose to disregard the adornment in favor of avoiding another reprimand on my record."

"Not to worry," Tochi chuckles softly, gesturing at the various wind-chimes overhanging the room. "Operations has seen to all the bells we may need. And, if we may say so, you look perfectly lovely without them,"

"You, sir," Asovil can no longer keep her smile at bay and it erupts across her face lighting her from within. "Are incorrigible." Though, you sure do clean up nicely, she finishes to herself.

"In some situations," he responds, his own smile fueled by the freeing of her's. "we suppose that's true."

"I must admit something, Lt. Zai," the young woman adds with a worried tone. "This is the first time I've been invited to such an event. What is expected of me in my position and how best can I honor the Captain and this ship?"

"A good question," Tochi says. "Let us begin our answer by saying that you honor our Captain and our ship simply by attending. In our experience, this sort of thing is little more than a formality, intended to make our guests feel welcome, to familiarize them with the command staff, and the staff with them. On the surface of things and, likely in Captain Drake's intent, we suppose, it's as simple as that; nothing more than a ‘meet-and-greet,' as Terrans say, to show hospitality," The XO pauses here and offers something of a shrug.

",That said," Lt Zai smiles vaguely. "and as I'm sure that you, as a scientist, are aware, things are often other than more than what the surface shows." He gestures to her chair as he pulls out the one next to it and sits, inviting her to do the same. Asovil gracefully sinks into her seat and leans forward intently, delicate hands on her knees.

"Our initial directive in this mission was to function only as an escort for the Coronado," Tochi explains once Asovil has retaken her seat. "We were to have little to no contact with the ambassadors, at all, and Captain Jacobs and his crew were to be responsible for things such as this. Things veered from that course fairly quickly, though, as, much to Capt Jacobs' consternation, Ambassadors Threel and D'Lar all but insisted that they be billeted aboard the ‘superior ship,' as they put it. So, we find ourselves here, immersed much more deeply in the particulars of this mission than we were ever intended to be and, as result, having to, shall we say ‘support the mission' in ways that we, perhaps, weren't prepared for.

"To that end, it's my intent, at least, to use this occasion as an opportunity to try and gauge the ambassadors' levels of commitment and even interest in the summit to which we are escorting them." He offers a roguish smile. "Reading the room, if you don't mind us using yet another Terran euphemism. It's not our intent to involve ourselves in their politics, of course, but a bit of diplomatic reconnaissance is certainly in order as any information we can glean from tonight's reception could be of benefit to Captain Jacobs and any other Federation mediators with whom he might share that information."

The Trill chuckles softly and the science officer allows a small, soft smile to play across her lips as he continues, "Not that we've exactly been asked to do so. And, we suppose, we've just told you all of that for no other reason than to talk with you some more because, really, we don't believe we are expected to do much beyond play nice with the VIPs and see to it that they arrive safely at the Gamera system." He winks, "So, Asovil, simply enjoy the evening and you'll be doing your part."

The beautiful Andorian raises her eyebrows, the smile still on her darkening face as the blood rushes to her cheeks. Tochi has again intimated that he enjoys her company as much as she's been enjoying his, and the thought warms her. "You make it sound so simple, and yet at the same time, so complicated.

"I will do my best to uphold the honor of this ship through my behavior. I'm afraid none of my training really prepares me to play at those political games to which it is obvious you've a talent. Perhaps it is from one of your past hosts? If so, I'd thoroughly enjoy listening to the telling of those tales. When appropriate, of course.

"Perhaps," she continues, dipping her gaze just a bit and picking at some lint on her pant leg. "I will do as you're planning on doing and observe." Looking up and meeting his eyes, she broadens her smile. "I will likely learn a great deal just by watching your behavior."

Sliding doors reveal the two ambassadors standing nearly shoulder to shoulder at the entrance. Just behind are two Ops personnel who Asovil assumes are their official escorts. The gray scaly one provides the universal signal for the orange fellow to proceed before him, but the other isn't inclined to be even slightly indebted to his counterpart and offers the same gesture in return.

The science officer leans in a little closer to Lt. Zai and whispers, "Who is who?"

(OOC: Assuming a quick share of information,)

Rising, the blue-skinned beauty briefly touches Tochi's forearm with the tips of her white-nailed fingers. "Thank you," she states. "For everything."

Straightening her uniform jacket, Lt. Sh'iroalnas follows the XO over to the door just as the stringy-haired, plain-clothed delegate shrugs and steps into the room.

(OOC: Introductions from Tochi, perhaps? I think that would be protocol,)

"It is a pleasure to meet you both," Asovil intones using a pleasant voice. Terrans have a tradition of shaking hands between informal associates, but in this case the Andorian knows she represents Starfleet and on the way over to meet the delegates she searched her memory banks for instruction on how to address these men. Intuition—and the interaction between the two at the door—gives her the idea to address both of them together first in the hopes of avoiding any slight against the one addressed second. She hopes that their responses will eliminate any possible additional error on her part by allowing her some direction on who to speak to individually first.

"Heh, a tall one, aren't you?" D'Lar chuffs with what passes as a smile. "Science officer, huh? I would advise you to be cautious with your declarations of pleasure, young lady. At least until you've had the chance to really engage with us. We are, after all, pure bred politicians."

Threel clucks his tongue and steps closer to the Andorian. Standing shorter than Asovil, he looks up at her from beneath his brow. "Pay the Honorable D'Lar no mind, Lieutenant. I, for one, am pleased to be here and am intent on being an enjoyable dinner companion."

"Who's to say that watching politicians at work isn't enjoyable?" D'Lar adds and hooks his thumbs into his belt. "I find it very entertaining."

Asovil smiles tentatively, not sure if the men are bantering playfully, or engaging in a sparring match. In either case, she quickly finds herself in a position where they expect some kind of interaction.

"There is no doubt that this evening will be entertaining no matter the camp you find yourself in, I'm sure." Glancing at Tochi for moral support, she continues. "And I'm certain you will both be excellent dinner companions."

"Confidence is certainly high," D'Lar grins wolfishly. "I can appreciate that. And why not? I'll not complain should I have a good drink in hand and fresh meat on my plate."

"And I," Threel adds, not to be outdone. "Will enjoy what I anticipate to be smart conversation from officers of such a fine ship."

The gray-skinned delegate laughs loudly at this and looks past Asovil and Tochi to the table. "Are the drinks served, then? I could empty an entire barrel of Kuldarian Forsh."

Uncertain as to whether D'Lar has insulted them by laughing at Threel's comment, Asovil follows Tochi's lead, greeting those who enter and politely introducing herself to those she has not yet had the opportunity to meet. Her best behavior is very well behaved, indeed, and when dinner is served, the young scientist finds herself looking forward to the reprieve from polite talk that the consumption will provide.

Posted on 2016-09-21 at 15:09:14.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Whew! Speaking of busy...


All right, my last week and a half has been very busy. I apologize for seemingly vanishing. I am back in full swing, however, and will have another post up for Asovil soon. Maybe some of the other characters too, in order to keep the ship "alive," so to speak.

Looking forward to seeing the progression, Olan!

Posted on 2016-09-21 at 12:52:04.

Topic: Supernatural / hunter interest?
Subject: I'm fine with a prequel.


That would allow us to get into our characters' heads a little. I'll shoot a fleshed out character concept your way shortly. How are you going to handle gear, vehicles, property ownership, money, etc.?

Posted on 2016-09-21 at 12:50:27.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: COPS!


Outside The Rat Pack Night Club | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 1:39 AM PST | Combat Phase 3
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Son of a bitch!" the small fixer groans against the pain upon Vegas' sliding arrival. She struggles to pull herself up on her elbows and winces as she collapses partway into the red-washed, rain-soaked concrete, barely supported by the newly arrived solo. "What the hell was that?"

"That was a group of Boosters from the Rat Pack who disagreed with my songs and bedside manner!" Vegas' experience with patching up wounds is practically non-existent. In the past, there have always been medtechs on hand to deal with the trauma. One thing he does know is to put pressure on the injury and this he does by pressing the butt of his left palm into the woman's shoulder eliciting a sharp cry of pain in the process.

"For the love of all," Starlight hisses through her teeth, her little body tensing with the shock. Her right hand feebly reaches up and pats around her ribs and then breast. "Where's my frellin' agent!" she groans and allows her body to go limp in Vegas' soaked lap. "If my agent isn't damaged," she breathes listlessly. "An AV should be here any minute now."

Vegas keeps the pressure of his left palm on the bleeding wound, while locating the agent and placing it in Starlight's right hand. "Here's your agent," the solo informs her. "none the worse for wear."

The fixer raises her head and looks into the dapper solo's tired-looking blue eyes. "Get me on that AV, choomba. I'll be fine. But I want a—" she coughs and a weakly wipes the rainwater from her lips. "—a frellin' report on the run. Santa is looking for a letter."

A decisive glance about the scene reveals to the dapper soldier that the AV hasn't arrived yet. More gunfire screams behind him but Vegas isn't able to tell where it originated from when he twists about at the waist.

"Santa will get a letter when we have something to write," responds the alert Chairman.

"Where's the rest of the team, Vegas?" Starlight grips his trenchcoat's collar with her petite fist and looks him dead in the eye. "Santa isn't a patient sort, savvy?"

Automatic weapons fire explodes from the inside of the car, bullets flying past his face, from a booster still alive and fighting from the back seat. Barely diving away, the brunt of the full auto burst misses him, yet the big solo feels two bullets slam into him and he goes down to his back, splashing in the greasy puddles covering the street. Pain flashing through his upper left shoulder and right bicep inciting his Pain Editor to immediately kick on. Angry at his own carelessness, and Fixer and Vegas's stubborn arrogance concerning the boosters, he switches from burst to full auto with a flick of his thumb. Sitting up, legs outstretched before him, he pours a mass of full metal jacketed 9mm slugs into the interior of the car through the door. Cybernetics mellow the pain to a dull throb as he swivels his legs beneath his bulk and turns his seated position into a crouch, smoke rising from the heated barrel of his submachine gun.

Fixer could see that the driver of the van was injured but alive—at least that much would not be resting on his conscience this night. A burst of gunfire brings his attention to the other side of the booster's damaged vehicle just in time to witness Casino roll backwards and out of sight. Not knowing if the man was injured, the techie considers his options but weapons fire coming from where the solo had vanished makes up his mind for him and Fixer hunches down once more behind the cover of the rear fender.

Glass shatters, blown out from the interior of the vehicle's back seat, to bounce into the waters gathering on the street in front of the techie. Not knowing if anybody is still alive within the car, he isn't one to take a chance. Fixing his Uzi's sights onto the rear side door he fires off a burst. He is determined to be a bit cautious in approaching the bullet ridden vehicle.

His anger growing, the leather-clad solo slings the MPK around to his back and snatches the Armalite .44 from his left shoulder holster upon hearing a three-round burst roar from the other side of the vehicle. Cautiously moving to the car, Casino peers in through the shattered window. Movement from the other side of the back seat instantly catches his eye; the back door is opening and the barrel of a weapon is slid within. Another three-round burst penetrates the back seat of the passenger side, jerking the already slumped body of a Grease Monkey punk like a marionette.

Blood paints the white synth-leather interior of the back seat where two boosters' bodies are sprawled out. Frothy pink bubbles have formed on the lips of the gang member who had opened up on them to begin with, his weapon is still clenched in his hand though it now rests against the floor of the sedan. He stares at Casino with the blank gaze of the dead, draped against the body of the other gangbanger whose head has been exploded all over the back, passenger side interior.

His anger full bore by this time, Casino trains the .44 at the booster's head and drills a round through the cranium just above his right eye. Only F*****g way to be sure, he rationalizes as he pulls his weapon back and takes hold of the driver's door handle.

Positive that he's no longer the target of gunmen, Fixer still involuntarily jerks when Casino fires a round into the booster's head. Swinging the door wide after firing a three-round burst into the front passenger's back, the techie steps back just enough to allow the passenger side, back seat gang member to fall unceremoniously out. Pinned by the body of his dead ganger friend, the man's destroyed head, shoulders, and upper body is about all that manages to roll partially from the car. A perfectly timed glance across the roof of the sedan and Fixer's meets Casino's steely-eyed gaze just before the big man opens the driver's door and puts a round into the driver's body.

Moving slowly, Casino holsters the Armalite back under his left arm. Though his anger is still burning inside, seeing the heads of the boosters explode like ripe watermelons under the power of the big .44 caliber slugs, was enough to get it back under control. Walking calmly around the back of the once pretty vehicle, the large solo approaches the techie and looks him over quickly with a critical eye.

"Your hurt? How bad?" Casino drops to a crouch to exam the Tech's leg. "S*** that's gonna bruise and hurt for awhile. Where's Vegas?" Standing, he turns to look over the scene.

Sirens sound from somewhere nearby. The street is a complete standstill, people in sight of the incident have vacated their vehicles, others have made the attempt to get turned around, and still some more further down the line have managed to do so and are speeding away. Quite a ways down the street and up in the air traffic levels, the sleek, dolphin-like shape of an AV with blue and white lights flashing is speeding their way. For an edgerunner, sirens are something that is memorized, and those that are sounding now are police sirens. The cops will be there within seconds, and that will likely mean the rest of the night in lock-up at the very least.

"No worries choomba," Casino informs Fixer before turning away. "It's all won and done."

Moving off the street and back towards the club's front wall, Casino knows that his pain editor is working overtime. Retrieving his Armalite once more, he reloads while he walks.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maintenance Tunnels | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 1:40 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"There you go," Blossom pipes up. "I configged our way outta here."

Echo is the first to respond, "Nicely done, Chica!" she quickly steps forward and grips the handle.

"You boys ready?" she asks, looking back at Ghlahn and the medtech. Bloodbank takes a deep breath to clear his mind and nods. He needs to be focused and their recent jaunt through the empty tunnels has given him time to allow his thoughts to turn inward.

Pulling the door open a crack, the pretty nomad peers through it and into the night. Cold, wet wind slaps her face and blows in through the door, whipping her hair about and penetrating the hall beyond. "We're clear," Echo informs everyone while opening the door further. "At least for now."

Ghlahn steps quickly to the door and takes a look for himself. His experience helps him pick out a few items of note. A security camera above the door he points out to the others, "Gotta be careful we stay out of its vision." Before the others have a chance to move he notices movement in the sky lane, "Patrol car in the AV lane." Looking at the hotel he takes in the security detail. "We'd best avoid the hotel, those guys are packing for trouble. That road requires a toll. Not sure if it matters to us. The escalators and elevator seem equipped with a credchip device. Lucky the stairs are free, so..."

"We're about five clicks from the school," Blossom reports, her optic display activated and synched to her agent. "That way," she points to the right, towards the tunnel Ghlahn has just reported is tolled. "Do we take the direct route, or make like mice in a maze and wander frenetically all about to throw potential tails?"

Echo turns to the group, "Stay inside for the moment until the patrol car passes, he could turn around really quick!" she cautions, pushing them further back inside and stepping away from the door herself. "And yes, those hotel goons are bad mojo", she agrees with Ghlahn.

Turning to the netrunner she asks, hope in her voice, "Chicka, can you scramble that camera above the door for a bit to hide our exit?"

"There's a chance if it's connected to a wireless network," the small Asian woman responds quickly as she blindly works over her agent delivering a series of commands through muscle memory.

Bloodbank steps up to the doorway to get a glimpse out into the world beyond their dingy tunnel. He has a couple of moments to survey the surroundings, noticing several things worth noting and confirming for himself Ghlahn and Echo's assessment. Stepping back away from the portal, he leans against the damp, tunnel walls and looks at the group of them. "I concur," was his simple reply. "So, Blossom scrambles the camera if possible, and then we make a bee-line for the elevators?"
"If any of us have enough cred," Echo responds. "To use the elevators or escalators, I'm okay with that; although, if there are alerts to any of our names or faces, we're hosed. I'm perfectly fine with the stairs, but some of us are injured yet—" her head dips towards the netrunner. "—and the climb might be difficult. As far as the tunnels, I know my clan used to be able to rig the devices in vehicles to be let thru the tunnels without actual toll payment, but I'm not exactly sure how they did it, I just know it worked." Echo looks hopefully at the others, "Do any of you have the knowledge to rig 'em?"

"Good news!" Blossom chirps. "The camera is wireless. I can attempt to block the feed, but the block will only be good for as long as I'm within range of my agent's wifi signal. Maybe a hundred feet, or so.

"And as fer that rig you're shiny towards, Echo, sweety," the tattooed platinum blond smiles broadly. "That'd be where that sullen little technician we met back at the fish factory would come in. I mean, if we had the time I'm sure we could get Starlight to find us something to attach, but I don't figure we've got that kind of time, or dough."

Holding up her agent, the netrunner shows the screen to any who deigns to look. "Besides, five clicks ain't nothin', and there's no need to climb stairs, take elevators, or ride any escalators if we're just hoofin' it across town."

The map she's displaying shows the location of the school (OOC: see below). "There's no need to go up, down, or crossways. I say we cut across the street and then make our way through the alleys as far as we can before cutting towards the school. Stay off the main streets and hopefully avoid cameras along the way. I'll keep scanning for wifi signals along the way and hopefully will catch any signals associated with Big Brother before they catch us. Any other ideas?"



Posted on 2016-09-19 at 18:36:28.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I can understand, Vesper.


Aletheia, everything she had associated with her father is canceled or long gone, devoured by his company affiliations.

Sorry, but good job on thinking outside of the box.

You can all access High City and wander about normally without any kind of access card if you proceed through the normal security measures. Keep in mind that right now, Ghlahn is sporting a rifle slung over his shoulder so whatever other weaponry you have hidden on your persons is moot in terms of secrecy.

The group of you with Starlight, the AV for her is on its way, but so are the cops. Just because you carry guns don't make it OK to go blasting people, and proving self-defense might take a while. Edgerunners don't normally stick around for the cops to arrive. Whatcha gonna do? Watcha gonna do when they come for you?

Those near the school, you need to determine your course of action. Blossom can attempt to black out the camera for a bit, but aside from that and the map she pulled up on her agent, what you've got going for you is fast running thin. The longer you hang out where you are, the more likely it is that the sec-teams stumble across you. Smart money is that the police have been informed as well. So...

Posted on 2016-09-19 at 18:34:38.

Topic: Supernatural / hunter interest?
Subject: My experience...


Just offering insight: my experience with play-by-post is that a lot of time can be spent on character introductions and getting to know each other. In some cases, that can stymie the pace of the game, while other games actually do better for it. For example: the Star Trek games here at the Inn do well with those introductions. The D&D games tend to stagnate due to the repeat "you meet in a tavern" kinds of scenarios. Having never played this game before, I've no suggestions as to what will work, or won't.

I'll also adjust the concept of my character if you'd like. I'd envisioned him as a drifter (the consummate biker with a bedroll, a Traveling Man in the truest sense of the word). Just tell me what works.

Also, are we using the Cortex rules and starting characters are Rookies? I can create an Editable PDF character sheet if it makes it easier.

Posted on 2016-09-18 at 19:55:04.
Edited on 2016-09-18 at 20:11:47 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: This was a really crappy sports weekend for me.


All of my teams lost this weekend. All of them!

Posted on 2016-09-18 at 19:40:57.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Quick question.


Who is allowed to post as the ambassadors? Is that being reserved for you and Eol?

Posted on 2016-09-17 at 11:07:46.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: So, I've gone and done it again.


I've added Asovil's remarks to Tochi as well as her take from "afar" on the events that Olan posted.

I am open to any type of interaction between characters as each of you arrive, playing out the first few minutes of the reception, but Asovil will not breach protocol by intruding upon a superior officer's space. So, you'll need to have your characters instigate.

Posted on 2016-09-16 at 18:19:10.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: More meat


Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Captain's Mess - 19:02



Waiting, she decides, for everyone else to arrive is almost as discommodious as arriving in the first place. Taking time to visually investigate the work that Ops has put into these festivities, Asovil finds herself engaged with the curiosities of each cultural spread and only vaguely hears the swish of the hydraulics opening the doors far to her left. The table is set for nine; a little squishy with barely any elbow room in a space usually comfortably sitting eight, but it works.

The science officer is seated at the end of the left side of the table as is appropriate what with her being the lowest ranking officer amongst the department heads and this not being a science vessel. The delegates would be seated to either side of the captain's chair at the head of the table, Toch'si—Asovil finds her cheeks warming involuntarily at the thought of the XO—position will be to the right of one of the ambassadors on the opposite side of the table from her's while the 2nd in command (the Andorian woman struggles to remember the name of the Chief Operations Officer as she can't recall having met him yet) would be across the table on the left of the other ambassador. Then the Chief Tactical Officer would be to Tochi's right, the Chief Engineering Officer across from him, and the Chief Medical Officer across from where Asovil sits. The end of the table opposite Captain Drake's chair is to remain empty.

"Good evening, Lt Sh'iraolnas. No bells?"

Asovil feels her shoulders tense up and the butterflies that had settled in her stomach now fly into her chest. Attempting to retain as much composure as possible, the blue-skinned young woman rises quickly from her chair and turns towards the handsome man addressing her. Offering a snappy salute, she barely constrains the smile she wishes to wear to the corners of her mouth and the light in her eyes.

"Lt. Zai," acknowledges the lower ranking officer. "Unfortunately, the creation of bells to adorn my uniform is not part of my replicator rations. And, I could find nothing in the Starfleet manual about the placement of bells on a dress uniform, so I chose to disregard the adornment in favor of avoiding another reprimand on my record."

"Not to worry," Tochi chuckles softly, gesturing at the various wind-chimes overhanging the room. "Operations has seen to all the bells we may need. And, if we may say so, you look perfectly lovely without them,"

"You, sir," Asovil can no longer keep her smile at bay and it erupts across her face lighting her from within. "Are incorrigible." Though, you sure do clean up nicely, she finishes to herself.

"I must admit something, Lt. Zai," the young woman adds with a worried tone. "This is the first time I've been invited to such an event. What is expected of me in my position and how best can I honor the Captain and this ship?"

(OOC: room for a reply.)

Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Captain's Mess - 19:25



Lt. Sh'iraolnas' plate consists of a raw cut of meat that reminds her of a barely cooked cut of krill-beast, a serving of some leafy vegetables lightly sprayed by a mixture of oils and dusted with herbs, and a kind of bread that reminds the Andorian woman of her people's hari. The fluted glass before her sparkles in the light showing through its translucent crystal the champagne colored liquid served as a drink. Fragrances of the food mixtures persistently pursue her attention, but the roiling condition of her nerves-induced stomach has made it nearly impossible for her to taste the morsels. All the science officer can do is occasionally sip the dry liquid and watch the proceedings, still a little overcome by the magnitude of the responsibility she now holds.

Flitting sky blue eyes dart from the face of one of her dinner mates to another and then back to the speaker in a vain attempt to observe all data-points. She catches the Captain shake his head with an amused—No, not amused, but more resigned perhaps.—smile but cannot fathom where the expression is born from. Certainly not the rhetoric being delivered by the distinguished Rytainian ambassador. Please, she finds herself thinking. Don't look at the captain right now Ambassador Threel. Worry that the Rytain gentleman might take offense should he think that the captain feels his discourses humorous fills her head.

The delegate has been speaking about the various accepting and even encouraging aspects of his people for the past few minutes. Captain Drake has obviously found something concerning the man's information either questionable, or faulty altogether. What exactly that is, Asovil cannot surmise as she has no foreknowledge of either the Rytain nor the Kuldar races. The only thing she can hope for is that those aboard the Peregrine do nothing to exacerbate the already hostile relations between the two races. The lieutenant, junior grade has been able to determine throughout the conversations for the past twenty-minutes, or so, that these two delegates are enroute to a conference wherein they are supposed to attend peace talks mediated by the Federation of Planets. Asovil determines that the safe and uneventful delivery of these ambassadors to the summit is the mission, and as such, is now dedicated to insuring its success.

"...this is, of course, our nature," Threel pontificates with a flourish of his hands. "and why the Rytain are such an ideal fit for the Federation. We believe in the sanctity of all cultures, in the value of all viewpoints..."

Crystaline blue eyes dart to Lt. Zai as the Trill tips his glass to his lips, polite consideration written all over his roguish features. At the same time, the Rytain delegate is cut off by a throaty chortle from D'Lar of the Kuldar stealing the science officer's attention and causing her brow to furrow at the affront.

"Please, Ambassador—do not sully this room with such pt'lagh," the fierce representative growls.

Feeling defensive about the success of their mission, Asovil's antennae rigidly stand atop her head as she quickly assesses Threel's countenance. The yellow-haired individual wears a look of shock like an open mask upon his orangish face as D'Lar continues. For her part, the Andorian woman finds her stomach clenching as it always does in preparation for conflict. Scenarios in which she must find something diplomatic to say while coming from a position of strength begin to play out in her head despite knowing that such behavior is not within her wheelhouse.

"The Ambassador here is a liar," D'Lar declares with barely any consideration for inflection. "Have a care not to listen too closely to his flowery words." Threel makes a motion as if to protest, but D'Lar holds up a scaly hand.

"Of course," he allows. "I am also a liar. What diplomat could ever hold such a post if this were not the case?"

He laughs at his own words and wears a huge, wolfish grin, but Asovil isn't one of those who is relieved by his self-deprecating comments. She notices that Tochi chuckles but cannot find it within herself to more than turn the corners of her mouth up in a accommodating smile. The Kuldar's mind is cunning and he duels with words while walking the edge of an icy crevace, she notes turning her attention from the grayish man to the orange one. Threel's expression relaxes into a sickly smile, though a cold glint remains in his narrowed eyes. He is not amused. The Science Officer looks towards the captain for a retort, a play at saving the Rytainian ambassador some face while not offending the Kuldarian, but he is projecting no such inclination. Returning her attention to the scaly, stringy-haired ambassador whose clothing are not what the blue-skinned woman would consider formal at all, Lt. Sh'iraolnas catches his expression changing to a more serious one.

"Then again," D'Lar discloses with a bit of a rueful tone. "At least I freely admit what I am."

He does not know when to stop! Asovil's white eyebrows raise on her once smooth forehead and her antennae twitch with dismay as she sinks back into her chair. Neither the captain, nor others of higher rank and more prominent position, seem inclined to address the rough-dressed man's remarks and that is causing the strong-willed woman some consternation. A glance towards the XO reveals to her that he, at least, is taken aback as that statement raises Tochi's brows for a nanosecond as well. Good! Were I in Ambassador Threel's place, Asovil determines. I would have challenged him to a duel by now. Perhaps Tochi is about ready to rape with him. Unwittingly using the wrong terminology for engaging in a duel with the rapier Lt. Zai had described at their earlier dinner, the Andorian feels a momentary surge of hope accompany the thought.

The Kuldar takes in the expressions around him, laughs out loud, and raises his cup. "A toast, then, to putting the best foot of our peoples forward. Perhaps when this is all complete, Ambassador Threel will have me visit his home for a holiday, and he can regale his family with tales of my own falsehoods!"

This provokes some laughter, though again, Asovil is not among those who do. While the mood in the room seems to lighten, the blue-skinned young woman takes notice that Threel does not seem to let the laughter reach his eyes.

"Here, here," Tochi laughs along, raising his glass in salute. "To the Rytain and the Kuldar. May their peace be found and fostered and may their future lies about one another be of only the most flattering sort."

Leaning forward and taking up her glass as is appropriate according to Federation custom (something Asovil had learned in Starfleet Academy had been adopted from the Terrans by those other species who had joined), she hefts the glass up before her stone face and then touches the liquid to her slightly parted lips. Just a taste is all that she allows before placing the glass back at the upper right of her nearly untouched place setting.

These two, Lt. Sh'iraolnas shrewdly surmises. Are going to be a handful when it comes time for the summit. I, for one, am certainly grateful to Uzaveh the Infinite that I do not have to attempt to wrangle them. It would, undoubtedly, not end well.

Posted on 2016-09-16 at 18:14:33.
Edited on 2016-09-16 at 18:16:25 by Bromern Sal

 


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