| Up a creek, running out of oars... |
[Jul. 17th, 2009|03:07 pm] |
::stops just beyond door sensors, lifting bouquet in hand to critically examine again...it looks nice, Sam approved, but you never know with some women::
::drops arm, feeling more than a little idiotic for hesitating to enter own quarters...especially after amused looks given by two passing crewmen::
::draws to full height, taking a soothing breath before trying to saunter in::
Seven?
::pauses...it's times like this a fitting term of endearment would be handy::
I'm sorry I'm late...Neelix backed me into a corner wanting to talk about the shower for Harper and Kyoto and apparently a separate party for the baby's six monther...
::takes in more than usual silence, looking around...she has to be here, the computer said so::
::stops at bedroom door::
::sighs, stepping forward to try luck even though a certain feeling says it's futile...and it is::
::bumps nose, backing up to glare...patience only goes so far::
Seven? Open up.
...the last time I checked, you aren't a teenager, so if we could both try to approach this as two adults...
...
...
Fine. Take your time. I'll be here when you feel like coming out.
::waits, slipping occasional look at chronometer::
My patience ends at ten.
::drops flowers, charging back out of quarters and down corridor::
::hits chime::
|
|
|
| Captain's Log, Supplemental. |
[Jul. 10th, 2009|09:04 pm] |
Titan has been out of drydock and officially under my (ever so reluctant though it be) command for nearly a month now.
Despite my first officer's nearly irrepressible desire to test the new quantum slipstream engine, we've managed to keep a fairly slow...and therefore fairly steady...course to Deep Space Nine, where we expect to grant last shore leaves and pick up a few final crew additions.
I hope to have my head engineer and pilot aboard by the end of the week.
Then, as Dax would say in her charmingly Earth imitative manner, we put the pedal to the metal...
::holds finger over save key, debating...maybe at this point, short and sweet is best...especially since the sweet wears thin fast when certain Trill are part of the topic::
::punches it, settling back in already creaky chair with the vaguest sense of satisfaction:: |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jul. 10th, 2009|01:46 pm] |
::spears a celery stalk, swishing it around in something Chell seems to think resembles dressing::
::wonders who got the bright idea to let the Bolian and Talaxian switch off security and mess shifts...then wonders when Neelix's cooking became worth preferring::
::sighs::
Should have risked wasting replicator rations.
::debates doing it yet, glancing over to doors to see if wife is anywhere within visual range::
::groans at worser sight:: |
|
|
| Afternoon rush. |
[Jul. 8th, 2009|03:32 pm] |
::yanks on uniform jacket, giving wrinkles a half-hearted once over::
With everything else Starfleet comes up with, you'd think care free fabric would be simple enough...but no, no...
::jumps when firm, slightly cool fingers run over back, apparently focused on the out of reach spots::
Thanks, Seven.
::twists, greeted by a plate of...something...stuck just under nose::
Ah...smells good. But what exactly... |
|
|
| Second chances... |
[Jun. 12th, 2009|02:34 pm] |
::draws to halt a few paces away from the main entrance to Starfleet's hub, cocking head to take in building...and remember last occasion for visiting::
::tamps down glare of disgusted indignation with profound effort, tugging at uniform jacket one last time before heading in::
::winces as irony of gesture strikes::
I don't see why we couldn't do this over dinner as well. God knows, I need the comfort food. |
|
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 7th, 2009|05:40 pm] |
::dips butter knife into sauce, plopping a generous portion on napkin and using it doodle::
::nods again in a less than enthusiastic pretense of attention as twin's latest outraged rant hits crescendo, eyes scanning room for some diversion, any diversion::
::just about bounces with joy as Neelix's latest victims wander in::
::lifts hand quickly in beckoning, offering sheepish look to side when food art turns into a food projectile::
|
|
|
| Earth, Starfleet Command...Admiral's office. |
[May. 6th, 2009|03:35 pm] |
::relaxes when doors slide shut, shutting out the latest in a long string of secretaries...for reason's beyond the Admiral, the turnover rate is high::
::quirks lips in self-amusement at less than respectful thought, sitting bag down in chair and neatly folding jacket atop it::
::keeps fists balled around thick, course material, eyes lifting to bay of windows across opposite wall...foot traffic below is light and brisk, those still around this late all too eager to escape and head home...or just away::
::twists head, scanning the rest of the room, though not expecting to see anything new...the Admiral's home away from home has been the same since knee socks and hair bows...form, function, little in the way of distraction::
::curves lips again, eyes settling on sole picture allowed a place on the neat, utilitarian desk:: |
|
|
| USS Titan, drydock. |
[Apr. 24th, 2009|02:25 pm] |
::clambers up last few steps of maintenance ladder, accepting the hand of a nearby engineer to crawl out::
::brushes off profuse apologies about downed lifts, using the pretense of needing a stretch to take a moment to look around...and then directly toward open ready room entrance::
::bites lip to hide smile, head cocking to take in indistinguishable but forceful mutterings from within::
::offers refit leader a sympathetic shoulder pat, carefully moving around tools and debris, eventually coming to rest just inside doorway::
::clears throat::
Oh, Captain? |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Apr. 14th, 2009|07:06 pm] |
::puts finishing touches on follow-up report to session with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) ltcmdrtomparis, with a more than slight sigh of relief...honestly, it's worse than poking around in the head of a Riker::
::shakes foggy thoughts back to order, glancing at half-screened windows of transit quarters and dimming sunlight coming through::
::checks time, faintly surprised...dinner alone then::
::scrapes chair back, shutting down screen and padding into main room::
::blinks, barely catching self from jumping at sight of shadowed figure standing stock still against opposite, windowed wall::
Wesley? |
|
|
| Forget eating it, just getting the cake is a hassle. |
[Apr. 8th, 2009|01:31 pm] |
::halts outside mess doors, checking wrist chronometer...might just beat the Borg::
::steps in, scanning room and finding target...plus two::
::or not::
::sighs, strolling on by counter and grabbing a plate from Chell's beefy blue hand...minus dessert::
::tries not to look at it until seated...there's just no telling::
Harry, I need something. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 31st, 2009|08:19 pm] |
::turns antique paperweight in hand, momentarily surprised when floodlights come to life outside, glinting off of crystalline figurine::
::squints toward window, making mental note to request more maintenance...fully tinted, this time::
::sits paperweight down with a concise thud, reaching over instead to intercom::
Lydia...
::briefly struggles to remember time differences, finally giving up::
Put me through to Betazed, please. The Troi residence. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 27th, 2009|08:28 pm] |
::pulls last of pins from hair, shaking it loose and settling on a quick hand brush...in no mood to pull knots::
::grabs shunned uniform jacket from floor, tossing it into recycler::
::viciously suppresses soft smile as something that sounds suspiciously like koochie-koo drifts from living area::
::tightens robe and straightens back, donning determined face and charging in::
Harry, put down that baby. Now. |
|
|
| Betazed, winding down the day. |
[Mar. 25th, 2009|08:27 pm] |
::carefully dumps heavily marinated replicated chicken into pan, adding another sprinking of replicated oregano for merit::
::shakes head one more time, uncertain which is more aggravating...the Betazoid passion for passivity that leads to more rigid veganism than even most modern species employ, or the cogs in their import process that still haven't been fixed, years after war::
::reaches to other side of oven, grabbing a bottle off countertop and popping the cork, smirking at own complaints::
At least they know their wine.
::pours a dollop, listening to stir-fry sizzle while eyes drift to nearby window, then wall chronometer::
::debates taking a swig, or growing a few more grey hairs instead::
::tells self not to worry, just like countless times before...but can't stop the internal half-plea, half-question that escapes::
::Imzadi?:: |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 6th, 2009|06:31 pm] |
::steps into mess, sliding padd into pocket on the way...some people look for excuses to overwork, and following the Captain's lead is a decent one::
::if only they knew...Kathryn left behind some engrossing literature...and not all classics::
::carefully tamps down smirk, nodding to Dalby and Crewman Biddle before moving past them to the counter::
What do we have today, Neelix? |
|
|
| Trying to wrap up for the day...trying. |
[Feb. 18th, 2009|07:11 pm] |
::scowls at console screen, reading through message from jenny_delaney for the fifth time::
Sick my...
::leans back in chair, pinching bridge of nose while mentally reviewing Astrometrics task schedule for next day...a full system overhaul to facilitate the steady stream of new data Command seems determined to send along::
She knows we don't have time for this.
::pushes to feet, debating whether to go directly to the chewing out part or offer the pretense of a benefit of a doubt::
::better at least check with sickbay first...women tend to cry when they really are sick and get an earful:: |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jan. 30th, 2009|05:44 pm] |
::offers daily farewell to Astrometrics staff, waiting until back is turned to lift brow at jennydelaney's gum smack response::
::drops padd with stored work in basket near door...no more 'home work', per living mate's insistence::
::tries not to frown in anticipation of the resulting tedium, checking time instead::
::nods to Jor while stepping into lift, inputting own destination after engineer leaves::
Deck six. |
|
|
| Coffee! With added sugar! |
[Jan. 21st, 2009|11:25 am] |
::bustles around USS Voyager's briefing room, angling and reangling chairs::
::frowns at crooked brunch settings...that little orange furball can't do anything right, can he?::
::straightens and re-examines, hummming merrily on way back to hissing coffee kettle::
::satisfied with simmer, picks up a mug and carefully wipes away a smudge on shirt...really::
::leans back against serving cart, crossing legs and eying chronometer...maybe Chuckles will need the full five cups this morning::
::taps feet impatiently:: |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 30th, 2008|10:53 am] |
::pauses in mess hall doorway, ignoring hungry grumbles from behind and taking the time to carefully scan the room before daring proceed so much as a step farther::
Safe.
::sniffs at the mere thought of the pilot behind all the calculated avoidance, trotting to buffet line and ignoring the looks garnished...for Pete's sake, don't the people on Voyager have anything better to do than gossip?::
::takes a plate with one hand, putting the other up to swiftly shut down Neelix's consolatory hovering::
::looks down at food offerings...still brunch...::
::quivers a little at the unfortunate memory:: |
|
|
| Alpha shift. |
[Mar. 6th, 2008|09:40 am] |
::steps off turbolift, looking around warily::
::no blatant hints of threat, at least...maybe Jenny has fewer minions than feared::
::detours to helm, checking Jetal's work...what little work there is to do::
::gives her a sympathetic shrug, turning back to the command center::
::settles into seat, ignoring eyes drilling into back of head...let him twitch::
Status? |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 5th, 2008|06:04 pm] |
::pauses before door to ltcmdrtomparis' office, examining padd in hand one final time::
Sufficient.
::lifts a finger to press chime, stepping aside in brief surprise when Voyager's helmsman and XO strides through before contact is made: |
|
|
| Covert Ops... |
[Nov. 8th, 2007|09:32 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | jenny delaney, tom, voyager | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | predatory | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Break Each Others Hearts Again-Reba McEntire and Don Henley | ] |
::rounds corner, taking a quick survey of the corridor...good, empty...before proceeding::
::skids to a halt before ltcmdrtomparis' quarters, carefully punching in codes::
::takes another cautionary look::
Oh, lord a'mighty, do you really care what people think?
::doesn't answer self...the things age does to ones edge::
::besides...he apparently does::
::steps in, pressing a finger to lips in thought as the doors slide shut::
::eventually smiles...time to get to work:: |
|
|
| Finishing up for the night. |
[Sep. 29th, 2007|11:20 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  cranky | ] |
::runs finger along console screen, absorbing readings one final time...really::
::Chell will be happy to know that he doesn't have a leaky gut...or any of the other dozen alleged ailments he was worrying himself sick over::
::he can fret until morning, though::
::clicks screen off, turning to address general vicinity of the office::
Doctor, I'm gone for the night.
...
::takes a few steps, poking head through door::
Did you hear me you useless bag of photons? |
|
|
| Too much, too soon. |
[Aug. 13th, 2007|05:57 pm] |
*...has full power focused on attacking Xindi ship...*
*...internal sensors suddenly detect a breach in the brig, several crewmembers busting Archer out!...*
*...doesn't have any remaining power sources to stop them...*
Russel, there has been a security breach. |
|
|
| [placeholder] |
[Aug. 13th, 2007|11:46 pm] |
|
This is the post where mrostov and other will save the day. |
|
|
| Another day, another... well, not dollar, but whatever. |
[Aug. 7th, 2007|03:07 pm] |
*ten minutes 'til end of the day*
*nothing happened overnight, nothing interesting anyway... lots and lots of laundry to catch up on*
*Quartermaster only able to do half a shift, Bella pretty beat now, dead on her 5-inch heels feet*
*cracks open a bottle of vodka, one of Zio's "hidden" stash, knows where he keeps it all anyway, not really much room to hide anything in the office*
*sits on the desk and watches the clock...* |
|
|
| Making up for lost time. |
[Aug. 3rd, 2007|10:42 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | jenay, voyager | ] |
| [ | music |
| | If I Should Lose My Way - Linda Eder | ] |
::stops just beyond doors to Cargo Bay Two, glancing around uncertainly::
::bolsters courage as Lieutenant Wildman approaches from opposite end of corridor, brows knit in concerned query:
::shakes head to rebuff further approach::
::jams finger into security panel, slipping through doors quickly::
::halts again, drawing a shallow breath and adjusting eyes to distinctly different environment...it's quieter here, except the alcoves humming, and not as bright:: |
|
|
| Busywork. |
[Jul. 18th, 2007|09:29 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Meet Virginia - Train | ] |
::jabs another button, sending the last response to an earful of personnel complaints off::
::heaves a sigh of unmitigated relief, pondering whether an executive role might be less an honor and more an example of a certain Indian's long arm of justice::
Hell, I think he still owes me his life.
::gives darkened screen one last glower, swinging chair around and seriously considering just switching to the sofa for the rest of the night::
It's a god-damned therapist's sofa. Do I look like a therapist?
::derails potential work-up of frustration, slumping back in defeat as door chimes insistently::
In. |
|
|
| Allies? |
[Jul. 7th, 2007|12:24 pm] |
*on way to bust Captain out of the brig, take care of this mutiny thing once and for ALL*
*Kelby will get what's coming to him, yessiree*
*passes a familiar door, gets an idea, reaches out to squeeze Kelly's shoulder*
Psst... in here. Trust me.
*knocks on Foster's door* |
|
|
| Back...somewhere |
[Jul. 4th, 2007|05:39 pm] |
*wakes quickly, groggy*
*didn't remember falling asleep*
Urgh...whatever.
*staggers off into bathroom...brushes teeth on automatic...ignores shaver in its holder*
*sighs at reflection*
You and me both, buddy.
*drags self off out of quarters in search of children, friends and food. In that order* |
|
|
| Bearding the lion in his den... |
[Jul. 3rd, 2007|09:22 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | tom, voyager | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | determined | ] |
| [ | music |
| | I'm The Only One - Melissa Etheridge | ] |
::glances down corridor each way, making sure no stray Ocampa are around::
It's really tedious, when you think about it. I've seen alien royalty with less second to second monitoring.
::satisfied with the all clear, reaches up to straighten hair, coaxing face into most brilliant, come and gimme a kiss, helmboy pout::
::presses chime, then lifts fist to beat door twice for measure...these days, sometimes he just plays deaf:: |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jun. 12th, 2007|05:25 pm] |
*dropped Henry off with Max Admiral Forrest, split ways with Dillard, making way to the brig*
*ship rocks with a jolt of weapons fire*
Oh... oh, no.
*starts to run towards brig, doesn't even care if there are mutineers around...*
*ship rocks again, seems to be a steady stream of weapons' fire now*
GOD DAMN IT, KELBY!!! |
|
|
| USS Voyager, irregular physicals. |
[Apr. 22nd, 2007|03:53 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | voyager | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blah | ] |
| [ | music |
| | My Skin - Natalie Merchant | ] |
::taps finger on console screen, attempting...unsuccessfully...to thoroughly lose self in recombinant DNA::
::it would probably help if these particular strands of recombinant DNA weren't reminders in themselves::
::surrenders with a sigh of self-disgust, turning around to lean back against the monitor instead::
::sweeps gaze around rest of sickbay, eyes finally settling beyond privacy glass and on the figure seated within the doctor's office::
::tilts head, staring:: |
|
|
| If it ain't broke, break it |
[Mar. 23rd, 2007|08:39 pm] |
Taking a deep breath, Russel Kelby steps out of the turbolift and onto the bridge.
His bridge, now.
So far, the mutiny has gone well, no one's been hurt. Well, much, and Archer's head will be as good as new in no time so that hardly counts.
The viewscreen shows the ship traveling at Warp 4. Sure looks prettier from up here, thinks Kelby. Time to find out exactly what's going on. He settles into the command chair, and after a few moments looking at all the buttons, he asks:
"What's our status?" |
|
|
| Bars do not a prison make. |
[Mar. 11th, 2007|12:01 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | voyager | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | irritated | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Fix You - Coldplay | ] |
::refolds arms for the dozenth time, slouching down to find something more closely resembling a comfortable position::
::does one more visual sweep through room...yes, locked decon door, yes, sullen circus of fellow detainees still lined up down own bench and across on the other::
::thinks wrathful thoughts about the NX crew...if Foster had anything to do with this, long overdue payback is going to be a beauty...::
::stops inward muttering, the silence of the room still too much to bear::
So let me just rehash this one more time. Out of...
::head counts::
...five people, not one of you could put up a decent fight and stay in the clear to help end this mutiny? |
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