Star Trek: Eventide 777

Dear Commodare Aleto Treville, The USS Bastion was transmitting data up until they reached Danteri System when we suddenly lost contact with them. Starfleet Command has attempted to reestabilish communications with them several times of the course of the last hour. We have deployed the USS Oblitus along with a small detachment of Tactical vessels to aid Starbase 777 and USS Eventide they should arrive in two to three days. The last trasmission from the USS Bastion seemed to indicate they were under some sort of attack. This troubling new development was what we feared. As of now your orders are to put Starbase 777 at yellow alert, wait for reinforcements to arrive. Evactuate all non essential personel and civilans to Regulus in the Celes Sector using the Eventide. Prepare your officers Commodore, Starfleet Intelligence says that an attack on the Station would be their next most likely Target. We have heard simalar reports from the Romulan Republic High Command and the Klingon High Council of losing ships though it was determined that a single Tactical vessel could handle the situation no matter what situation might be. We have recently received word that both the Klingon Empire and The Romulan Republic have had their nearest starbases crippled by some unknown strike group. Until further notice from us proceed with caution, Starfleet can't lose more ships than we already have. Please inform us of any developments to the situation should they arrise. Starfleet Command

(edited)

It was into her quarters that Treville walked, the doors sliding open and her immediately having to stand in front of them and attempt to block the exit so that Orih didn't immediately try to escape. The Risian caracal had been gifted to her solely because of it being a spotted variant - "you both have matching spots, ma'am," her old ACOO had said - and despite caracals being known to have a calm nature she seemed to have wound up with one of the wilder ones. Orih was known for frequently trying to escape, trying to dig up the flooring, and chewing on the strings of her harp as if it would somehow provide sustenance. It seemed that the caracal hadn't acted any better when Treville was not here. The crewman who had offered to look after her clearly hadn't managed to instil any discipline into the animal, and it was as such that Orih immediately tried to make a dash for the exit as soon as the doors opened. "Not today, Orih," Treville stated to the animal, slowly inching forwards with the caracal all but pressing against her legs as if it might phase through and make a dash out to explore the station - something that it got to do during walks anyway, but evidently wanted to do more of by itself. Only when the doors slid closed did she step around the animal... Only to turn to pet it quickly, scratching Orih behind the ears and offering that smile which always seemed to convey that she wasn't properly frustrated by the creature acting the way it did. "I'm sorry I took so long. I missed you - promise." divider

21:43

Standing again, she took her bag from her shoulder before setting it down and then removing her jacket - the cold immediately seemed to bite, and for a moment she envied how Orih never seemed to care and always thrived no matter what the temperature was. As much as she would have liked to go about sorting her things from the conference that Command notification chime that she had heard from her PADD continued to draw her attention. Finding the PADD and quickly reading over the message - and then a second time as if to ensure that she understood the contents correctly - it was now with a genuinely serious look that she gave to the caracal. "Stay here," she stated, already heading to the doors in a brisk march. "I mean it."

[D]A gift has been left for this room's occupant: a medium sized red box tied (messily, a valiant attempt but it is obvious the person was doing it for the first tine) with a baby blue ribbon. The note attached herewith is, by contrast, very neatly written:

Merry Christmas. I hope that this present sufficiently reminds you of home. I've read that it is a commonly exchanged gift on Trillius Prime.

Hmm. Come to think of it maybe the sender should also have taken time to seem more subtle in that note, too.

[D]As it turned out the box contained a traditional Trill fruit and nut cake of a kind popular on Trill, especially with chocolate lovers, because recent incarnations added chocolate chips to the middle and chocolate ganache on top.

[PADD]

From: Chief of Security Whidbey To: Commodore Treville Dear Commodore, I was just about to turn in a pair of reports over my PADD to you when I realized it's been a while since we have talked. I was hoping perhaps we could catch up and given subject matter of my two reports I think it would be better if we could discuss them verbally.

Treville actually being found within her quarters may as well be considered a rarity. Like most senior officers she often wound up neglecting sleep in favour of working instead. It was hardly intentional - sometimes you just wound up being far busier than anticipated. PACT had brought that from the initial planning stage and it had just gotten worse and worse as the days progressed, and then the aftermath had been horrid. It was only after handling as much as she could that she had wound up returning to her quarters late into the night -- and only because she had fallen asleep at her desk, something which was not only impractical but hardly comfortable either.

The door chimed.

The sound of the door chime ringing made the Trill genuinely consider just not answering the door and overriding the computer's location tracker so it seemed like she was somewhere else. Treville was hardly that petty, however, and it was as such that she straightened her back and made a conscious effort to seem as awake as possible before heading to the door, Orih having immediately dashed over there as soon as the door chime had sounded. Normally people would have called her via the Computer or her commbadge if she was required - no one ever had the audacity so simply show up at her quarters - so it was as such that when the doors opened the person was met with a rather unimpressed "can I help you?" Only for her to halt when she found out who it was at the door. Immediately that slightly disgruntled look folded into that of a frown instead. "Commander Dreaxa - is everything alright?"

"Funnily enough, I came here to ask you the same thing. Thought it'd be nice to come and check on you, I'm such a good medical officer and all." She said with a smile. "May I come in? I know it's a little late, if you want me to go away just say so." Judging by how tired the woman looked, it was obvious she was overworking herself in the light of recent events. She gave her a slight look of concern and disapproval before she realised how hypocritical it would be.

There was a sigh of relief and you could physically see her shoulders slump- no one -showed up at her quarters, pretty much ever, and when she had saw the Medical officer stood there the frustration had snapped into concern. It was difficult not to fear the worst, but in the end it was just Dreaxa simply... Being nice. The question of 'may I come in' ended up being answered not by herself but by Orih; the Risian caracal piercing a set of fangs through the hem of Dreaxa's uniform trousers and walking backwards as if to try to drag her into the quarters. "It seems that I don't have an option," Treville replied while watching the animal with the sort of 'not angry just disappointed' look that she offered crewmen in trouble at times. "I'll apologise for the new fang-marks in your trousers - the automated laundry should fix them, though."

"Hey, who's this little guy? I didn't know you had a pet. Ain't you a little cutey?" She said with a smile, kneeling down to speak to the caracal. "I suppose we better step inside before you try and escape or something." She said, pushing the small creature backwards with her leg as she stepped into the quarters and looking back up at the Commodore. "So, how are things with you? You look tired, but I don't expect anything less considering your usual workload."

"Be careful," she mused upon taking a couple of steps backwards so Dreaxa could step past. "If you try to push her around then it won't be your uniform she tries to eat, it'll be your thigh. She is incredibly stubborn... And will try to chew her way through anything." There was a reason why not a single piece of furniture within the living room looked as prim or as tidy as the Trill would have liked. She liked things to be spotless -- and Orih liked things to have a whole host of teethmarks scratched into them. With a wave of her hand she beckoned Dreaxa over to the seats surrounding a low coffee table, almost the same layout as the standard configuration for the quarters of any other officer. Sinking into her armchair with a grimace, she shook her head at the way Orih immediately attempted to jump up and claim the corner of the sofa that Dreaxa had just been about to take. "I'm alright. Busy. Things never seem to happen one at a time; if there's any form of incident the universe insists upon throwing multiple at once. It has been a rather hectic past few days... And I suppose that the same can be said for yourself in sickbay. I was hoping that we might relieve you of one patient but apparently the Klingons' advisory medical officer has told them that Councillor K'gartrern is better off here with our Federation technology, so they want to keep him aboard until he wakes. ...I can understand why, as frustrating as it is."

"Dont worry, we're more than happy to look after him, it is our job after all." She said, moving to find another seat so that the Caracal wouldn't have to be moved. "What's the latest updates on our bomber situation? Did we learn anything new from talking to that Reman?" She said, leaning back against the soft chair of the commodore sofa.

"Oh, there's a whole fiasco regarding the explosion. I trust that what I say won't be relayed elsewhere?" She enquired, stopping for confirmation even though she was already quite certain that the CMO wouldn't go telling anybody. "Supposedly our bomber was just hired to plant the device, so there are other people involved. We have no leads. The Republic are trying to review street security footage but haven't found anything yet. They want to extradite the Reman, there are multiple planets calling for her head due to the impact upon PACT... But it's become apparent that she had no idea that the device was a bomb in the first place. FedSec are investigating, the SCIS are investigating, the JAG Corps want involved, Command is breathing down my neck about it all -- fiasco is the only appropriate word," she concluded. "...And then on top of that there is everything else. Incidents with certain divisions, trying to compensate the visitors for the cancellation of PACT, getting the station back to standard operating procedure... And then there's the normal day-to-day work on top of all of that. Reports are backlogged. I haven't met multiple of the new senior staff and who knows if I'll ever have the time to host a senior staff meeting. There are three liaison officers I need to meet as well, and..." The Commodore trialled off, exhaling slowly and rubbing beneath both eyes. It wasn't often that the weariness showed but for a brief second it did until she cracked one eye open and offered a highly diplomatic and apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to try to offload all of this onto you."

"No, no please do! That's why I came here, Commodore. I might not be a trained counsellor but I am a good listener, and as an empath I'm good at sensing the emotional shifts you give off, helps me get a feel for how you're really doing underneath that unbreakable façade you always put up." She said with a gentle smile. "It sounds like your under a lot of pressure right now, I'd warn you about the dangers of overworking yourself but I'm sure you're very well aware of anything I'd have to say about the matter, so I won't give you the whole spiel." The woman put a hand down and started to scratch the Caracal behind the ear as it was currently tucked into the corner next to her, before she looked back up at the commodore. "Is there not officers you can offload some of this work onto? You shouldn't have to shoulder the entire stations burdens by yourself."

"I can assure you that it isn't a façade," she mused smoothly, and at the same time Orih stretched out a paw to bat at the Betazoid's leg as if telling her off for implying such a thing. Truthfully the use of 'I'm an empath' annoyed her. People were entitled to their own feelings and they didn't have to continually share them, nor did someone else have to be privy to them. Empathic ability may well be an invasion of a person's privacy. Don't brag about it -- keep it to yourself. "This is a Starfleet station positioned at the border of space owned by multiple factions -- the job has been stressful long before now, and it will continue to be the same for long afterwards. 'Overworking' is a given, and I can reassure you that things are already delegated to others; but often, things are to be handled by myself and not by anyone else. That isn't anything untoward, it's simply part of the job -- and when you have multiple incidents aboard in a row, it leaves you dealing with numerous things at once. It's just the way it is."

"I understand that, it's why I'm not pestering you as much as I would the other members of crew, I'm guilty of overworking myself. Especially with the state in which the medical department seems to find itself. Staffing issues, a seemingly endless number of casualties coming in... It's been a lot of work these few months I've been here... I digress however, this was meant to be about me coming to check on you, not a lecture upon the state of the medical department." She said, looking back up at her with a smile. "I hope your minor injuries havent been too much of an issue, you haven't stopped by sickbay since the explosion, I assume you're not in any pain?"

"I'd like to offer reassurance that we'll have the issue of short-staffing sorted relatively soon, but we both know that would practically be a lie. As unfortunate as it is we are not Starfleet's first priority and people continue to be sent to starships first -- you might have thought that having a starship permanently assigned to us might have changed that somewhat, but alas." Treville didn't enjoy this. She had enough about the continued issues of different departments while at work, never mind whilst off duty as well. She did not want to feel frustrated or annoyed by a conversation which should be going otherwise. The only option was to change the subject, and while she was tempted to ignore the latter question which had been presented, she was well aware that doing so would be entirely rude. "I haven't spontaneously dropped dead yet so I'm as alright as can be," she replied, a little more bluntly than she would like. It annoyed her that Dreaxa was right -- that she did drop the act while around her. There was more frustration, quicker to anger -- it was a part of herself that she had tamed long before, and one that she didn't enjoy -- hence why, generally, her frustrations were kept to herself instead of vented to someone else. She drew in a slow inhale and exhaled equally slowly, setting her head back against the back of the armchair for a moment before looking back to Dreaxa. "...I had actually forgotten how strange concussions are. From what I know for most they're just generally unpleasant, but I must have spent well over a day tripping through personalities that aren't my own."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound advisable... Has it subsided now or are you still having these strange 'mood swings', so to speak?" She said slipping into the small medical bag and pulling out her tricorder. "I'm sure they'll go away with time, but It's my job to worry, you know." She said with a gentle chuckle, as she slid down the sofa a tad so she could stretch an arm out to scan the woman. "Look at me being a good medical officer and doing welfare checks even when I'm off duty. I suppose it is important to make sure the senior staff are fit and healthy at all times, considering how much the crew rely on them."

"Yet no one is asking you to do a 'wellfare' check," she replied - only to shoot the medical officer an unhappily vexed look as she caught sight of the tricorder, seemingly having blinked and missed her magically acquiring it. It didn't surprise her that Dreaxa had the tricorder with her - while Dreaxa's arrival at her door had been entirely unanticipated, Treville had at least hoped the ensuing chat to be pleasant instead of being... As much as she hated to day it, some invasive delve into medical welfare and emotional nonsense. Couldn't they just talk? "It's equally important to ensure that people want to be poked and prodded at." Seemingly sensing her owner's displeasure, Orih stretched out lengthways beside Dreaxa and swiped a paw towards the tricorder, the swift movement being not much more than a purple blur. Treville merely watched for a moment before taking another slow breath. People didn't normally have the ability to wind her up so much, and it wasn't as if she had an aversion to medical. Dreaxa just... Had a way of getting under her skin, she supposed -- for whatever reason that was. "...Besides, they aren't mood swings. When a host's strength wanes a symbiont's own personality becomes more prominent to compensate - as you'll already know, of course... And a symbiont's personality is made up of that of its previous hosts, so if one personality is more domineering than the others then you can end up acting like someone who is no longer here. General deterioration does it for most but head injuries are an easy way to completely throw a Joined Trill off balance. I spent a good five minutes considering unionising against Starfleet Command before remembering that I'm a flag officer and that we don't need a union - I was just acting like Kosun. ...At least I'm not as bad as Dihjun. He spent a good day acting like Osraul, much to the displeasure of his children." (edited)

"That doesn't seem like it would be fun to deal with, it seems as is your back to your normal self again though?" She said glancing down at the tricorder before Orih swiped up at her, which distracted her from the sofa beneath her... "You're quite right however, I shouldn't be worrying so much about you, you're a perfectly responsible person who I can trust to visit sickbay if they actually needed medical attention." She said with a smile as she threw the tricorder back into her bag. "Less work talk, Commodore. We're off duty, perhaps we could talk about something less miserable than the state of the station? I still don't think we know eachother all that well, let's talk more about ourselves, shall we?" Glancing around the room for something worth talking about, her eyes were quickly drawn to the harp at the side of the room. "I didn't know you were into music, do you play? Or was it some random gift from your days as a Diplomat?"

Treville would have replied had Dreaxa not carried on, so instead of continuing her attempt to reply to the first part of the conversation she simply listened, trying to make eye-contact with Dreaxa out of politeness but also trying to watch Orih through a half-lidded gaze, aware that the trouble-maker of a caracal was already being somewhat rude to their guest. Less talk about work was exactly what Treville had been trying to do in her attempts to change the conversation, so when Dreaxa finally opted to move on and stop going back to the previous thing they were talking about, the Trill was more than thankful… Although talking about ‘ourselves,’ or ‘herself,’ rather, was daunting. Treville listened to other people but she did not talk about herself – what was there to say? At least Dreaxa had seemed to find something that wasn’t an awful place to start with. The Commodore glanced over her shoulder to the corner of the room, looking to the harp in question. It would have wound up coated in a nice layer of dust had it not been for her polishing. “No, I play; although not as often as I should. Mostly that harp serves as a chew-toy for a certain someone…” She trailed off there, and having turned back around offered a mock unimpressed look towards Orih who had now opted to stretch out beside the CMO, taking up the remainder of the sofa’s space in a long blur of purple fur. “She enjoys trying to bite through sixth octave G and A for some reason. Could you imagine trying to send something as large as that as some sort of diplomatic gift… Operations would certainly not be impressed.” 777_divider

14:52

To be fair, the assumption that it had been a gift from her time in the Diplomatic Corps wasn’t uneducated. While her quarters were sparsely decorated the items here and there such as ornaments or tapestries were all from varying cultures; it seemed that her lack of interior design knowledge was compensated for by gifted items from other worlds. “That being said, a lot of what you see here is from elsewhere. I’m abysmal at decoration, I never know how to make a place seem homely. To be fair, one gift made things quite significantly worse at one stage – do you know the concept of a death mask, from old Earth culture?”

"The decoration doesn't look too bad, I haven't even started with mine yet, I've not had much chance at all to even attempt anything as nice as décor." She said, with a smile. "As for the mask, I'm not familiar, no. I assume it's self explanatory from the name? Something to do with a mask for the dead? Not that I can say I've seen anything like that with any dead body I've been around." She said with a light chuckle as she raised an eyebrow.

Mo entered the room, ignoring the large wall of text above him. Now, where was he? 54321. He already did five things he could see, so four things he could touch - Wait. Shit. His quarters were bare; he'd hardly had time to move his stuff over. There were barely any things to count in here. He touched the bedsheets, then the cold button of the door intercom, then the worn, soft fur of a racoon plushie he'd had since he was a lobeling, and then - what else, what else? Damn him, why hadn't he engaged in more retail therapy in his time here so far? (And for that matter, what happened to all the stuff he would have previously had on his last posting? An OOC mystery to be solved.) What kind of Ferengi was he? Well, not one, biologically, but still. But - Aha! The plate! He walked over to where it was on his coffee table and touched its stained glass-esque surface, as smooth as if it'd never been broken. The next step was three things you could hear, but there wasn't really much going on in here except the sound of his own slowing breath, so seeing that the exercise had served its purpose, he flopped onto the bed with the raccoon plushie that nobody but him would ever see or he'd have to kill them, then conked the fucked out for seven hours precisely.

[D] A message came through to Mo's PADD.

To: Captain Mephistopheles Mo From: Lt. Cdr. Dagis Subject: Comms breach Captain, We must discuss the progress Operations has made on the earlier breach in our comms system. When is it convenient to do so? - Lt. Cdr. Dagis, Chief Operations Officer, Starbase 777

To: Lieutenant Commander Dagis From: Cpt. Mephistopheles Mo Subject: RE: Comms breach Lieutenant, I just finished up some work, so right now would be acceptable. Perhaps your office; I've been in mine all day, and I'm told that's bad for my health. Signed, Captain Mephistopheles Mo, Station Commander, Starbase 777

To: Captain Mephistopheles Mo From: Lt. Cdr. Dagis Subject: Comms breach Captain, That would be, to quote Vulcans, agreeable. I am free now. - Lt. Cdr. Dagis, Chief Operations Officer, Starbase 777