Just one thing...pretty sure, due to the state of Earth at this point in time, that there wouldn't be any South London Estates left. Everything's supposed to be all utopian and happy, that's the Federations goal anyway.
Everything is... relative...? That's my explanation and I'm sticking to it.
Just wanted to let you all know, I'm working on making NPCs for the bridge crew. They will be co-optable. I wont have exclusive control over them. I'll place them under the character tab for reference.
For anyone still thinking of joining (I know you're out there because I've been PM'd a few times) this doesn't mean you cannot have the spot. It's still yours if you want it.
Also, the next IC post should be finished by tomorrow. It's finished, but I'm going to make everyone wait. Haha.
Twenty-One /\ Human /\ Ensign – Helm “Say oh, got this feeling that you can't fight Like this city is on fire tonight This could really be a good life A good, good life”
Appearance: Young. Black hair, medium length. Boyish face. Bold affect. Green Eyes. Kyle is average height, 5’11 as per his military profile and 185lbs. He has no tattoos.
Personality: Kyle is easygoing, but emotionally reactive. He’s an artist, and sees things in his own way, from a unique and different vantage point. He is quite orderly, and enjoys precision in his life. His things are neat, his quarters are immaculately cleaned, organized… it borderlines on obsession with him. With that being said, the back side of that coin is that his social/emotional life is a mess. Optimism is a defense to hide the inner pessimist, something he learned early on in life. What he says and what he thinks are often two very different and opposing things. He has a problem with honesty and openness. He fears being judged on his true merit, and thus hides his true self behind a mask of who or what he thinks he should be. But none of his problems are on display. From the outside looking in, Kyle will appear as happy and content in life as one would expect from a young ensign on his first assignment.
History: If, a few years ago, you had told Kyle that he’d be piloting a starship in the middle of the Dominion war, he’d have laughed in your face. A concert level pianist, son of a concert level pianist, Kyle’s idea of the future circulated around music halls and concertos. He grew up a child prodigy, heralded a raw and natural talent by critics. By the time he was 15, he performed in Carnegie hall, and the Royal Albert Music Hall. His life was a storybook, he knew no problems, even though the Federation was ripe with them. He was untouched, unhindered, until one day on a transport to his first off world concert, the first taste of the harshness of life came to him.
The USS Galadrial was a civilian transport ship which transported young Mr. Avery and his family from Earth to a concert venue onboard a Federation Starbase near Trill. To this day, Mr. Avery isn’t exactly sure what had happened, but what he remembered is harsh red lights flashing, claxons blaring, and the panic that churned his stomach and caused him to hold tight to his mother’s hand. A violent decompression rocked the ship, and he was thrust hard into a bulkhead. He awoke hours later in a Starfleet medical bay, a dermal regenerator being waved across his head, and his mind flooding with questions. They told him it was an accident. The words explosion, and survivor were mingled into the conversation, but Kyle had stopped listening. He fought free of his attending, pushed himself off the bio-bed, and started to call for his parents. There are nights, even now, where the sound of his voice yelling the name of his mother and father haunt his dreams, because it’s always echoed by that honeyed voice of that young, blonde hair nurse, who took his hand in her own, and with bitterness in her eyes that rivaled his own sorrow, told him that he was alone.
Being a minor at the time, he was awarded to the custody of his father’s brother, who served onboard the USS Reliant as the ship’s Chief Medical Officer. It was thanks to him, Lt. Marjire, the ship’s counselor, that Kyle come to grips with the accident. They worked through the anger, the abandonment issues he had, and the trauma of having been through such an event. It took a few years, but by the time he was 17, he had announced his intention to join Starfleet.
The Orion is his first posting. His career is new. Who he is, and what he will become is largely still undetermined.
Other: Kyle enjoys writing holodeck novels. When he’s not on duty, he’s often working on his next idea.
The hardest part about being on a starship: no sun. Kyle finds himself constantly looking up, in moments of irritation or strife, as though to convey some prayer to a higher power housed within the brilliant globe. Before, he found it therapeutic, as if he was evoking some spiritual or deep belief in something higher or mightier than he was; now he just felt ridiculous. Kyle stands, dressed in his duty uniform, underneath the brilliant rays of an artificial sun, his eyes closed, head tilted up to the warmth of it. If the absence of sun was the worst part about being on a starship, than the holodeck has got to be the best.
Arms snaked around him, and the familiar feeling of a body pressing against his back awoke him from his daze. Sure, strong hands rose up to clasp over those that met at his stomach, and his fingers, nimble and deft from years of the piano, wove with those beneath, allowing that familiar touch to melt away the tension. He couldn’t help but smile as his eyes leveled out on the ocean before his feet, his breath drawing in a deep lung full of salty sea air, fake salty sea air, and he for a moment he felt as though he understood bliss. It was sun, warm sea air, the touch of a woman… it was belonging.
The claxons rang. The intrusive sound pulled the warmth from the sun, and drove an sighed exhale from his thick chest. Kyle twisted in the arms the held him, looked down into the deep, brown eyes of the women who stood before him, carefully stroking the soft slope of her cheek. Gently he brushed his lips against hers, letting the fiction linger just another moment before having to put an end to it all. He smiled the boyish smile he had been known all his life for, successfully hiding his disappointment in the presence of this emergency.
“Computer, end program,” Kyle spoke tentatively, and around him the world shimmer, faded into nothingness, replaced by the grid of black and yellow lines. It was a testament to technology, that man could create a world, all its people and complexities, in a room no longer than his own quarters, well, a little larger than his own quarters. A world fitting the size of a box… truly, he had been enamored with the holodeck the first moment he stepped into one.
“We’ll continue this later,” a voice asked, soft, feminine. As she looked up with those brown eyes into his, seeming as upset and disturbed by the turn of events as he was. She too, was dressed in her duty uniform, the collar pips of an ensign decorating her neck as they did his, but where his burned with red, hers was a subtle and soothing yellow.
“Ofcourse ensign,” Kyle spoke in a soft, calm voice, pulling her hands from around him, keeping the left in his fingertips. “We were just getting to the good part.”
Kyle stands, dressed in his duty uniform, understand the brilliant rays of an artificial sun
That's probably supposed to be underneath. Or something to that effect.
Two:
His life was a storybook, he knew no problems, even though the Federation was ripe with them.
The Federation is characterized as a Utopia. Most conflict comes from outside the Federation (Romulans, Klingons, etc). So when you say problems, what sort of problems are you imagining?
Two: The Federation is characterized as a Utopia. Most conflict comes from outside the Federation (Romulans, Klingons, etc). So when you say problems, what sort of problems are you imagining?
The statement is to compare his utterly uneventful history, prior to the accident, to the strife and events of the Federation in general, and note that they didn't really affect him at all (due to his age). Accidents, political pressures from outside the Federation, political pressures from inside the Federation... anything and everything they used to base the story arch of an episode on.
@Millennium JeffYou are also free to pretend you've been on the bridge the whole time if you'd like, ignoring certain aspects of my most recent post. Mainly the Navigator (who I've now shunted over to Ops Mgmt on the character tab).
That's why I make other people post collab posts. >>
