(pronounced with a soft j, almost a zh sound) Nick: "Jo"
Age: 35 (birth year: 2339)
Rank/Position: Lieutenant /Tactical Officer
Race: Klingon
Appearance: Jovar stands 6' 5" tall (195.5cm) and weighs 275 lbs (124.7Kg.). He prefers his heavy dark brown hair matted and sculpted into what can best be described as heavy dreadlocks. He wears stylistic mutton chops and a soul patch to give himself a traditional Klingon appearance. As most Klingons are, Jovar is quite physically intimidating in appearance with a high musculature constitution. He is very strong and can endure great physical pain.
Courtesy: Star Trek Online Character Generator
Personality: Jovar is a Klingon in behavior. Honor is important choosing the honorable course of action in all cases. He disdains crewmembers who prefer deception over honesty. He understands the small white lie tactfully employed to protect someone's feelings. It helps morale and keeps the ship running smoothly. He enjoys anything physical, especially, hand to hand combat; being very aggressive on the holo-deck. Any combat sport has a natural calling to this large Klingon warrior.
History: Jovar was born on Archanis IV, a multicultural planet along the Klingon-Federation border, where in 2339 was controlled by the United Federation of Planets. Although, Jovar grew up in Klingon society on Archanis IV, he chose to join Starfleet when he was old enough. Many of his Klingon friends chose to join the Klingon Defense Force, but Jovar was curious of the cultural diversity of the Federation of Planets and was instinctively drawn to the Earth-based organization. He shared the benefit of having human friends as well as Klingon friends on Archanis IV, which helped his decision. Besides, Jovar appreciated going against the grain from time to time.
Having spent time around humans on his home planet, it was not a difficult fit for the oversized Klingon warrior to feel comfortable at Starfleet Academy. In 2360, Jovar graduated and was commissioned as an Ensign in the Security branch. He was initially posted to the USS Lantree where he served for four years, gaining the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade after three. Nothing remarkable happened during his time aboard the Miranda-Class Starship other than becoming familiar with this class of starship as well as the various systems aboard ship. He was most curious about the tactical station.
In 2364, Lieutenant Junior Grade Jovar was reassigned to the USS Cochrane, an Oberth-class starship as a Security Officer. While aboard ship, Jovar cross-trained on Tactical. After three years aboard the Cochrane, Jovar was a qualified Tactical Officer and was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant. He remained aboard the Cochrane for an additional three years, until 2370.
In 2370, Jovar was reassigned to the USS Orion, another Miranda-class starship as the ship's Tactical Officer. The addition of Photon Torpedoes on the Orion, made the transition slightly different but he welcomed the challenge. It was not too much for him and he quivkly mastered the position on the Orion's bridge.
Being of Klingon birth, yet raised on a planet inhabited by both Klingons and Humans, Jovar has found his relationships with other humans amenable as well as the other Federation races. He makes friends quickly and is able to maintain them without much difficulty. Other races find Jovar's honesty accommodating, as he is very consistent and dependable. He is very easy to get along with. He has gained the respect and admiration of the remainder of the crew especially those he works closely with on the bridge. He feels proud of his accomplishments and proud to be a Starfleet Officer. He has never felt shamed by any Klingons his ship encounters. Any who may perceive his position in Starfleet in a shameful manner are quickly convinced their ideas are completely inappropriate.
Skills: When Jovar joined Starfleet seventeen years ago, he pictured himself a security officer, forever. It was a branch he was well suited for given his heritage; hand to hand combat skills, and skills with various laser and bladed weapons. But, he soon discovered mastering the armaments aboard a starship to be equally challenging. As a Lieutenant Junior Grade, Jovar sought out training and experience as a Tactical Officer, responsible for manning the ship's tactical station; maintaining weapon and shield readiness status along with executing firing solutions. He has learned to use the Phaser banks in conjunction with plotting firing solutions for the Photon torpedoes quite well. It is a skill set he takes pride in.
As a result of his experiences at Tactical, Jovar has learned strategy from observing his two mentors, the First Officer and the ship's Captain. He enjoys a strong friendship with the ship's Chief Security Officer who trains with him on various combat scenarios on the holo-deck. The two have learned quite a bit from one another, with a dash a cross-training of skill sets.
Other: Jovar tends to be somewhat reticent, accentuating the professional Starfleet officer. During his off duty time, he enjoys socializing with the other crew members who have become his friend. If someone strikes Jovar has having a warrior mentality, he takes to them quickly. Most of the security team are respected by the large tactical officer, especially the chief tactical officer who has quickly become one of Jovar's best friends. In regards to professionalism and protocol, Jovar prefers to follow the book. He demands junior officers and enlisted personnel to refer to him as either sir, Lieutenant Jovar or Lieutenant while on duty. Officers of the same rank or station aboard the ship are permitted to call him Jovar or his nickname, Jo. Off duty, his friends call him Jo or Jovar. No one refers to him as Lieutentant Jovar during off duty hours.
Jovar enjoys a variety of food at mealtimes and will try a wide assortment of recipes from different cultures. Jovar's favorite dishes include Rokeg Blood Pie, Jumbo Romulan Molusk and Ratamba, a Bajoran stew. His favorite beverages include Bloodwine, Romulan Ale and Vulcan Brandy. Jovar can hold his liquor quite well, due to his size, but if he consumes a sufficient quantity, as with anyone else he loses inhibitions. While sober, Jovar is willing to fight, but while intoxicated Jovar is willing to become mischievous, playful or to sing, yell and play games involving a lot of laughter or acting out roles.
Jovar does enjoy playing games with friends off duty. He will play anything available, from card games to strategy games, to playful parlor games. Trivia is one of his specialties.
Although, he does not consider himself a diplomat in the least, it is something of interest to him. He observes his mentors and is learning diplomacy. When the ship makes contact with Klingon ships, occasionally, he is called upon to communicate with the other ship, not only because he speaks Klingon fluently, but also because he understands their customs and traditions, which is a diplomatic boon for the USS Orion.
Sample Post:'Personal log, Lieutenant Jovar. the Captain has asked the First officer to instruct me on diplomacy. I am willing to learn and optimistic of the future. I believe this skill set will aid me in becoming a First Officer and one day commander of my own starship. It appears having a knowledge of cultures, understanding how a society interacts with one another is key to diplomacy. It is something, I have never considered a skill I inherently possess. To be honest, it is one of the few things I fear. Although, I enjoy the company of good friends, I would just as soon as punch a stranger's throat than negotiate a peaceful settlement. Jumping into battle always gets the blood flowing and makes my senses tingle. It is when a Klingon truly feels alive. There is nothing finer.' Jovar paced in his quarters while dictating to the computer, his thoughts on the upcoming diplomacy class with the First Officer. The tone at the portal indicated someone was attempting to gain access.
"Come in!" Lieutenant Jovar announced in his deep booming voice.
The door slid open, revealing the ship's First Officer, who stood at least half a foot shorter. The human officer looked up at him, "Jo, are you ready for your class?"
"Yes Commander," Jovar responded. "Allow me to sign off here. Can I meet you in the Ready Room?"
"Sure Jo. I'll see you there in five?"
"Yes sir! if not sooner," Jovar answered and the Commander left. He verbally signed off from his personal log, picked up a datapad and headed out the portal. He ran to catch up to the First officer. "We can walk together. I'm ready now, Commander."
Relationships with Crewmembers: Guy Merritt, Chief Medical Officer@bluetommy2 - When Jovar first met Doctor Merritt, he viewed the man with controlled disdain. Granted the man was a pensioner serving a noble profession as medical officer. For that reason alone, he afforded the gentleman the benefit of the doubt. As he grew to know the senior human aboard the USS Orion, he gained respect by observing how he dealt with adversity. Doctor Merritt has an inner strength that transcends his physical limitations. As Chief Medical Officer, Lt. Commander Jovar would lay down his own life for the ship's doctor. He considers the elderly gentleman a friend aboard their ship.
Illyria “Lyra” Jadan Kan’Dosha@MiddleEarthRoze - Lieutenant Kan'Dosha is someone Jovar trusts. She is physically and mentally adept at her position as Chief Security Officer. Being someone who places a lot of value in physical abilities, Lieutenant Kan'Dosha is a true warrior, in this Klingon's eyes. He enjoys her company and considers her one of his best friends. They share experiences and occasionally train and spar with one another on the Holo-deck. She is a worthy adversary.
Neil Edwards@POOHEAD189 - Having spent time in a warrior culture, such as the Federation Marines places Neil in good standing with the Ship's Second Officer, but the man himself has not yet proven himself to Jovar. He must survive a sparring match in the Holo-deck in order to attain the respect he desires. Jovar still casts a dim light upon Ensign Edwards.
Nick Tylin@Teddyinahat - Jovar respects Commander Tylin for he is his superior officer and mentor. Jovar has learned much from the Ship's First Officer and remains professional around him. Commander Tylin's most endearing quality is his candor during confrontational situations. The Commander has never backed down. Jovar does however look forward to a sparring match on the holo-deck if the First officer is up to it.
William T. Hackett@HalfOfLancelot - Lieutenant Hackett wears the blue uniform of a science or medical officer. Therefore, he does not merit the same respect afforded to warriors. Aside from information provided for a scientific nature, there is no reason for Commander Jovar to interact with Lt. Hackett.
Captain Vashara Vaella@Ruby - Captain Vashara Vaella's reputation is well known in the Starfleet officer's circle. Some people develop a reputation early for doing the right thing at the right time. This is the case with Captain Vaella. Being of mixed Vulcan ancestry she appears youthful relative to humans and may give the uninitiated the sense that she is more inexperienced than she really is.
Lt. Jovar read all he could on her performance with Gold Squadron and how she took command of a tenuous situation ending up destroying a hostile Breen ship. Jovar felt comfortable with taking orders from someone Starfleet believed was capable of making the right decisions at the right time. He would do as instructed, she earned enough respect for the Klingon officer to do as he was told. After all, he is a professional officer.
When he read about her family's heritage, his stomach turned a bit. As a Klingon, he truly hated the Romulans in a general sense. They were not to be trusted. But Jovar was a professional Starfleet officer with 17 years in service. He would do what she said and would remain loyal to the Chain of Command. He would afford her the courtesy of a Starfleet Captain and his commander.
Secretly, he wanted to spar with her just to get a sense of her fighting style.
Some commanders possess an intuitive "fly by the seat of their pants" method of commanding a Star Ship. This was Captain Vaella. It worked for her and Jovar was ready to learn from her directives aboard the Orion.
The Romulan connection did not bode well with the Klingon. Jovar is mildly torn regarding the new Ship's Captain. Fortunately, he is something of an optimist and willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. After all, she is half Vulcan too.
Sta'l Haliv@Chev - When Lt. Jovar first met Lt. Haliv he got that tingling sensation in his spine, only a Klingon could have upon meeting a Romulan. It was not a pleasant feeling, fortunately he possesses sufficient quantity of self discipline to not do anything irrational. As he got to know the Engineering Lieutenant, the Klingon and Romulan became close friends. He appreciate's Sta'l's brutal honesty and has come to realize Sta'l is more like a Klingon in his demeanor. They have discussed the Romulan Senate and the Dominion; both officers are in agreement on those subjects and they enjoy socializing with one another.
Appearance: 6'2", stocky, bald, and with a slight paunch, Guy has not aged well, looking at least ten years above his actual age of sixty three. Guy is wrinkled, with a heavily lined face and a hand that looks more like a claw than a hand. Guy's skin is pale and covered in the white spots of vitiligo, a disorder he has had since birth, especially pronounced in the splotches around his eyes and on his chin, though as he ages and grows ever paler, the spots become less and less noticeable. Guy has a large nose with a wart resting slightly off to the left, the long black hair extending from it being the only hair on his face other than his eyebrows, A pair of dull white eyes, the color of ocean mist, milky and ever duller as a result of cataracts which are too early in development to treat.
Born with a single arm, his right arm ending at the elbow, Guy's remaining limb is thin and veiny, the same pale white as the rest of his skin, with white spots upon it as a result of his vitiligo. His body looks like a Jackson Pollock painting if all the colors the artist used were white and a whitish-pink, splatting white spots covering his body from chest to waist, especially apparent on his joints, all of which possess the telltale irregular white spots.
When upon a ship, Dr. Merritt wears the usual uniform of a medical officer, but the empty right arm of his top is pinned to his chest via his combadge, his casual wear pinned similarly but without his combadge. When at more formal events, Guy wears a black suit and tie with baggy legs and a good pair of shoes, the right arm of the jacket rolled up and pinned at his elbow as to not obstruct his tie. Guy especially enjoys wearing yellow jackets and black pants when off-duty. Guy only wears a prosthetic arm when completely necessary, having grown up without one, and finding them difficult to get used to.
Personality: Sarcastically deadpan, Dr. Merritt is very quick with a joke and a smug smile afterwards, Guy is steel-witted and is rarely caught off-guard, sardonically reacting to every even thrown in front of him. Determined and idealistic, he is unyielding in his determination to ensure the survival of his patients and thus often puts himself or others in danger to ensure that no-one is left behind.
He is, however, slow to warm, seemingly cynical and self-deprecating, showing no mercy towards his own perceived faults, and his wit and inability to step down from an argument make him unpopular amongst those he doesn't know well. He is well known for his initiative, reacting fast and seeing any situation through, even if he is known for rarely thinking these same situations through to the extent of his colleagues. His lack of fear pertaining to ignoring orders to suit his own moral compass often earns him the ire of captains and colleagues, and he is not the most inspiring of leaders when it comes to his sub-ordinates.
It is hard to break Merritt's wit-infused shell to reach his idealistic and reliably friendly interior, but he values friendship and loyalty, trusting even the youngest captain despite his older age.
History: Born on Alpha Centauri VII as Tom Hagan Jr. to a Tom and Martha Hagan, Hagan's father, unable to provide financial support for the young, one-armed child, gave up the infant for adoption despite the protests of Guy's mother Martha, who spent the rest of her adult life searching for her lost child.
The young Hagan ended up in a poor orphanage, where he spent his childhood, obsessing over the human body and how it worked, spending long hours at libraries and on the interface, reading medical textbooks and records, he also developed an interest in starfleet, purchasing books on starfleet's history once he had gotten his first job at age eleven. Hagan had few friends, but many mentors, even if he hadn't met them. Hagan obsessed over starfleet members such as Admiral James Kirk, Captain Hikaru Sulu and especially Admiral Leonard McCoy, who quickly grew into Hagan's idol and inspiration.
At age twelve, Hagan was adopted by William and Yuki Merritt, a starfleet ensign and an accountant respectively, and baptized Guy Merritt after his adopted grandfather. Although his father was often away, Hagan couldn't help but be enthralled by his father's profession, and asked as much as he could whenever his father returned from assignments. Graduating from Alpha Centauri University as a MD at age twenty-one, Merritt discovered that his father had died on an away mission to Romulan space, Merritt fell into a depression, unable to work or even think, living on the streets of Alpha Centauri VII due to his unwillingness to get a job, Merritt met his birth-mother in a chance encounter. Ms. Hagan spoke to Merritt, revealing to him that she had been in starfleet academy when the young man was born, and her unwillingness to drop out was what left her unable to support him, but she later dropped out in an attempt to provide a home for the now orphaned child, but was unable to find him before a new family adopted him. Merritt was touched by her story, and, with her permission, decided to enter starfleet in order to live the life she was unable to.
Merritt immediately applied for starfleet membership, travelling to the academy on Earth in December of that year. Graduating from yet another academy at age twenty-five, Dr. Merritt was assigned to a Constitution-class starship called the USS Diligence, where he served for forty years, going on eight five-year missions before she was retired.
At age thirty-one he married a nurse by the name of Gladys, who he had known since high-school.
At age thirty-five, his daughter Maria was born. She later followed in her father's footsteps in joining starfleet academy, but dropped out, going on to serve as an accountant.
When he was sixty, Merritt was offered the chance to captain his own ship, which he declined due to insecurity in his leadership ability. Merritt decided instead to retire from Starfleet service, serving as a hospital orderly in his home world of Alpha Centauri VII.
With the Dominion threatening the Alpha Centauri system with their recent conquests, Merritt was approached by starfleet, along with a few other retired starfleet officers under the age of seventy-five, to return to service in order to provide the manpower that was quickly being spent in the difficult war that the Federation seemed set to lose.
Merritt accepted near-immediately, again denying the chance at his own ship, and instead being assigned to the USS Orion as Senior Medical Officer, a position he was made for.
Skills: Skilled surgeon and anesthesiologist, Doctor Merritt is also trained in use of a phaser, meaning he is able to serve on landing parties and away missions, though he would be better suited to a ship
Merritt has served as a hospital orderly before, and thus is experienced in sedating combative patients, translated from doctor-speak, that means punching them in the face with your one remaining arm, leaving Merrit an able hand-to-hand combatant even if his uniarm leaves him at a usual disadvantage.
Sample Post: Guy stood at the door of his home, the door of some brown wood that he was unable to identify, indented with four squares in each quadrant of the door, like the four quadrants of the galaxy, the galaxy he was back to exploring after so long away, it was a bittersweet feeling, he had spent so long at the hospital that he had become attached, and as a surgeon that was what you least wanted to do.
He sighed down the pit in his stomach, adjusting the pin which held his sleeve to his chest, soon to be replaced with the logo of the Federation's naval corps, it was always uncomfortable to try to press it by bending his arm upwards, but he hated those fake arms, they never felt right, he wanted his elbow to breathe, and the sweating that came after putting on one of those crappy metal... things, it just wasn't comfortable, so a few seconds of uncomfortability is worth it instead of a full five years of it.
He had to get these cataracts fixed, but they weren't ready yet, he knew that, he wasn't just some pretty face, he had that doctorate for a reason, and that reason was still unknown to him. Hah, he kidded himself too often, he was one of the few surgeons he knew that could perform surgery one handed, though he was the only one that could do it without outside help. He might have actually been worse with a prosthetic. He was losing his vision quickly though, tree leaves looked more like green blobs now, and he hadn't performed surgery in years now, so the rust combined with the cataracts equaled danger, but he could do it, he thought.
He learned surgery for a reason, to help people, even if he was going blind, he would still help people, it was, as the Vulcans say, illogical to do otherwise, and with this lack of manpower that forced him out of retirement, it was really, really logical. God he hated himself just for saying that, but it was true, he would help anyone, any race, but why did he care? Honestly, why did he care about people? Hell if he knew, but he did know one thing, he was happy to be back, surveying space, exploring planets, healing, he wasn't planning on fighting Dominion crafts, hell no, but if he understood right, this new ship was same as the old one, an exploration and survey craft, he didn't understand ships, but he understood its goal. Eight years of doing just that, exploring and surveying, left him prepared.
Ready.
Unfortunately, he wasn't ready to step through that door, to finally tell his wife he had to leave again, call his daughter, listen to their tears, he'd be like; "Girls, girls, I have to go," then they'd be like; "Oh no, don't leave us you magnificent man," and he'd be like; "No can do, ladies, starfleet needs me," yeah! Now he was ready! He was ready to do this! He smiled and grabbed the doorknob hard, gritting his teeth in a determined smile. Throwing open the door, he threw his arm and half-arm apart and called out to his lovely wife, words that made him happy as he said them.
From the planet Avalia (Located in the Idini Star Cluster; achieved warp capabilities 100 years ago, and while not a Federation Planet, has a steady alliance with the Galactic Federation of Planets), these feline-like humanoids are known to be great hunters and predators. While their technology has developed to an advanced point, they still do things such as hunting or fighting in their traditional ways, so as to not lose their natural skills. Feline attributes include dexterous limbs (Of which the legs and feet are half-Digitigrade, to accommodate for climbing, jumping, and moving both quicker and quieter than that of a plantigrade animal - such as a human) and enhanced reflexes and flexibility.
Strength does not necessarily exceed that of a human, but as most on the planet hunt to eat, higher muscle density is common. Long furry tails add to their agility when traversing difficult environments; and their senses have heightened to that of a natural hunter – enhanced night vision, sensitive taste and smell receptors, and feline like ears atop their head pick up sounds and frequencies a human would miss.
While one would not consider them to be claws or fangs, Avalian nails and teeth are far more durable and sharper than that of a human; the former to use as grip when climbing or to use in a fray; the latter due to their status as obligate carnivores (Their canines specifically are longer and sharper than the rest, to a slightly noticeable extent.).
Appearance:
Standing at an – Avalian average – height of 5’4, Lyra has a slim and lithe figure, as is the norm of her kind. Her hips and waist are visible, although not particularly pronounced. Her skin is a pleasant tanned colour, although the colour had diminished somewhat with the lack of UV rays available on a star-ship. Said skin is littered with mostly minor scars, most from some forms of sharp object like claws or fangs; and too many to list, from various skirmishes as a child. However, this is the norm on Avalia, and she does not see scarring as something ugly as some races might.
Her eyes are a peculiar golden colour; an almost honey-like hue, with flecks of darker amber within. Her pupils – as with all Avalians – are more oval than circular; a process of evolution away from vertical slits found in felines, as their eyes looked millennia ago.
Lyra’s natural hair is a mess of long, dark, mahogany curls – for work, they’re usually seen tamed into a bun or ponytail after being attacked by straighteners. In her downtime, it hangs loose, and for more sociable events, the curls can be seen as more elegant than wild, sometimes adorned with delicate plaits or decorations. The fur upon her feline like ears and tail are the same shade as her hair.
Personality:
What should be noted about Avalians, is that they have no real concept of “appropriate behaviour” or personal space; at least by most species’ standards. Touching or hugging people; regardless of relationship or familiarity, is a norm for Avalians, and by default, Lyra. Even after nearly ten years away from her home planet, she has not fully grasped this. If she were among a crowd and unable to see something, she would not hesitate in climbing up a taller comrades’ back to get a better view. The only real thing she has learnt is to avoid doing this with strangers, or people she has only just met.
As for her immediate personality, she is immensely curious. Never afraid to try a new thing, and showing an almost childish wonder at new things, Lyra can come across as very open-minded. Nothing particularly falters her, even if a thing is surprising or extremely different from she is used to. This has come from an acceptance seen as uncommon among her people, and adaptation from her change in cultures. Her philosophy is this: Why be afraid of something new, when you can learn something from it?
However, this should not diminish her ferocity and protectiveness. Being an apex predator, and a strong and wilful fighter, Lyra is ready to protect herself and others from enemies, no matter the cost. Becoming Chief Security Officer aboard the USS Orion has only reinforced that fact; her life, before anyone else’s, from the Captain to the lowliest Crewman.
Outside of duty, Lyra retains both her curiosity and protective side; she enjoys hearing stories from her workmates, particularly amusing ones; and to expand her knowledge in other species’ cultures. Also, if a friend of hers is being harassed, she will respond in the only way she knows – this can often come across as being over-protective, or an over-bearing attitude; she has been known to address people, even her superiors, with an aggressive attitude in the mind of keeping them away from harm. This has gotten her into trouble in the past, and will likely do the same in the future – because while Lyra can accept other cultures and people, she often finds it hard to understand why they do certain things; why a Human will do something life-threatening just to prove a point, or a Klingon being happy with death as long as it is a “good” one.
History:
Lyra was born as Princess Illyria Jadan of Clan Kan’Dosha; third in line to the throne that ruled over the continent of Aldaan. The Kan’Doshans had ruled over Aldaan for centuries before they achieved warp capabilities, and were constantly at war with their sister continent of Ieslyaa, ruled by the Fortun Clan. A shaky peace treaty was only created twenty years ago, achieved with the aid of neutral Starfleet negotiators.
Lyra had an easy-going and straight-forward life; being third in line to the throne after her eldest brother Kadan, and older sister Eldaya, she had no real responsibilities. Kadan was groomed to be the future King, and Eldaya to be the “back-up”. Lyra and her younger siblings were not focused on as much in royal terms, instead being allowed far more freedom than their two eldest siblings. She spent her days as a child in play; which, for an Avalian, involved far rougher activities than a human child would endure; hunting animals in the wilds surrounding the cities; “play-fighting”, as it was called, although often involving some form of mêlée weapon, or simply just tooth and claw. However, as a Princess, she was expected to take part in certain other activities at a young age. A study of alien languages (Mostly focused on English, being the most Universal language of the Federation); elocution (at least, elocution by Avalian standards), and history; mainly that of her own world. However, even at a young age, Lyra was far more interested in other planets, and their own histories. While her tutors and parents were happy to stem her curiosity at first, they soon grew more stringent in their teachings upon realising her enthusiasm on the subject. The last thing her parents, the King and Queen, wanted was for Lyra to think too much about outside cultures. That meant she could potentially question her own culture, and it would be most problematic for a Princess to do so. Instead, they tried to channel her eagerness into more practical uses – fighting and hunting skills, taught to all children upon their planet, regardless of kingdom or social stance. And for a time, this worked. Lyra channelled all of her will into learning new fighting and hunting styles, wanting to best everyone – even her older sister, with whom she certainly felt very competitive against.
However, over time, her wanderlust returned, and she yearned to know more of outside planets. Her parents attempted to stem this somewhat in sending her on diplomatic visits to Ieslyaa – of which she was only too happy to do, what with her being the most companionable of her siblings when it came to their previous foes – but it wasn’t enough. The brief visits into the upper atmospheres, or moons of Avalia arranged by her parents weren’t enough for Lyra. She needed to see more of the universe – after all, they were not a true part of it! Why should she not see more?
As the years went by, Lyra and her parents warred; they, attempting to stem her curiosity without losing her to the stars; and she, wanting to go further, but without losing the love of her parents. For despite their differences, she did love her parents, and they loved her; perhaps, too much to avoid losing her. However, this all came to an end when she turned 16, when both her mother and father died. A supposed accident; solar flares from their twin suns knocking their shuttle towards a moon off course, wiping out life support and killing all on board. It was a time of grieving for their entire continent, for the King and Queen had been much loved – and so, any potential nefarious acts went unnoticed. That is, until the newly crowned King Kadan also mysteriously died – a hunt gone wrong. While it was not uncommon for Avalians to die on a hunt, it was still strange – for him to die so soon after his parents.
At least, that’s what Lyra concluded. Especially with Eldaya’s reaction to such events; of which there wasn’t much of one. A public speech, moving in her farewell to her dead family, and a promise of being a just and fair ruler, but in private, there was nothing. No words of comfort or assurance to Lyra or her younger siblings, as Kadan had done when their parents had died; just a stony, almost smug ascension to Queen-hood. And as Lyra turned 17, she knew something was truly wrong, as an engagement came up. Her engagement, arranged by Eldaya without her knowing.
It was to a Prince from the third, smallest continent on their planet, known as Y’diin. Being far less powerful and further away from the two main continents, Y’dinn had never been involved in the fighting between Aldaan and Ielsyaa, never creating alliances with either of them, even after peace was found. However, in the past decades, the smaller continent had excelled in their technology; building a stronger and bigger army than was ever expected. And Lyra knew what her sister planned with this alliance – the two continents would join forces, to wipe out Ielsyaa for good. Eldaya had always scorned the peace treaties, saying that they could never be allies with a people they had been at war with for so long. However, Lyra would not allow such a thing to occur.
Rebelling in the only way she could, Lyra stole a small star ship from their docks in the dead of night, fleeing the planet and galaxy as fast as the ship could manage. Without her, the marriage could not go ahead – The Queen herself could not marry someone from another realm, and her younger siblings – being all boys additionally – were far too young for such arrangements. While a treaty could still occur without her present, it would be shakier without a marriage cementing it.
With nowhere else to go, Lyra directed her shuttlecraft towards the thing that would help her achieve her dreams since being a little girl; Starbase 82, located in Federation space. Upon arriving, she claimed asylum, and askance to enter Starfleet. From there, she was given transport to the closest Federation Planet, being Betazed. After living out a year there on the planet; her situation being processed by those “on top” in Starfleet, she was finally allowed to enter the Academy, under one condition; she was to forego her title on Avalia, and not bring any of the politics into Starfleet. Her loyalty was to be to them, and not her planet – which she was only too happy to give. Not only had she defied and denied her traitorous sister of what she wanted most, but Lyra was finally achieving her dream, to see the Universe and meet new races and cultures.
She entered the Academy down the security route, deciding that her mind and body borne from years of strategic and tactical hunting would make her perfect for the job, and she certainly did well in the field. After three years, she excelled her peers in training, only failing when it came to certain rules and norms that she hadn’t yet grown used to. By her fourth year, she was serving on starships; by her fifth, she had received the rank of Ensign. It took another four years of hard work – and swapping between several ships – for her to receive the role of Lieutenant, a rank she is very proud of herself for receiving. However, she was still surprised to become Chief Security Officer onboard the USS Orion, having assumed someone older, and with more experience, would have been taken on.
Skills:
While Lyra considers that others may have been better suited for her role aboard the Orion, she diminishes her own talents. Not only has she plenty of experience in high-tension, fighting situations – from hunting on Avalia (While the prey there is easy enough to kill, the forests of her world are teeming with other predators anxious for a meal – she’s fought them off more than once.) – but she has received extra training in fighting styles through her time at Starfleet. Martial arts, both from Earth and other Federation Planets, have been taught to her in almost record time, as she has picked the skills up extremely quickly.
In addition to this, one should consider her strategic mind. The hunting on her planet is not only a necessity; it is a sport, a skill, even an art. Some forms of prey are so illusive, it is considered a great honour to be able to hunt and kill such magnificent beasts. Lyra is lucky enough to count herself among those lucky few – not from her speed and strength, but from her tactical mind. She is shrewd in thinking up a quick plan to gain the advantage in a situation; often using her enemies’ attributes and personality against them, or utilising her environment. Also, she knows when would be the best time to use force. Although Chief Security Officer, she does not always fall back on the offensive when it comes to giving advice to her Captain – her mind is good enough to offer up more peaceful ways, if she believes it would prove advantageous.
Other:
Firmly insists to those who ask that she does not purr like a cat – but if you hit the right spot beneath her ears or on her back, she’ll be going like a little tabby-cat in no time.
Can’t eat much in the way of vegetables or fruit – not through preference, but because of her digestive system. It simply prefers proteins over fibres – a damn shame, in her eyes, because she freakin’ loves strawberries and cherries. Over-consumption of such things will give her terrible stomach cramps.
She went on a night out with a group of friends as a cadet once; it was themed bar, meant to emulate a Earth one from the very early 21st century, playing their music. Since then, she’s been obsessed with that particular era of music, even branching her interests into the late 20th century era.
Although fluent in English, she still retains a slight accent from Avalia – the best similarity would be one of Italian, on Earth.
Has a sweet singing voice, but doesn’t particularly show it off much in public. Stage fright, and all that. However, get a few pints of Romulan ale in her and she might just give you a bout of crooning.
Sample Post:
Lyra inhaled the sweet scent of the tree’s leaves deeply, closing her eyes as the wind brushed against her face. The air circled through the towering fauna, branches and leaves rustling out a melody for her alone to enjoy.
This was the feel of home, only without everything else – no responsibilities, no arranged marriages, and no family; dead, traitorous, or otherwise. Just her, the land and the sky.
Except, it wasn’t home. It was the holodeck, emulating as best it could what Avalia was like. And she had to admit, it had nailed it pretty well. Even the unique, spicy scent of the Balderan trees, seemingly unknown to other species unless they had visited her home planet – and that hadn’t happened very often. The Avalians were not known to be overly fond of outsiders; it was a miracle they had accepted a human to organise peace talks all those years ago.
Shaking her head ever so slightly, Lyra removed those thoughts from her mind. She was not at home; nor was she among Avalians. This was the Starship Orion, and nostalgic thoughts of home would not help her fit in among her fellow officers.
“Exit.” She ordered, turning around as the doors of the holodeck appeared in the middle of the forest she stood in; opening to reveal the corridors beyond. Stepping outside of the simulation, she brought an end to the programme, and began making her way to her quarters. She would need an early start tomorrow; her first day on the bridge among the other senior officers, and of course, her new Captain. It brought two thrilling sensations through her; one of excitement, the other of nervousness. Lyra had no idea what these people would be like, but she only hoped they would be the decent sort.
Name: Neil Edwards Age: 23 Rank/Position: Ensign Engineer, and former First Sergeant in the Federation Marine Corps. Race: Human Appearance: Of Average build with short dark hair, Neil isn’t exactly the most unique specimen. He is fit but not noticeably so. He isn’t big at all, but he is also not small. He has a face girls can find cute, but not exactly dreamy. All in all, other than the twinkling of his eyes and the trademark grin (or soft smile), he is normal in most respects. He has dark eyes and very dark brown hair, enough to be considered black in most lighting. He's about 5'10 and 165 pounds. Personality: Neil is quick witted and downright silly at times. He enjoys excitement and loves a challenge. He has a warped sense of right and wrong, but that doesn't mean he's without morals. He has a tender heart truth be told, an intuitive mind, and a deepness to him, once you get past the jokes and sarcasm. People often underestimate him, but he has an iron will, a fair intellect, and he's downright tough to what some might describe as a sociopathic degree. He laughs in the face of danger, and at least on the outside, his main motivation is to have fun, and kick ass. He quite enjoys explosives. History: Born to two loving parents, with two older sisters that constantly messed with him, Neil had a fairly average life growing up. It was pretty boring, he soon realized. His mind went all over the place, giving him a knack for fixing and building things because he needed something to do, and a quick wit in conversation. The southern heat he experienced growing up in the northern part of Florida never really bothered him.
After causing quite a few problems at his school growing up, his parents sent him off to the military academy, where he was to be enlisted in the Federation Marine Corp. He gave his Staff Sergeant one hell of a headache. Daily. The punishments meted out to him didn't seem to phase him too much either. In fact he'd often laugh when others would start crying or complaining. However, they gained a (somewhat) healthy respect for one another, and Neil rose to be a Sergeant himself, though he never saw actual combat (unless you could in fighting between recruits, and gun mishaps. Woops).
Deciding that this was now boring again, and he was old enough to be independent on what career path he chose, he decided to demote himself to Ensign as an Engineer in Star Fleet, passing the required tests and making it into the USS Orion. Pretty women, adventure, things to fix, guns to shoot, why not? He made a good accounting of himself when things would go wrong, but had a real disinterest in the dress code or the protocol. Eventually he decided to play by the rules once it became clear that continual disobedience would have him kicked off. He'd wait until such time when it died down to make a ruckus again. Good thing he was a fine addition in most every way save conduct. Skills: Fine Engineer, Good with Explosive, charming, a fair shot and combatant. Other: Ladies~ He's very agile and balanced, earning the title 'monkey boy' from various women. Sample Post: The blow torch gave off sparks that illuminated his goggles, revealing the signature, roguish grin he had stamped on his face as he realized that he was just about to fix the Warp Engines. The calibrations had already been set by his superior, but they needed a grease monkey's expertise on the matter, apparently. A few of his red shirt colleagues had expressed the opinion that he had no idea what he was doing, but they'd just see about tha- wait...shit.
"No no no no no," he chuckled in desperation as sparks began to fly, grabbing a wrench and yanking out a plug with it. He could feel heat blasting on his face, knowing if he didn't think quickly he'd be more irradiated than was safe for...anyone. "Come on baby, rev up for me, pleeease." he said, inserting back in one of the older 6/7.8 models. Suddenly the lights on the rotor before him lit up like the 4th of July, and his grin grew wider as he marveled at the genius he was. "It's alive... It's alive!" he said to himself like some mad scientist full of glee.
His next words were yelled to his crew mates in the next room. "Hey guys! I think I did something significant!" he called. ..."You did something significant..." ... "I just backed talked myself."
At 178cm, or 5"10', Nick was of average height, and had an average yet physically fit build. His hair was greying and he kept a thinnish beard which was strangely scruffy and tidy at the same time. Off duty he wore glasses while preferring to wear contact lenses while on duty, he refused to have the simple corrections done to his eyes by starfleet medical, often heard saying "It's in the family tradition to wear glasses".
Personality: Straight talking, what you see is what you get with Nick. He does not hide his thoughts if he thinks they will have any impact on the situation. Extrovert without being arrogant or overbearing. One thing that people always notice is how Nick makes friends very easily, and this is usually attributed to his sincerity and open nature.
History: Growing up in rural Ireland, Nick was always known to the other kids as a bit of a nerd. He didn't fit in with the other farmers' kids in the area, more interested in books than tractors. Well, that was not entirely true, the tractors were the only part of farming he did like. After going to school in the nearest town and doing well in mathematics and physics he decided to, at the annoyance of his father, leave Ireland and head to Star Fleet Academy in San Fransisco where he Majored in engineering with minors in astrophysics and astronavigation.
Despite a few of his fellow Academy attendees becoming very well known within star fleet in later years, he never met any of them until years later when he met Commander Sisco (now Captain) during a visit to Deep Space 9. Other notable attendees during his time included Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander La Forge, but Nick has never met either of them.
His First assignment when he graduated was on the Geo-Terraforming Vessel USS Strata where he performed well in the engineering department being quickly promoted to Lieutenant Jr. Grade after suggesting actions which led to the saving of the warp core during an overload during a freak electronic storm.
After reaching the rank of Lieutenant Commander he was offered the Chief Engineering post on the USS Dublin during its construction at Mars. He spent more time in the drydock than on the actual ship but it was a post that he enjoyed greatly. It was nearing the end of construction when he was promoted to Commander and given a list of ships requiring first officers while also being offered the command of Starbase 185 which was on the edge of federation space. He didn't like the sound of being so far from everything so he applied for the First Officer position on the USS Orion for which he was accepted.
When the Dominion War broke out many ships were lost but the tough little Miranda Class survived, as it had for many years before, and was now being sent to Romulus with Ambassador Spock to talk to the Romulans who had mostly kept to themselves for many decades.
Skills: Engineering skills from past experience as CEO of the Steamrunner class USS Dublin. Diplomacy skills from base personality. Marginally above average phaser rifle marksman skills but below average, yet passable sidearm phaser skills.
Other: He likes cats, and enjoys strategy games.
Sample Post:One Week after promotion, USS Dublin, Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards, Mars
"Lieutenant Commander Tylin, I am very happy to see this promotion to the rank of Commander, your work on the Dublin has been exemplary and the ship should be ready to launch within a few months."
"Thank you, Sir." Tylin replied to the Admiral with a smile on his face, he already knew the schedule for the launch but he did not comment on this to the high ranking man.
This was his chance to move out of the Sol system and see more of the galaxy. He had been here too long for his liking and hoped there was a ship willing to have him as First Officer. He had been offered the commanding position on Starbase 185, out beyond Romulan space, but would only take that as a last resort.
The Admiral continued, "We have reviewed your request to join the USS Orion and it has been approved, your application has now been sent on to the Captain of the ship." he held out a had and Nick shook it. "I wish you good luck, they will be lucky to have a First Officer with such skills as yours."
The Admiral left him standing in his own office on board the Dublin where he stood for a moment thinking about the spontaneous visit. The first he had heard of the Admiral's visit was that morning, when the admiral's ship had left Earth orbit, sending the message of the upcoming inspection as it did. Everyone on the Dublin was rushing to get things in order for the Admiral's arrival and Nick knew he was not the only one shocked when the Admiral had asked to speak to him in private. Admiral Velinov had not been present at the awarding ceremony for his promotion the week before but had been present throughout the construction of the Dublin and had been on board for inspections many times.
He was not on duty now, the Captain would now be leading the Admiral on the inspection tour of the Security and Armament departments so Nick could relax. He would, of course, have to be present for the Engineering Inspection later but that was not due for a few more hours so he headed to the transporter room and beamed to the mess hall in the surface facility below for a quick lunch, he knew engineering was in order and was not worried about an inspection this late in construction.
⦊ Quite, undoubtedly tall - 6'2" mass of lean muscle - even for a man of his origin. William provides a clean cut figure, looking pointedly less like he does research and more like he's toiled around in a bed of hay. If not for the formal attire concerning the Federation's dress code, plaid would likely feature in just about every article of clothing William has. Fortunately, he's resigned to the stark blues standard for his division. That somehow doesn't aid for how much he contrasts with everyone around him. Most would peg him a rancher from the hard callouses of his hands, the perpetual tan that colors his skin a gradient bronze.
Grins are commonplace, as is the dopey, laid back look of his face even as it is mottled with lines and light pock marks. The wiry, curly hair on his head often remains tamed in a short cut so as not to waste time better spent working. Still, it finds ways to flop and budge from its pressed pomade in loose strands that hang over his head. If it's at all possible to forget a man like William, it's quite difficult to forget his face, at the least, as it's distinct in its length and hard lines even as they smooth into a natural nonchalance.
If William ever cared for opinions, he likely would have toned down a long while ago. Even in his middle age, he has yet to quiet himself and remains a boisterous man with a voice as distinct and loud as possible. It draws off his tongue in smooth, southern grace with every bit the spitfire hidden beneath the lazy summer heat of his presence. Annoying, probably. Worse when alcohol is involved? Definitely.
⚫ ⚫ ⚫ Personality
⦊ William has no issues with his directness. Like most of his family, William doesn't appreciate beating around the bush and often comes off as blunt. Rude, though? Definitely not. Manners have always been a commonplace with William and even in his heightened mood, whether agitated or carefree, he often does so with respect at the forefront of his mind. It's easy, though, to befriend a man like William who often lacks any wherewithal to hide anything - maybe even insofar as wearing his heart on his sleeve. He likes people. He loves feeling the full range of emotions and refuses to hide that fact about himself. Honesty means just as much as respect.
The thrill of discovery often drives William in both his life and his work - often both at once. It's the chase William seeks: a distant feeling of enlightenment that opens his eyes just a wink more. Backing down from that chase, knowing when the depth plunges too far for any one person to traverse isn't something William does easily. It's not the credit he seeks, but the feeling of disappointment hear fears when falling upon a drastic failure. Failure itself doesn't scare Willaim. After all, trials and errors make the entirety of science. But knowing he'd stepped so close into the light, yet falling just an inch short. Like having the perfect sentence itching your fingertips and then losing it to a stray thought.
William festers with potential possibilities, outcomes, and suffers from a racing mind. White noise doesn't register to William, as he takes great care in keeping his thought process clear cut. William terrifies in his efficiency and the sheer will he pushes himself through. Suddenly the lines on his face seem a lot darker under the constant stress he pushes himself through.
⚫ ⚫ ⚫ History
⦊ Hackett Ranch likely supplied the largest plot of land in central Mississippi. Owned by Martha and John Hackett, the ranch cost a fortune, but quickly earned its deficit back steadily with its supply of cotton, as well as its teeming livestock. Technology made quick work of the fields, automated to plow and sow and harvest at specific intervals of time - leaving most of the work to engineering, of which consisted mainly of John's expertise. Most hard labor went with caring for live animals, of which their kids knew plenty.
Diligence was a near necessity in the ranch, luckily halving with the amount of people living there and the ranch hands hired to assist. Still, John believed hard work could take one far and drilled those ideals into each of his kids. William, of course, came first, a young, strapping boy that grew into his own boots quickly and without much fuss. To be fair, none of the Hackett kids caused much of a racket, especially with the last two, Judith and then Harold, fairing a bit quieter and more reserved than their eldest brother.
Early on in their lives, it was to be expected that the ranch get passed down every generation, or so. Either among the three of them, or to the eldest, that being William. None of them could refute such wishes, especially at such a young age. Even then, each children got only the finest in education, often in the form of personal tutors, though each gladly attended private schooling.
Unfortunately for both parents, each child quickly found a passion within just the first few months of their high school years. William had always been drawn to curiosity. Learning became an important aspect in William's early life. It could never be as simple as his father made it - everything William learned, he learned as far as the depths of his own resources could take him. When it came to education, those depths never truly ceased if one looked hard enough. William's drive and motivation pushed him not only to succeed, but to excel farther than anyone around him.
That uncanny knack for simply wanting to achieve and discover propelled him fast in his studies. Among many, organic chemistry, as well as quantum-physics had ranked top in William's list of priorities. It quickly became evident to both parents that William's eyes were set not on the ranch, but an area far more dangerous than was suited. His first insistence that he join Star Fleet during his sophomore year had been utterly denied, yet William continued. And continued. And eventually, upon turning eighteen and completing high school within the top 1% of his classmates, he took the leap without prior consent from his parents.
This drove a sharp rift between the family, especially as it caused a domino effect within the other two children. With their eldest brother taking the lead, both Judith and Harold applied to Starfleet Academy as soon as they were able. Though, William's own four year tenure at the academy came with enough ups and downs, he eventually allotted himself among a ship's own science division quickly after graduating. He jokes that he ran out of luck once they admitted him among the top ranking in his section on his first try ('cause the psych test went nearly catastrophic).
Most of William's time was spent in ship labs and working on discovering valuable uses of technology. Mostly, though, his work mainly consisted of researching the possibilities behind wormholes and the potential behind harnessing that kind of power. Unlikely to come up with something, though, William often went back and forth between projects, dedicating quite a bit of his time assisting head officers in their endeavors rather than attempting to complete his own research.
Unfortunately, even though his time in Starfleet was anything but fleeting, William eventually hung low after both of his parents passing due to an unknown, chronic ailment. Having just heard of their state and their recent death, William returned home out of a sense of duty and obligation. Mostly, his heart ached. None of their children left on a swell note and he had been among the ones that had dropped all forms of contact out of idiotic stubbornness. This lead to a swift decline in William's own state of mind and eventually he settled down on his home ranch in order to regain himself.
Studying in engineering, and simultaneously mostly failing in it, William did his best to keep the ranch running. He tended to the livestock, to the fields when he could, attempted to keep a few of the old hands hired and running things he couldn't. In fact, William spent an entire two years in complete shambles, running himself into the ground trying to run some kind of business he had no idea how to run. Working for his father and mother had been one thing, certainly, but owning everything? Allotting finances, paying bills, buying the required equipment, repairs - how he even managed to stay afloat was a mystery he wasn't willing to solve. Eventually, it finally came to having to sell the ranch in itself and find someplace else to settle down. It took months to get everything finalized and doled out, but eventually, and with a heavy heart, William let everything go. Or, at least, he tried to.
Yet, William had come to miss the exploration he'd grown fascinated with. Hard labor, economics, business, none of that seemed interesting to William. In fact, it only ever piled stress after stress onto his still exhausted shoulders. The decision to come out of his own, rather early retirement hadn't been a hasty one, but when news of the USS Orion requiring a crew and the ongoing war with the Dominion raging above, William figured both sufficed as worthy signs.
This was something he lived for and even if his parents could understand it now, they couldn't then. It was enough to drive William forward. With them gone, he found his drive only increased ten fold - he'd like to think they'd have been proud. Even if he didn't quite do as they wished.
⚫ ⚫ ⚫ Skills
⦊ William had always been a brilliant mind, that much had been evident during his time at Starfleet Academy, surpassing many of his fellow classmates and ranking among the top in his classes. Odd, when you look at him, but William's own drive and motivation never lacks, whether in the face of adversity or at risk of a good night's sleep. Most of William's expertise lay in organic chemistry, chemistry, and quantum-physics - mainly in the study of the Einstein-Rosenberg bridge, or wormholes. He's dabbled in theoretic concerning black holes, though a lot of his own experiments and data consists of things less... oblivion inducing.
Still, even though William's expertise lay along the border of theoretical and practical physics, some of his work is usually outsourced to the medical team. Though his biology and xenobiology is rather iffy, his knack for chemistry provides him ample skill in aiding with manufacturing medicinal products, cures, and antidotes. If needed, he can work rather closely with the medical division on most any ship, though his heart lies in one of the four fundamental forces of the universe. Or maybe all of them. He hasn't had the chance to study up on his thermonuclear dynamics - though, don't ask him to actually build anything 'cause he'll likely blow something up. As long as the question is, "How does it work?" and not, "Can you make it work?" then everything will remain in mostly one piece.
⚫ ⚫ ⚫ Sample Post
⦊ ... And, in light of recent events, the latter half of Martha and John Hackett's will shall be doled out on Hackett Ranch twenty miles west of Madison, Mississippi. Attendance is required for the effects of...
Crumpled paper made a distinct noise. Every single time William's hands clenched and squeezed the paper hard in his palms, it felt as his heart did. That distinct crunching sound ached in his ears, even now with the paper unfolded and the words, wrinkled and jumbled together, staring back with an equally heartbroken gaze.
Dumb.
William shook his head. Words don't have eyes. They bore into his soul all the same. He—
A knock. "Room service!" followed after. William crumpled the paper one last time, shoved it onto his desk and stood. The door slid open with a curt 'shnickt', slicing like William's thin smile. He let her in and just as quickly she came and left, a plate of food in her place. William stared at the door, let the hum around him settle the drumming against his ribs.
He straightened the paper and read it again - left his food cold.
Dust blazed beneath the sleek exterior of Ford, painting the blue chrome of its doors in a harsh grey brown. Clinking reverberated against the metal, shuddering as the car did along a fixed path through barren farm land. The road stretched straight from the dusty highway two miles to a plantation style home that carried a wide berth against the farmland, a stretch from the house to the shed where his father kept most of the animals and feed. It stood grey against the purpling, bruised clouds that loomed in the distance that dominated even the stacks of towers that served as a background.
The truck halted, first among most - the only one, William had to remind himself. Sister and brother found themselves either across the galaxy or across the world. He wouldn't begrudge them, as his circumstance came with a bit of fortune behind it. Or, well, misfortune, perhaps.
A dread circled him. Stepping out of this car meant some kind of finality William wasn't willing to come to terms with. Questions and scenarios played in his mind with malicious intent, slashing at his will one by one. If's and but's, when and why. Then the sudden, quiet realization that time was fleeting,
William slammed a hand against the steering wheel and nearly rolled out of the truck as he shouldered the door open. Emotion boiled beneath William's skin. It pulled and pushed, demanded - didn't care for his own feelings. The car door slammed shut, and William immediately turned with his fists clenched. He stalked toward the garage door, his fist hitting the white surface with an aching crack. Those same fists gripped the handle and thrust up, shoving the garage door out of the way for William to trudge in to find the old convertible still untouched under the heavy tarp.
So many of his things scattered the garage: this car was his, his telescope shoved in the corner, his bike, his school uniform, baseball equipment, old ensign uniforms. William wanted it all and simultaneously wanted none of it. The pain in chest amplified with every step he took, yet his eyes only looked for one thing. The pile of science equipment, makeshift chemistry sets, robot parts and metal shoved from their spot on the table. They clattered against the concrete floor, glass shattering and metal pieces clanging against the side of the car. William took to grasping everything he could and throwing it across the room with substantial force.
Boxes and boxes of family memorabilia piled one over the other. They'd stuffed half of the garage full of their things already, mainly things not quite labeled in the will, most likely. All of it piled and mixed with things that were once his.
Flashes of memories surfaced every moment he'd catch a glimpse of something he once held dear. A number of journals he kept; Halloween costumes stuffed alongside useless plastic toys; a box full of medallions. William shoved the heel of his hand into his eye, leaving it puffy and red and further irritated. He growled and threw what he could to the side. When he eventually hit the bottom with absolutely nothing to show for, William let out a dismayed howl, his foot finding the side of a box again and again and again until he found himself flinging objects and boxes until the garage's clean, tidiness fell to shambles. A hurricane couldn't have done worse.
William plopped down against to the bare wall, stripped of the stacks and piles of belongings all neatly packed and organized. He brought his knees to his chest and settled his head between them, biting back a sob and another, until something in him broke. Crying hadn't been something he'd become accustom to, then again, it wasn't very often he felt a black hole rip his innards to shreds. They'd spaghettify them, he corrected himself.
Hours maybe passed - William didn't bother to figure out the time. Outside it had grown dark from the heavy clouds overhead. He hadn't realized exactly when it started raining, though he figured it'd been awhile if he hadn't bothered to hear the thunder rattling the old house against its bearings. The door that lead inside creaked open to reveal a lady in a pressed suit and a high bun. Her heels clicked against the concrete, Williams eyes drawn to the slick black curve of them. A hand hovered in front of him, waiting for William to take it should he need to.
"It took an entire day to get everything organized," she sighed. She didn't have to gesture; he knew what she was talking about. "And it took you close to three minutes to tear it all a part." Without another word, she turned back and made her way inside. William followed behind, closed the door, and let the rest happen without so much as a thought clouding his mind. Sobbing made things clear. They also gave him the worst hiccups.
"If you'd have come inside first, instead of thrown a tantrum, I would have given you the rundown of everything owed," she held up a thin, transparent pad with words gliding down the sleek surface. Her manicured nails clicked against the hard glass. William almost crumpled, like the paper he so carelessly tossed, when she read off the words along the screen.
"And to our eldest, William, goes a third of our savings, all land and property for his own use, and his father's lock box which includes: the official deed to the house, insurance policies including both house and car insurance, ownership of his father's Ford Thunderbird, and official documents for the licensing and ownership of the ranch's livestock. Oh, and the keys to said car, house, and the padlock to the farm shed."
William found himself seated facing the sliding glass doors. The words hit, sure, but even in light of everything, he felt drained and exhausted. Too tired to sleep. And yet he closed his eyes, let it all sink in, and released it in a breath. Suddenly all of his outburst seemed so unnecessary - what he'd been searching for he got. But for what reasons? William sighed, closing his eyes in order to listen to the heavy patter of rain, coming in waves as the wind picked up. A steady pattern against the wooden deck of his parent's patio. Too many memories. He wanted them as memories - most of all, he wanted the picture he knew they'd hidden beneath all the paperwork. Two: one of his parents, young, on their wedding day; one of the them all, Judy, Harold, their three dogs and one cat. Just things, pieces of himself that he left here longer than he meant to.
"Since your siblings aren't here to claim their share of the land and deeds, I'm afraid they'll only be sent part of their parent's fortune," she interrupted his reverie after she deemed it enough time to contemplate. William merely nodded and watched her pack her things. "That concludes everything, I suppose," she sighed, "I still need to make everything official. We'll call you when we can." And then she began walking toward the door, a briefcase at her side.
She paused, and turned, "I'm assuming since this house now belongs to you, that you intend to clean the mess you made."
"Yeah. Yes."
"Good," she stopped again, half-way through the door and gave William a softened look, a contrast to her sharp features, "I hope your evening turns out better, officer."
"And you, as well, ma'am."
Better, by any standards, meant just a little less worse than before. That didn't mean things actually were better. Williams evening flat lined, a dull grey cloud with just one silver lining. Even the vacuum of space wouldn't let him forget his own misgivings, even if his parents did. Even if they'd forgiven years before he'd been willing to accept that as a viable option. Regret suffers no fools lightly. At least memories like these lasted a life time - or at least, until the money ran dry.
Name: Vashara Vaella Age: 26 (Human years) Rank/Position: Captain/CO of the USS Orion Race: Vulcan/Rihannsu Appearance:
Personality:
Vashara Vaella is an overachiever; independent minded and determined. Though her early life on Vulcan was that of a taboo outsider as a mix of a Vulcan and Romulan origin, 'Vash' would prove quite socially capable once she entered Starfleet. Brilliance in multiple fields is weighed down by a strange nature, necessity has brought Vashara Vaella to the Captain's chair--not desire. This strange nature often manifests in behavior many in Starfleet would find unusual for a ship's CO: whether it's thrill-seeking in a holosuite, smoking cigarettes and talking micro-M/ARA assembles with engineers, or tinkering furiously in her own little work shop in her private quarters. This oddness creates a distinct advantage in combat operations: few living Starfleet captains show Vashara's resourcefulness, and none may match her ability to think outside the box in a fight.
History:
Vashara comes from an exceedingly bizarre pairing: a Romulan noble father that felt an outsider upon his home world of Romulus, a man that would leave the Star Empire to explore ancient stories and forgotten sites. While her father would change his name, he would drop the Romulan structure of his name but yet keep the name that meant the most within the Empire: his family name, Vaella. Hailing from an ancient noble line that had been on the wrong side of political in-fighting too often and seen it's fortunes fall in recent times, Artos Vaella found himself entranced by a unique soul he came across in his travels, a Vulcan woman that rejected the teachings of Surak.
The love affair would not last. The Vulcan woman would leave Artos and the newborn child, and disappear just as quickly as she'd come. Desperate for help raising the halfling child, Artos arranged a meeting with a merchant from Vulcan, a meeting that would eventually lead to the self-exiled Romulan noble to Vulcan itself. On the surface, Artos Vaella would become a trader stationed at Vulcan, leaving for extended periods of time, agreeing that Vashara would be best if she were mostly in the care of Vulcan tutors.
Despite Artos' best intentions, there was no easy upbringing for a half Romulan on the surface of Vulcan. Her earlier years were difficult, rejected by peers and harassed for her bloodlines, many times over did Vashara question the wisdom, let alone sanity, of her father to be a Romulan run-a-way that settled on Vulcan, of all places. Even if it was a struggle, Vashara benefited from the education Vulcan provided; going so far as to be accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, though only after intervention from several forward thinking Vulcans.
Halfway through her time at the Vulcan Science Academy, Vashara Vaella made history: becoming the first VSA student to transfer from the VSA to an Earth based educational institute, The Massachusetts Institute of Technology. In Cambridge, Massachusetts, Vashara would find herself more comfortable than she ever was on Vulcan itself. After graduating the top of her class in Astrophysics, Vashara would go on to Starfleet Academy, focused on becoming an Engineer for Utopia Planitia. But war would have other plans for Cadet Vaella.
While on live field exercises with Gold Squadron during her time with the Advanced Tactical Training school of Starfleet Academy, the Defiant class vessel Gold Squadron operated came under surprise attack from a group of Breen. Vashara's Senior Instructor, Cadet Commander, and Cadet Executive Officer were all dead in the first minute of the Breen attack. Chaos and fear spread through the remaining Cadets like wild fire; forcing Vashara in the command chair with a hobbled Defiant against two Breen attack craft.
One Breen vessel was destroyed when it cloaked, losing the protection of shields--allowing Vashara to find the small traces of radiation emitted from it's older cloaking device. The other Breen vessel was destroyed with a weapon Vashara built during the battle with assistance from several Engineering major friends: nick-named the "Toy Box Bomb", Vashara took every plasma mine in the Defiant's arsenal, stuffed them in torpedo casings, added transporter remote tags to each, and teleported the seemingly single large bomb in front of the Breen vessel. The Breen awaited the explosion, diverting full power to the forward shields--just as most any starship commander would, and just as Vashara hoped the Breen commander would. Just then, Vashara and her fellow Cadets activated the transporter tags upon each mine. After the quick fire bluish-white light of the transporters finished, the Breen vessel found itself surrounded by plasma mines...mines the remaining Gold Squadron cadets remotely ignited. Such an explosion across the entire surface area of the Breen vessel overwhelmed the shield grid; Vash and her fellow cadets were ready with pulse phasers, blowing the Breen vessel into space dust.
The instructor, Cadet Commander, and Cadet XO were buried upon the return to Earth with full honors. After Academy officials finished an investigation, an Admiralty Board cleared Vashara and her fellow Cadets of any wrong doing, instead awarding them medals for bravery. Each survivor would graduate the ATT with the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade--save Vashara, who was awarded the rank of full Lieutenant and given command of a small patrol vessel, the USS Hawk, assigned to an area near the Cardassian/Breen border. Lieutenant Vaella would register a quick string of combat victories with the Hawk, showing Starfleet Operations Command the Gold Squadron incident was no accident.
After suffering grievous losses of experienced starship captains, Starfleet Command directed Starfleet Operations Command to recommend a dozen junior officers who had shown exceptional starship combat command potential for immediate promotion and assignment; Vash was promoted to Commander, having already been given a field promotion to Lieutenant Commander by her Wing Commander. She was assigned the USS Cairo, an old Excelsior taken out of mothballs for the war. Though the ship wouldn't survive, Vash and her crew would, commandeering a Breen attack vessel, and use it to complete a mission given to them by Starfleet Intelligence Command; coming to the assistance of a Romulan Warbird under attack by Cardassian and Breen forces.
The Tal'Shiar aboard the vessel recognized the name Vaella, and quickly put two-and-two together: this Starfleet Captain was the daughter of Artos Vaella. Despite the Tal'Shiar's standing kill on sight order for her father, the Romulan Star Empire expressed faith in Vashara Vaella to Starfleet Command, leading to a new mission and a new ship: newly minted Captain Vashara Vaella was to take command of the USS Orion, on a mission that came directly from the Office of the Federation President.
Her father smiled, though Vash saw little joy in the act. More a father feigning strength and a stiff lip for a child going off to war is how it seemed to her, as she stood there next to the busy cafe table. They normally met in San Fransisco. Today, however, he requested they meet in Paris. He wore a strange mix of Vulcan fashion with Romulan color added to it, and a few comforts of Earth, like a backpack. They were a strange pair meeting outside the cafe, him with his appearance, and she with a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black square framed sunglasses.
Eventually, she smiled back, and took her own seat. "How are you, dad?"
"I ordered Brandy."
Vash found her eyes opening a little wider, and a new found amusement in her voice. "Thanks for the confidence." Her tone had flipped sarcastic, and half-believing. "I might actually survive, you know--"
The old Romulan man she loved went white, his voice stronger than ever. "I believe you will, yes, but you and I must talk. I have learned through friends that the Romulan government has asked the Federation that you specifically be assigned something in some level of cooperation of the Empire."
"...the Star Empire?" Vash hushed herself as the waiter came and went, leaving a drink she very much, and very suddenly, found herself needing.
"Of course that Empire. Who did you think I meant, those brutes?"
Those brutes, he said. Klingons.
"Those brutes have been fighting and dying right alongside your daughter," her eyes rolled at the aging man as she took a long, deep, drink of Romulan Brandy.
Her father looked this way and that, before his dark eyes returned to her, his body leaning closer to the table just-so. "I understand," he said it with his hands, palm out, rising into the air for a beat before falling back to the table, "I respect what they have done and meant no disrespect, but if you are the daughter I know then you know--"
She knew, alright. "--I know we can't win the war without them."
"Yes," His head nodded, firmly, "and now the Empire has asked that you be assigned to some special mission. It's very disturbing, not to mention potentially dangerous for both of us, and I thought we should discuss it before you left."
Vashara Vaella stared, and sipped. Her mind ran every possibility twice over in her mind, then again once more just for good measure. In the end she was left with a look upon her face that mirrored the very words that came tumbling out of her lips: "What? What are you afraid is going to happen? Are you afraid they're going to try and kill me? Blow up an entire Starfleet vessel just to take out the daughter of someone they want to kill but obviously haven't ever gone to that much trouble TO kill?"
Artos Vaella, once Lord of Vallavan, merely narrowed his eyes, and lowered his voice. That's when she knew she was in trouble, since she was little more than a small girl it had always been that way. Once his voice lowered, instead of anger making it rise, she knew she was good and truly in trouble. "Vashara Tel'laa'vor Vaella, I'm a little surprised in your ignorance. They wouldn't want to kill you."
It wasn't until he said those words that Vash finally understood the game. "They wouldn't want to kill me, they'd want to convert me."
"Who better than a talented young Starfleet commanding officer to flip? I can hear the pitch now, 'Think of restoring your bloodline, with one decision. Think of restoring your father's honor. Think of your true home.' And that would just be the start of it. If the Empire is requesting you, their motive can only be suspect. You must be cautious, and guarded."
"I think I preferred it when you thought I was just going to die."
Her father smirked, crooked and deviant, rising his glass in the air. "To the good old days when I simply feared you dead, then."
Race Beta-Cephanian The Cephanians are an aquatic humanoid species from the planet Cepha, that have evolved into two distinct groups; Alpha-Cephanians, a hard shelled, crab-like humanoid species, and Beta-Cephanians, their subjugated fish-like cousins. Hailing from a completely submerged planet, all Beta-Cephanians have mucous-producing skin, gills, webbed fingers, and other characteristics suited to an aquatic environment, while their crustacean cousins have a thick exoskeleton and mandibles over their mouths.
Whereas Alpha-Cephanians are usually boisterous and warlike, Beta-Cephanians are a quiet, private people known for their humorlessness and brevity, which are results of their neural biology and selective breeding than of learned behavior. Despite being a warp-capable civilization, Cephanians have a very primal culture with little room for sentimentality -- Elderly or injured Beta-Cephanians are usually devoured to support their colony's sustenance, for example, whereas Alpha-Cephanians frequently murder one another over perceived slights.
Appearance Most say Beta-Cephanians all look alike. As the only differentiation between male and female Beta-Cephanians are that one is blueish purple and the other is purplish blue, this is not entirely without merit. Though Commander Poxx has dark blue stripes lining most of his body, this is hidden by his uniform, leaving the rank-denoting stripes on his sleeve the only face-value distinction between himself and any other Cephanian, though his ear-frills are said to be somewhat long. His skin is a blueish grey similar to a dolphin's, and his eyes are a much lighter greyish blue, while his ear-frills and the webbing between his fingers and toes are translucent pink. Additionally, the commander also wears a respiration device that allows him to breathe outside of his usual aquatic environment, which resembles a metal collar that covers most of his neck. Though not especially short or tall, Commander Poxx's Cephanian biology leaves him with very little fat, giving him a thin, muscular physique.
Personality Commander Poxx's mannerisms and personality are fairly standard for his race. He keeps most interactions as brief as possible, spends most of his time off alone in his quarters, and has little patience for galas and ceremonies. He frequently goes out of his way to seek out advice from other nonhumans on human culture, a subject he finds fascinatingly foreign, though even in these interactions he keeps a quiet distance. Other than his work, Commander Poxx has three hobbies; swimming, underwater horticulture, and Judo, the latter of which earns him a spot on many away teams. As Cephanian culture is extremely different than human culture, with Poxx only ever having served previously on the USS Highlander, which had very few humans, Poxx is one of the aliens aboard the Orion that experiences a great deal of culture shock. Hot beverages, for example, are a subject surrounded by mystery to Commander Poxx, as well as things like figures of speech and most forms of art.
History Xiril Poxx was hatched on Cepha, spending his youth absorbing the culture and knowledge of his people while working on one of his planet's many algae farms. His father, Luril Poxx, eventually bought his family's freedom from their master during Xiril's late infancy, and went on to starfleet academy, which fostered Xiril's interest in joining Starfleet from a young age -- Most of Xiril's childhood memories of his father are the brief stories he would tell him through a holophone about his ongoing studies. Xiril went on to join Starfleet Academy when he became old enough, Cephanian biology maturing at a similar pace to a human, and was put onto an expedited path to becoming an ensign aboard the USS Highlander after graduating third in his class. Though originally eager to become a science officer like his father, Xiril switched divisons after his second year to piloting, and has proudly worn Tactical Red ever since. After serving aboard the USS Highlander for several years, during which he did little more than smoothly coast through his career to his current rank, Lieutenant Commander. Six months ago, he was transferred to the USS Orion, where he now serves as the ship's Helmsman.
Skills Though he comes off as cold, Commander Poxx's lack of emotion help him remain calm under pressure and make logic-based, split second decisions other officers would struggle with. The Cephanian brain -- particularly that of a Beta-Cephanian -- has far fewer receptors for emotion than a human, and more for memory and problem solving; By human standards, Poxx would be considered a genius. Aside from his intelligence, Poxx is a skilled Judoka, a skill that fostered his initial interest in human culture.
As a Cephanian, Commander Poxx can use sonar to maneuver in complete darkness, and stun most humanoids. His youth spent underwater has given him a heightened perception of his position in three-dimensional space compared to most bipedal humanoids, which he uses to his advantage when performing tactical maneuvers. During his final few years aboard the USS Highlander, a maneuver he came up with to escape a Dominion Fleet was named after him, though he doesn't seem to talk about it much. The Poxx Maneuver refers to the act of deactivating the ship's main engines and steering with emergency thrusters to mimic the appearance of engine failure on enemy scanners, while transferring remaining power to the ship's warp core to escape.
Cepha is a large planet near the edge of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, which is a member of the United Federation of Planets. It has a dense core half the size of Earth's, which is hidden beneath thousands of miles of saltwater in all directions -- The planet has no dry land, though its surface is covered in its entirety with a layer of algae about a mile thick, which is farmed by Beta-Cephanians as a power source. It is the second planet in its solar system, and is kept together by its unusually high gravity, and warm by means of its thick, cloudy atmosphere. It is orbited by a relatively lifeless microplanet, which is in turn orbited by an asteroid. Other than that, there is little of note about the Cephanian homeworld; It is considered somewhat primitive and isolated as Federation planets go, and engages in very little trade.
The dominant species of Cepha are the Alpha-Cephanians, a crustacean-like race of humanoids evolved from ancient Cepha's apex predator. Culturally, the Alpha-Cephanian is not dissimilar from a Klingon; Though they live to be 200 years old, their average lifespans are about one hundred years due to widespread honor killings and duels. Alpha-Cephanians are an extremely proud race, and as such are too involved with convoluted feuds and tribal arguments to be greatly involved in the affairs of their intergalactic neighbors.
Most people have not heard of Cephanians -- They are mentioned in Federation training as one of the nine completely aquatic spacefaring races -- and as such, few are aware of the distinction between Alpha and Beta Cephanians. As such, those from Cepha are usually regarded to in a myriad of different terms; Red and Blue Cephanians, High and Low Cephanians, and Great and Common Cephanians are all terms they have begrudgingly accepted. Both races refer to themselves simply as "Cephanian" while using the Alpha and Beta labels for the other race.
An entirely separate species, Beta-Cephanians are a fishlike humanoid species capable of using sonar to traverse water too deep for light to reach, or too thick with algae to see. Subjugated by Alpha-Cephanians during "The Great Cephanian War", a civil war between the two races thousands of years ago, Beta-Cephanians have been the planet's workforce and backbone for generations. Cepha's technology is almost entirely powered by their algae, though it is fairly inefficient as fuels go, and is farmed by millions of their Beta-Cephanian thralls.
As a slave society, Beta-Cephanians have a great cultural belief in destiny, and coexist with Alpha-Cephanians with surprisingly little animosity; After several thousand years of enslavement, Beta-Cephanians have more or less accepted their position as unavoidable fate, which coupled with their being bred for passivity by Alpha-Cephanians, has led to a society with almost zero rebellions.
Whereas Alpha-Cephanians are free to choose their careers, specific Beta-Cephanians are born for specific roles. Some are farmers of the algae that powers their planet's technology, others are concubines and servants of Alpha-Cephanians, others still are born for clerical work, and a select few are born for little else than fueling their kin during food shortages; Some speculate it is due to the lack of breastfeeding in Cephanian biology that they do not form especially close bonds with their parents and are generally void of emotion.
The language spoken on Cepha is Korqyk, more commonly referred to simply as Cephanian, a language nearly indecipherable by the universal translator due to its subtle uses of emphasized bubble blowing and sonar as vowels. As it can only be spoken underwater, it is also impossible to be spoken by non-Cephanians.
"Inhale red, exhale blue."
Commander Poxx stood with his back completely straight, with a fist on either hip and his legs spread far apart. The horse stance, the recording had called it. The voice speaking to him was a soft woman's voice, resonating with an almost maternal timbre. He had spent the morning in his room -- as he often would -- practicing tai chi. It relaxed him, and for an outdated human practice, that was fairly surprising. In lieu of his usual black and yellow uniform, he wore a simple white gi.
The lights in Poxx's room were dim, set to a deep blue color that made it seem like he was at the bottom of the ocean. Enhancing the effect, the vents in his room were currently on aromatherapy mode, a setting that had been tweaked and perfected by one of the engineering ensigns eager to impress the First Officer.
Poxx took a step forward, bringing his hands with him as if he were scooping up a bucket. Poxx didn't remember what the recording called the movement, but he managed to remember the movements themselves, which he felt was enough. He inhaled deeply, raising his arms. His room smelled like the sea after a storm. Poxx took a step to the side and exhaled, bringing his arms close to his chest in a circular motion, making a mental note to thank the engineering ensign he had remembered moments earlier.
"Focus on your breathing. Let go of your stress."
The voice cooed to him over softer, almost inaudible recordings of undersea noises. Though Poxx was able to remain level-headed, stress was usually his only problem on the bridge. He exhaled again, feeling his limbs loosen. At least I no longer have to worry about superiors, Poxx thought to himself. Perhaps, with a race that had evolved from a prey species, stress is simply instinctual for me.
Poxx took another step back, dropping into the horse stance position before stretching his back. After a few moments of stretching, he reclined into his normal stance, and cleared his throat.
"End session."
The sounds of the ocean began to fade, and the dim blue lights began to shift to their regular white. Poxx rolled his neck to the side with an audible crack, and began to disrobe. He examined himself in a small mirror by his bedside for a moment. He was as blue and fishy as ever, and his scales showed no signs of molting, which was always good. He quickly put on his uniform that lay folded at the foot of his bed, flattening out any creases or wrinkles by hand.
When he finished dressing, he straightened his posture and attached a small metal device to his neck, covering his gills. The atmosphere in his room was kept wet enough to breathe comfortably without the device, though he would often have trouble without it on the ships air-conditioned turbolift.
He left his room, lumbering with his usual powerwalk he had honed over years to make himself appear hurried and ensure ensigns and cadets would leave him alone as often as possible. Sure enough, this would not be the case today.
"Good morning, Commander Poxx. Was the ventilation to your liking?" It was the engineering ensign he had thought about. Poxx looked at him for a moment, pausing to wonder if the ensign truly ran into him, or if he had been staking out by his quarters in hopes of being praised.
"Yes. I will be speaking to your Commanding Officer about my assessment of your alterations, though I believe he will find them satisfactory as well." He blinked, squeezing his sideways lenses together as he stared at the young man. "Will that be all, ensign?"
He shook his head. "Yes, thank you Commander. If there's an-"
"Excellent." Poxx turned his head and continued his march to the turbolift. He was thankful for the ensign's handiwork, but he had little time to stand by and congratulate him for it. Today would be a busy day, after all. The Orion would pick up Ambassador Spock shortly, and Commander Poxx would be standing to the captain's side when it happened. Poxx stepped into the turbolift, pressing a small blue button.
Personality: Unlike most Romulans, Sta'l tries to avoid being dishonest and as such is brutally honest when it comes to dealing with the facts and dealing with people. In truth, his personality seems to be more Klingon then Romulan as he believes a person should keep their word no matter what. He hates the Dominion with a passion and has a very strong dislike of the Romulan senate as well.
History: Sta'l was born under less then ideal circumstances aboard the Imperial Romulan Warbird T'vex when it was under fire from a Cardassian Keldon class cruiser after attempting to capture it after it had infiltrated Romulan space and had stolen Romulan data-files from a Romulan observation station on the boarder between Romulan and Federation space. His mother was a member of the T'vex's security detail was was his father. Despite managing to deal a crippling blow to the Keldon and eventually destroying it, the survivors of the T'vex were forced to evacuate when they were unable to stabilize the artificial singularity that powered their vessel. Fortunately for the few survivors, they were rescued by the Federation star ship Gorkon, but when were disowned by the Romulan Empire and were forbidden to return for failing to capture the Cardassian vessel. Many of the survivors committed suicide by taking their own lives with their Honor blades including his parents shortly after leaving Sta'l in the Gorkin's med bay.
One of the Gorkon's engineers and his wife ending up adopting the child shortly after his parents were found dead in their guest quarters and Sta'l's life in the Federation began. At first it was difficult for the couple to deal with the needs of an infant Romulan child but they eventually managed to get the hang of it. As Sta'l grew up aboard the Gorkon, he came to realize that many of the other children didn't want to play with him and certain adult members of the crew seemed to watch him very carefully when he was around the other children. He was a teenager he heard a teenage child mutter the words "Green blood," under his breath at him that he came to his parents and asked why the other children seemed to want nothing to do with him and why certain crew members would seemingly glare at him. It was that day that he found out that he was a full blooded Romulan and that a very uneasy peace was in place between the Romulan Star Empire and the Federation with boarder skirmishes flaring up every so often. He also learned that the Romulan Empire refused to allow him to return to Romulus and what had happened to his parents.
As Sta'l took in the information he rose to his feet and embraced both of his adopted parents and thanked them for telling him the truth about his origins and the fate of his biological parents. He then immediately asked if he could apply to Starfleet academy when he came of age to show that just because he was born a Romulan didn't mean he followed their beliefs. When he came of age, he joined starfleet academy and showed great interest in the engineering and tactical courses. He also developed a mild obsession with the Kobayashi Maru scenario and after his first few attempts using standard techniques, he was able to come up with a number of unusual solutions to the scenario. He was unable to beat the scenario but on one occasion he came close to beating it by grabbing the Maru at warp speed with the tractor beams and attempting to fling it across the border and then dealt with the simulated warships by attempting to use the warp core of his vessel as a massive anti-matter projectile. It was a good idea but the explosion ended up destroying his ship as well. After the simulation, he was approached by his instructor who asked him how he got the idea to fling the Maru across the border.
Sta'l simply said he got the idea from watching old episodes of the Klingon entertainment series "Battlecruiser Vengeance." When asked how he had gotten the idea from the show which had never made mention of such a maneuver, he simply said that "something clicked in my head" He graduated from Starfleet academy as third in his engineering class and was assigned to the USS Dragos, a Miranda class starship as an Ensign and he quickly made himself at home in the Engine room. In other words, he took to engineering like a Horta takes to stone. He was eventually promoted to the rank of Lieutenant after nearly two years of serving on the Dragos and coming up with creative approaches to both hypothetical problems posed to him by the Chief Engineer and actual problems that the Dragos ran into. He was eventually transferred to the USS Orion after the Dragos had to put in for a three month overhaul on it's spaceframe where he continues to happily work in Engineering. In his spare time, he can usually be found reading up on the newest Federation engineering news articles in the mess hall.
Skills: Advanced engineering training, Basic tactical knowledge and his ability to come up with creative solutions to problems on the fly.
Other: Doesn't really mind Klingons or other species due to his upbringing. While most Romulans are highly distrustful of other species, Sta'l doesn't mind getting to know new people. His dream is to one day serve aboard one of the new Sovereign class star-ships but he knows it most likely won't happen anytime soon.
Sample Post:
Sta'l grunted as he forced himself forward through the uncomfortable insides of the jeffries tube and grinned as he found the stuck hatch. He reached into the belt on his pouch and pulled out his specially modified P-38 and held the instrument next to the hatch and activated it. He watched with satisfaction as the hatch seemingly shuddered and then the broken hatch swung open, nearly smacking him in the head. It was at that moment that he realized why the hatch hadn't closed all the way.
A small part of the side of the hatch was slightly warped. Sta'l muttered under his breath and reached into the pouch once again and grabbed a plasma torch. "Sta'l to engineering." He said with a smile "I've found the problem. Looks like something warped the edge of the hatch. I'm going to see if I can even it out a bit with a plasma torch until we can get a replacement."
"Sounds good, Lieutenant. Let us know if you need any help. Engineering out."
Sta'l smiled as he activated the torch and began to work. He was looking forward to the end of his duty shift. The newest issue of Technology Today was going to be released in a few hours and he was looking forward to reading it in the mess hall later. He was glad that he was away from the ongoing front-lines of the conflict between the Federation and the Dominion. He didn't consider himself a coward and he would fight to the end it he had to, but he would rather be studying technical manuals then repairing battle damage.
Name: Henry Rolls Age: 65 Rank/Position: Commander, Communications Officer
Race: Human
Appearance: Personality: Henry's been a kind and confident man since he joined Starfleet, it was his sole purpose to do what he wanted; help. It's why he's on the Orion after all; he's an old man whose kindness is evident quickly and hatred of transporters is absolute, he isn't a man you'd imagine holding a phaser let alone attack someone and the idea of being deconstructed and then reconstructed petrifies Haiden so he's useless for away missions. The chance to see peace between the Romulans and the Federation would be such a momentous occasion that it might actually cure him of his mental condition which could be described as old world blues if it was to be described as anything... the war and the Borg have driven Henry towards archaeology and to the holodeck's technologies just to experience a slightly more peaceful past then what everyone else is experiencing.
History: This bumbling old commander was born and raised as a Hebridean local for around ten years in a reasonably pleasant lighthouse by his parents who worked for the local weather backup until it malfunctioned with disastrous consequences; one orphaned Henry and forty people dead. After the horrific accident the orphan was sent to his uncle who served as the communications officer on the USS Swann. The uncle and nephew lived aboard USS Swann until Henry decided to formally join Starfleet with half his life of experience and a recommendation from his uncle. When the Hood arrived back at Earth Henry first learnt of the transporter and how it works which led him and his uncle to use a shuttle which gave time for Henry to learn a little more about his only other means of vehicular transportation.
With his prior experience from the USS Swann Henry graduated as expected and he was offered multiple places throughout his entire career from working on Utopia Planitia as traffic control to listening post encryption, two of the most significant events occurred near Henry when he was working in Earth's orbit as a coordinator of shuttle traffic control during both the aftermath of wolf 359 and the battle of sector 001 where he and his colleagues were left in a barely functional platform to watch and listen to the screams of the dying and get Borg remains lodged in the outpost. After the the battle of sector 001 the ageing commander was reassigned to the Orion to try and give him one last voyage before Henry retires.
Skills: Henry's spent a long time dealing with different forms of communication and instructing people so he is well suited to the nuances of the career. He does also know how to pilot many of the shuttles the Federation utilizes because of his complete faith in them even with his vision going a little. He does know a reasonable amount about repairing multiple communication devices however the repair work doesn't always work.
Other: Henry should be a lieutenant commander however a clerical error has made him a commander and no one's bothered to fix it, he is retiring after the Orion after all.
Sample Post: "You've ruined it Hal, utterly ruined it." was the first sentence stated in the small medical bay of the outpost, it's general clutter might as well declare dominance over the room and evict the stressed surgeon considering it's quantity. "What have I ruined Greg?" the elderly visitor questions as he struggles to maneuver around the desk and see Greg. "You've ruined my entire schedule with your little reassignment... I have to send your medical files along to the Orion and attend the going party. It must be the universe conspiring against the prospect of me owning a clean desk." Greg jokes before he waves his arm and a box filled with medical tools to the floor.
"Had these shipments of medical supplies a month ago and no one's come for them... Any chance you could take a few boxes aboard the Orion?" that statement rolls towards Henry as he picks up the box from the floor and a thud resolves the mystery of where the box went.
"I think I could manage it for say... two bottles of that bloodwine you swindled from that Andorian last Wednesday, I think the Orion's second officer's a Klingon." "Done, that stuff is an incredible sedative, sent the last patient out cold with just the taster." With the negotiation done and the bottles exchanged the two friends walk off with four boxes of medical equipment from the cluttered bay as well as two bottles of blood wine.
Standing firm at five foot five with a toned build, Haruhi seems a decent average for the contemporary citizen of Japan in the twenty-fourth century with an individual presence that inspires confidence. Despite her relatively mundane height, Haruhi has a conditioned and hardy physique to her appearance with well-shaped muscles and a preference towards colder, rigid expressions. Beyond that her hair is long— running down beyond her shoulders when let down though such appearances are rare as she prefers to keep it orderly in a roughly strewn ponytail.
[ ⛡ ] P E R S O N A L I T Y
Haruhi has three modes: deadpan snarker, by-the-books professionalism, and unapproachable storm.
At the cusp of it, Haruhi is difficult through and through. At her most sociable, Haruhi is amicable and jovial with deflections of sarcastic wit— the first “mode” of Haruhi Onizuka and probably the most likely to be found off-duty when she is enjoying the company of others. Haruhi has admittedly developed a jovial sarcasm as a coping mechanism since she was ten years old following the exponential depth of disappointment she felt from her father not being around in her life.
However, when Haruhi is on-duty she is on-duty and she will make it abundantly clear that she has no time for jokes, nonsense, or slip ups when she is in her second “mode” so to speak. The perfectionist attitude, the no nonsense attitude, the staunch stoicism, and nearly robotic sense of orderly manners can seem jarring for those who were more familiar to the jovial and friendly personality she exhibits in her downtime.
Then there is the emotional whirlwind in her final “mode” of personality traits— toxic snark, annoyed agitation, volatile anger, solemn sadness, and enclosed isolation. Whilst it is most rare this is the only mode that can supersede any of her aforementioned tendencies assuming she is emotionally compromised beyond a shadow of a doubt. Although this frame of Haruhi’s personality is indeed rare she has had fits of it in her life following the death of her father and the abandonment of her by her mother. She has been seeking ways to curb this facet of her personality for years though the results of such therapy is uncertain.
[ ⛡ ] H I S T O R Y
Haruhi Onizuka is the daughter of Captain Kenichi Onizuka, the late Captain of the USS Melbourne, and an unknown mother.
Despite what it may appear, Haruhi was born and raised on the orbiting spaceport centered around the planet known as Midos V and for the bulk of her life has unsurprisingly considered herself equally as much as a daughter of Midos V as well as Japanese. As her father was a dedicated officer of the United Federation of Planets, Haruhi was raised largely away from the presence of her father and as a child felt a wayward angst believing that he had similarly abandoned her as much as her mother had when she was born— a melancholy that led to a series of awkward rebellions against her legal guardian as she became more decidedly unruly for many years. However, despite her emotional and physical outbursts taking control of her actions she was still exceptionally brilliant in academics despite giving the appearance of a delinquent as a growing hopeless call for attention.
After spending several years following her adolescent education, the appeal of a military career seemed to align with her wanderlust as well as a sense of unleashing her spite she held for the father she had barely known in her life and thus she decided to apply much like other individuals had in her situation— for Haruhi it seemed no matter what she did and wherever she went the interest in a career with Starfleet seemed to burrow into her mind in one way or another. This agitation, spite, and adventurous spirit collided and she was accepted into the Starfleet Academy at twenty years of age in the year of 2366.
Upon leave from the USS Melbourne her father took time to approach his daughter in earnest regret and to explain how proud he was of her; a sentiment that only seemed to agitate Haruhi at the time of their meeting. The last words she uttered to her father in said meeting would be the last words she told him before his untimely demise only a year later when he participated as part of the taskforce sent to halt the Borg insurgence in the conflict known as The Battle of Wolf 359, an unfortunate situation that led to the destruction of the starship. It would be a death that Haruhi would hold with her for the rest of her time at Starfleet Academy where she realized she had longed for her father’s attention and respect for so long to only have rejected him in anger. All anger she held in her gut turned into sadness and she focused intently on her aspirations as she went down the Security route in hopes of being able to protect others from unfortunate fates in the future.
Eventually Haruhi began serving on starships and beginning a prominent career— eventually leading to her settling as one of the principal security officer’s onboard the USS Yorktown (NCC-20045) by 2370 when the newly reinstated ship was looking for talented crew members for its return to service as led by Captain Herman Zimmerman. She spent the core of her years as an officer on the Yorktown achieving experience and accolades for her service for some time. As time would progress she was ultimately transferred to the service of the USS Orion and serves as one of the higher ranking Security Officers albeit not one of commanding clout due to her relatively young age and other factors.
[ ⛡ ] S K I L L S
CQC: Haruhi had a turbulent and juvenile youth as she allowed angst to overtake her emotions in her teenaged years on Midos V— a fact that refined her physical conditioning as well as perception of fighting others bare-knuckled despite her being not particularly tall or imposing. In those years she focused on being smarter, faster, and tougher than her opponents when she got into brawls wherever she could find them and without concern for gender or species of the particular individual she offended. She was trained rudimentary martial arts as a child and extending it into these experiences only made it more apparent as she listened to no one and challenged everyone to try something against her person. This was refined and reworked during her time in Starfleet as more styles of martial arts and experiences forced her to be more capable.
Marksmanship: Haruhi’s time in Starfleet found her favoring simulations and situations where she had to be as quick with her fists as she was with a phaser; forcing her hand to be quick, accurate, and unfaltering. She enjoys utilizing phaser rifles but knows the standard phaser will serve her just fine.
Perceptive: Haruhi tries to observe situations to understand the best way to act which lends well to her talents in CQC and Marksmanship, but it also extends to her skills in creative thinking and adaptiveness in sticky situations.
[ ⛡ ] O T H E R
— Really invested in learning about the culture of her ancestors which extends to cinema, music, traditional art, poetry, and literature. — Utilizes kenjutsu as a form of therapy.
[ ⛡ ] S A M P L E
No.
This wasn’t real— it couldn’t be real. After everything that had gone on in her life she had finally after all the years behind her begun to put things into perspective as she worked to put her life back on track. She had finally earned some sort of recognition from her father and despite her not talking to him for nearly a solar year she had finally been able to forgive him and she was ready to tell him that and apologize for her words she had said to his face when she had met. But… the universe had taken that away from her. How could the prospect even be real? Why could this be her reality?
No.
She kept reading the report. Captain Kenichi Onizuka. Killed in Action.
No.
He was gone.
No.
Haruhi let out a bloodcurdling scream in her dormitory as her shaking hands grabbed on to the metal tray as she swung it haphazardly before releasing it from her fingers— the metal colliding against her dormitory’s walls with a loud ‘clang’ as she began to lose her mind and her emotions along with it.
