Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

DS13: Whoops...

Expand Messages
  • Scott Freligh
    ) SD 130306.1640 MD 288.1730
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 6, 2001
    • 0 Attachment
      <NRPG: This is a Joint Post between Sean Murphy and Scott Freligh, (well,
      mostly Sean, yeah, that's right, Sean's idea <chuckle>)>

      SD 130306.1640
      MD 288.1730

      *** USS TITANIA Holodeck 1 ***

      The doors to the holodeck slid open and locked. Molly Sharpe stepped to
      the doorway, and leaned heavily on the door frame. Her body soaked in sweat,
      and a large laceration on her left arm dripping blood onto the gray carpeted
      deck of the corridor. She was breathing hard and slow. Savoring each breath.
      She picked up her green tunic shirt, and black and gray shell jacket, along
      with her phaser... she cast one more look over her shoulder at the arena
      where she'd spent the last hour or so. Thirteen bodies lay prone, several
      klingons... nausicans, gorn...but all dead.

      "Computer..." she gasped. "End program." The scene shimmered, and faded
      as the black and yellow grid lines replaced the morbid display. Molly held
      her shirt to her bleeding arm, slowing the blood slightly. It took a few
      more minutes for her to catch her breath, then slow her breathing down. She
      looked around the deck for a moment, she had never actually spent much time
      on board the TITANIA before, so she was not as familiar with it's lay out.
      But she quickly found what she was looking for. The emergency first aid kit,
      three sections down.
      She popped the seal open, and retrieved the dermal repair device, running it
      quickly over her injured arm. The laceration sealed up slowly. Still showing
      some redness underneath it, but at least the bleeding had stopped.

      She found that, although the tremendous amount of energy she'd just
      expended, she found her mind still drifting back to Ross.

      *Damn it*

      She pried herself off the bulkhead she'd been leaning against, noting
      she'd left a damp spot. She then moved slowly down the corridor. She didn't
      really know where she was going, she knew that if she went back to those
      damn civilian quarters, she'd end up REALLY homicidal...she just couldn't do

      She needed to be someplace.. military...

      *** USS TITANIA Main Shuttle Bay ***
      MD. 288.1745

      Lieutenant Junior Grade Alistair Boyington carefully entered the shuttle
      bay, he had not drawn his weapon.. but it was close at hand. He had detected
      an unauthorized entry to an emergency medical station, then unauthorized
      entry to the shuttle bay. As TITANIA had no regular security head, he as the
      ship's Tactical officer, fell into that roll.

      He noted the lights were dimmed. But all ships seemed to be in place. He
      hesitated in turning up the lights. He took a deep breath, then paused. Was
      that the distinct odor of consumed alcohol ?

      *sniff, sniff* Yes, yes it was. Alistair's hearing tried to pin down
      where the sounds were coming from. He moved carefully toward the sound.
      Liquid sloshing against glass. He rounded the starboard nacelle of the
      D-Warp shuttle, and blinked at what he saw. Molly Sharpe, sweat plastering
      her red hair to her head. Wearing her uniform trousers, but only a navy blue
      sports top. She was holding onto a bottle of something... amber in color.

      "Major Sharpe ?" Alistair started, " Are you all right ?"

      "Why would I not be bloody all right Lieutenant?" she quipped, and took
      a long draw from the bottle.

      "Sir... are you drunk ?"

      "Not yet... I jus' started... but give me half a moment..."she drank

      "Ok..." he paused, slightly confused, and took a seat on the nacelle
      above Molly Sharpe. "Are you sure this is a good idea ?"

      "No I'm not bloody sure... but I've got nothin' else to do 'till we get
      to this mystery thingy...so..." she took another drink.

      "What is that stuff?" he sniffed the air.

      "Sergeant Major's favorite... Irish Whiskey..." she absent mindedly
      handed him the bottle. He looked at her for a moment, the hit his combadge.
      "Boyington to bridge."

      Molly looked up at him in surprise. Shocked that he might be turning her

      [[[ Bridge here.]]]

      "Is it all right if I take a few hours off duty ?"

      [[[ No problem...we're still a few days out. Enjoy. ]]]

      Al smiled down at Molly, winked, then took a long swig. His eyes
      widening slightly. "That's REAL alcohol... how'd you manage that?"

      "Synthahol... the natural enemy of the Federation Marine...only real
      ETOH has any effect on us..." she shrugged, as she accepted the bottle back,
      and took a long drink.


      "The chemical abbreviation for alcohol..." she passed the bottle back.

      "I see." Alistair took a drink. "So how does this drinking game work ?
      I've played dozens of them... but I don't know many marine customs..."
      Alistair smiled charmingly.

      "Simple really... drink heavily...pass out... wake up in a pool of your
      own vomit, feel like shit for two days..." she drank again. " See ? Simple
      rules, simple girl." she shrugged and passed the bottle.

      "Simple, is hardly an adjective I'd use to describe you Major." Alistair

      "Hey now.. we're drinkin' buddies right now...rules say only first names
      when yer drinkin'. "

      "Fair enough Molly..." Alistair smirked, then shook his head.

      "What's so funny."

      "Molly seems like such a disarming name."

      "Are you insinuating I'm not a disarming person." a slight smile on her

      Alistair took a long drink, "It just strikes me as funny...a trained
      killer named Molly.. is like a Tarkavian Razor Beast named 'Fluffy'."

      Molly laughed inspite of herself. "Oh, so now I'm fluffy ?" she
      playfully kicked at Alistair's boot.

      "Not at all. You're just not what a person expects." Alistair shrugged,
      and accepted the bottle back.

      "I try 'never' to be what any one expects..." she reached for the
      bottle. "Look at me.." she indicated to her still perspiring body. "Who
      would ever look at me, and from looks alone, say "Oooo I don't want to
      tangle with that wee beastie." she took another long drink, " But I betcha,
      no one being on that station NOW would tangle with me..." she smiled, and
      passed the bottle.

      "I think that's a safe bet." Alistair smiled. " You've certainly built
      quiet a reputation for yourself." he conceded. "Hell, half the sector is
      scared of DS13's Marines thanks to you."

      "I'll take that as a compliment." she grinned.

      "You should.. but did you ever think that hard exterior might be bad for
      you in the long run?"

      "No." she shrugged

      Alistair laughed at the simplicity of her thought process. " I mean,
      that you come off unapproachable."

      "I am unapproachable." she frowned at him.

      "No you're not."

      "Yes I am." she defended herself. "It's not an act... I'm really just
      like that ."

      "I don't believe that." Alistair shook his head. "You seem pretty
      approachable now." he added.

      Molly laughed slightly. "No. I'm not approachable Al... I'm trying to
      slowly self-destruct, and drink my fallen love life into oblivion...you just
      happen to be the guy who stumbled upon me...and the only reason I'm allowing
      you to share, is I hate drinking alone..." she took a long sip, " that...
      and you're not THAT hard to look at." she smiled as she passed the bottle.

      Alistair accepted and took a long drink himself before answering. "And
      here I thought it was my winning charm and personality."

      Molly out right laughed that time. "Al..." she shook her head, " If you
      were to approach me in a bar... I'd probably shoot you on general

      "Now what's that supposed to mean ?" he replied in a wounded tone.

      "Oh come on Al... your reputation is almost as big as mine... but you're
      known for female conquests.. not gorn." she quipped, and drank again.

      "But you're not nervous.. sitting here drinking with me?" Alistair

      "Nervous?" Molly almost laughed again. "Come on Al... you think I'm
      afraid you're gonna take advantage of drunk little ole' me?" she pushed
      herself to her feet unsteadily.

      "I'd never do something like that." Alistair protested, and stood up as
      well, towering over Molly.

      Molly grinned up at him. " I know that." she pressed a finger to his
      lips to silence his protest."Besides, even drunk, I could kill you where you
      stand." she smiled broadly.

      "Now that's what I call romantic conversation." Alistair shook his head,
      and turned slightly to retrieve the nearly empty bottle.

      "See? There you go again." Molly pointed out. Standing dangerously close
      to Alistair. So close, the haunting musk of her body had been playing with
      his olfactory senses, now nearly overwhelmed him.

      "What?" Alistair demanded, drinking, and passing her the bottle, finding
      he had no place to back way. The nacelle blocked his way.

      "Misjudging what a woman wants and needs..." she drank the remnants of
      the bottle, tossing it to the deck.

      "And what have I 'misjudged'." He peered down, his hands on his hips...
      so he wouldn't out them someplace else.

      "You find a woman, drinking to forget her ex... half dressed... and you
      think she wants romance ?" Molly stood on tip toes to look into Alistair's

      "Well.. I... that is..." Alistair started, halfway drunk himself and not
      sure where this was heading.

      "I don't need romance Al Boyington!" she grabbed his uniform jacket, " I
      don't need a bloody mister 'Right'... I just need a mister 'Right Now'."
      with out further ado, she pulled herself to him, and kissed him
      passionately, fiercely.

      MD: 288.2212
      Scene: Main Shuttlebay, USS TITANIA

      Alistair awoke with a splitting headache.

      The first thing he did was half-consciously find his wrist chrono.
      "2215... 've been out fer 'least two hours," he mumbled in a barely awake,
      half-drunk, half-exhausted state. "Now 'ver's m' u'form..."

      Suddenly he remembered.

      He looked about him at the scene about him, suddenly a bit more alert.
      His first thought was, 'Oh *hell*,'

      His second was, 'I wonder if she'll want a Tee-shirt?'

      His third was, 'We've got to get outta here, they run sweeps through
      here four times a day.'

      He shook the last of the cobwebs from his head and quickly gathered the
      widely scattered components of his uniform and put them back on, in
      more-or-less the proper arraignment.

      Next he gathered up Molly's equally scattered uniform, then frowned as
      he heard a rather un-feminine snore. 'Crap, she's out like a light... Wait,
      that might be a good thing, a few more hours for me to live,' he thought
      quickly, then started to pull her uniform back upon her.

      Once he was finished, he looked himself then her over. 'Hell, we can't
      be seen in the corridors like this...' he thought quickly. Say what you
      would about Alistair Boyington, but he was good at covering his tracks,
      especially when half-drunk. He'd had lots of practice that you didn't get
      from Covert-Ops training.

      He tapped his combadge, "Boyington to Chief Fielding,"

      [[[Fielding here,]]] came the curious reply, [[[What can I do for you
      Mr. Boyington?]]]

      "Al, it's just Al at the moment Chief," Alistair stated, thinking
      quickly, "Listen, I need a *big* favor Chief, are you in the Transporter

      [[[Yeah, I'm in the Transporter, S-- Al,]]] came the reply, [[[What
      *kind* of favor?]]]

      "Site to site transport, no questions asked, no records, and no alert to
      the bridge."

      [[[I don't know Al... I'm really not supposed to do things like

      "Chief, when we get back to DS13, I'll get you a full *case* of Terran
      Whiskey, straight from Tennessee."

      [[[Hmm.... I'm still not so sure I can do that...]]]

      "Plus ten kilos of Terran Coffee beans, unground, high quality, straight
      from the fields in Columbia."

      [[[Well, *maybe*....]]]

      "*And* I'll introduce you to these three waitresses..."

      [[Deal,]]] Alistair could almost see Chief Fielding grin on the other
      side of the 'link, [[[Now just where did you want to go, Mr. Boyington?]]]

      "Ma---" he began, then stopped himself. He couldn't have Fielding beam
      them to Molly's quarters, he'd know *exactly* what had happened and would
      demand a higher price to keep his mouth shut. There were no real secrets
      aboard a ship as small as Titania. "*My* quarters Chief, two to beam up,"
      he said, lifting Molly up to her asleep feet and bracing her against him.

      [[[My pleasure, Mr. Boyington,]]] came the amiable reply, and the
      transporter effect encircled them....

      MD: Same time
      Scene: Lieutenant Boyington's Quarters, USS TITANIA

      The transporter effect dissipated, and they were safely in Al's
      quarters. He hefted Molly up in his arms and carried her over to his bunk,
      then frowned. He couldn't let her sleep in that filthy uniform...

      He pulled her hastily put-together uniform apart and tossed it in the
      recycler for cleaning. Moving to his closet, he pulled one of his very best
      Tee-shirts out, one that was black with a blazing Japanese sun on the front
      with the words 'Rising Sun' above it in large, gold scripted lettering. One
      the back was a portrait of an AF-5 acrobatics trainer shuttle with the name
      'Kamikaze Boyington' between the shoulder blades in gold block lettering.

      He pulled it over her head and laid her back on his bunk. It covered
      her small frame like a tent, but it would have to do. He pulled the covers
      over her and turned away, moving for his couch.

      'If my Grandfather ever finds out about this, he'll kill me for being so
      stupid,' he scolded himself as he laid back on the couch in his filthy
      uniform, 'But then, something tells me he'll have to wait in line, if I live
      that long...'

      "Still, there would have been worse ways to go," he muttered aloud,
      glancing back over at his bunk. "Much worse," he said with a smile, then
      drifted off...

      Respectfully Submitted,

      Sean Murphy
      Lieutenant Major Molly Sharpe
      Marine Commanding Officer, DS13


      Scott Freligh
      Lieutenant Junior Grade Alistair Boyington
      Tactical Officer, DS13


      (From Scott): Any bets on how long Al has to live? <G>

      -Scott F.
    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.