(Newest lines on the bottom. Sorta stole the idea from kirktastic.)

( Arrival, Survival, Revenge and RenegeCollapse )

( Retreat, Regroup, Remove, RepeatCollapse )

( Resolve, Refuse, ResistCollapse )

Consultation; Said 'I just think you're depressed'; I said yeah, this me, baby, and the rest
Dendrochronology; Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones, and I will try
Assimilation; Remember to let her into your heart, and then you can start
Semantics; We're strange allies with warring hearts
Remedial; Baby, don't you call me, 'cause I can't go; I owe my soul to the company store
Retrograde; Summer skies, and stars are falling, all along the injured coast
( Meta, Meme, Tekel, ParsinCollapse )

Why, yes, actually.

I DO know all the words to The Great Tribble Hunt.

He'd never been able to keep from being curious. Even if it would have been more prudent to keep his head down and not look and not ask. These people were friendly, in their too-open, too freely given way. And except for the red uniforms lurking near every bend in a bulkhead, they were even nice.

Nice, and utterly vague when he made any reference to where or when or returning home.

It might be some weird custom, a strange politeness--wanting to make them feel like they belonged or were welcome for the duration.

The uniforms were lurking a bit too hard for that. Still. They let him alone, and when he decided on Area 03, they acted like they had better places to be before following him. (Did they take the 'lift after him, or were there just more of them on every level? It seemed like there were a lot of them, just for watching station guests.)

He noticed the difference immediately, a lightening of the air, changes in scent and sound, maybe acoustic baffles, or soft storage.

He stepped through as the doors to 03 hissed open to more empty hallway. And stopped.

There were. Trees. Planted to look as if they were just growing there. Down to the scent, it was a very convincing simulation.

So much so that he strode in, all limbs and angles moving carelessly forward. He was totally absorbed. Watching every tiny detail of the program, noting where he might reverse engineer it, where there might be commands or routines to duplicate that amazing spectral diffusion scatter, cataloging everything in his mind.

Everything except where he was going.

They were free!

Kind of. Anyway, the nurse with the legs and elegant tapered fingers pretty smile and nice hair had taken her samples, murmured some sweet nothings about eating right, and turned them both loose.

They were still being followed. That wasn't too weird. There was always at least one giant prick of a hall monitor lurking with mouth-breathing anticipation for the day someone misplaced their clearance. These were just--maybe they'd never seen a Romulan before, or something. Whatever. They weren't in his way. Oren didn't pay them any attention. So neither did he.

And they were free! Sort of.

It was true: he wasn't actually asleep, they really were on a Fed station, they were kind of free, and this place did have a bar.

Way better than a dream.

Dear Anon Mr. Potter,

You get your wish.



YER A WIZZARD, HARRY.


( I would like to say a few words~ Nitwit, Blibber, Oddment, Tweak.Collapse )

Which of you sons of bitches connected the dots on my forehead?

Crossposted. Yes, it's that important. I'm going to end you. Slowly.

Note: times given were recalculated from RRS (Imperial Main Time), which is 26.7 hours, and not this godless, nightmare, 32.3 hour ShaKwai cycle. To compensate for lack of available data, times RRS have been transposed into the 'Fleet 24-hr structure as much as possible.

Text only, very simply encrypted on the only available input device.

( Day 211: Still not King.Collapse )

Last Entry at [[22:50]]

Dear Diary,

Today, I was pompous and the captain was crazy. We were kidnapped by station folk, never to be seen again, and it was the best day ever.

There were whole sections of the station that were off-limits, restricted on every terminal. But he was allowed out at the end of a shift, for exactly another quarter-shift.

Spock had, all those months ago, introduced him to coffee.

It counted against his labor, counted against his other privileges, like the illusion of privacy, red-shirted threats only waiting in the corners instead of right up against him. Waiting for him to make a mistake.

That coffee had its price.He didn't care. There were days, on wiring detail, that he needed it to stay sane.

This older tech took forever. He glared at the replicator. Properly intimidated, it spat out his order at last.

He snapped it up and sat, glad that for once, the room was empty. Except for his friends in red.

I can't look away. I've tried. I'm not sure it's possible.

Nice technique. Especially the lower range and legato.

Bravo, darling. ♥