Valesha Sienelis - It's My Own Remorse
Quinn Reynolds
((Bridge, the Skarbek))
Brunsig: When you've finished with Slick's quarters, take a look at the cloak.
Sienelis: That piece of hnaev? ::She sighed.:: I'm telling you, the Klingons gave us one of their rejects. If Tasha couldn't get it working again, I doubt there's anything I can do.
::Valesha had some knowledge of cloaking devices — she was a former officer of the Imperial Star Navy, after all — but she wasn't an engineer by trade. Quite what he expected her to do with it was beyond her, and given a choice she'd load the thing into the torpedo tubes and fire it into the nearest sun.::
Brunsig: And yet you're going to try.
::She rolled her eyes and held her hands in surrender. He'd made his decision, and there was no point in arguing any further. If she got lucky, the pointless task might serve as a suitable distraction from her own thoughts.::
Sienelis: And yet.
Johns: Is that the roasted and filtered product of Italian beans I can smell?
::Valesha didn't obviously startle at the Russian's sudden appearance, though that was but a tiny drop of relief that paled next to the stress flooding into her veins. While her heart thundered and her throat turned to dust, he yawned into the crook of his elbow, looking as casual as she wished she felt. Then, he offered her a taut, apologetic smile as he passed by her on the way to the engineering station.
::A smile. A smile. What was that supposed to mean?
::While she tried to puzzle it out, her face a porcelain mask, Ghant gestured toward the flash she had been drinking from. There was only the dregs left now, the small flask barely holding enough for two people, let alone three.::
Johns: Sharing is caring, you know. Installing that reconditioned chip panel pack takes effort, and in my estimation, well-deserving of the bean water.
Brunsig: I have much the same opinion about herding you lot.
::Chris breathed out a deep sigh and shrugged a shoulder, organising his long limbs in a fashion that would surely be uncomfortable for the average human being. One foot on the chair, the other leg curled underneath him, another yawn escaped him. Valesha found herself following suit, hiding it behind the back of her hand. At least the damned things were notoriously contagious, and she imagined that many were exhausted that morning. It was unlikely anyone would leap to the assumption that she and Chris had kept one another awake well into the small hours of the night.::
Johns: If you can figure out a way of increasing the higher processing speeds per individual chip with data configuration dependent on our gaffed up computer system and still manage to get the chip substrate infused with up to nine-percent more superconductive platinum iridium, then I'll make your coffee. ::He grumbled to himself, scratching the back of his neck with a hand that didn't feel attached.:: Or, you know, I'll just go find a working replicator.
::The Peacock got to his feet, smoothing out his hair as he addressed a question to the three occupants of the bridge.::
Xerix: Any idea where one might locate a Reynolds of the Quinn variety?
::Without a clue, Valesha shook her head. The former intelligence officer was pleasant enough, but they were hardly friends, and she had little idea what the woman did with herself in her free time. Walter, on the other hand, had a closed expression that said he knew more than he was letting on.::
Brunsig: Probably in the maintenance tubes behind her quarters. She was grumbling about— ::He gave up on the explanation halfway through; bored of it, or disinclined to share.:: Check there.
Xerix: Then I'll take my leave.
::And off he went, and she felt some of the tension ebb with his departure. Valesha had no interest in establishing a rivalry with the Betazoid. Much like the guidance systems she tended to, her barbs were fire-and-forget. Everyone else had grown used to them by now — either he would too, or he'd leave. However it fell, she didn't particularly care. She had more pressing concerns than their sensitive new pilot.
::She emptied her lungs in a long, slow exhale and ran a hand through her short hair. The Romulan told herself that she was giving the Peacock a head start, not wanting to dog his footsteps through the corridors.::
Johns: Encoded message from the Witherington. They've changed designation to the Louvestre. Cardassians now think we've got another ship on our side. ::He breathed a chuckle.:: Few more swaps and they'll think we're fashioning a fleet. Just wait for that hammer to fall.
Brunsig: Isidorus keeps prodding me to change the Skarbek. A great battle of wills between two stubborn smart arses.
Johns: Response
::She had a full day ahead of her; clean out Slick's room, look at the cloak and she'd promised 'Kos a trip to Memorial Rock. There was no reason to linger. No reason at all, except for the Russian sat in the nearby chair like a piece of human origami. Walter skewered her with his steel blue eyes, and Valesha realised she had been watching Chris a little too long.::
Brunsig: Glue on your boots?
Sienelis: I'm going, I'm going.
::Throwing a murderous scowl toward the blond German, she took a step toward the exit of the small bridge. Maybe this was a good thing. No change. Nothing had happened. Business as usual. A little time, and the procession of scalpels carving their way through her insides and cutting her heart to ribbons would no doubt be blunted.::
Moran: =/\= This is the Fourcade to— ::a rumble echoed through the communication, the sound of weapons fire slamming into shields,:: to anyone who can hear us. We are under attack, requesting assistance. We're making a run for the Sansom Coulee to try and lose them, but— =/\=
::With a ear-splitting shriek of static, the channel fell silent.::
Sienelis: That's not far from here.
::The Coulee was part of the same region as Peshkova; though more dangerous to navigate if you didn't know the lay of subspace — and the Cardassians didn't. They had a tendency to try and brute force their way through, relying on the heavy shields and rugged nature of their ships. It kept them alive, but the more nimble and knowledge ships of the Maquis were usually able to outrun them.::
Johns: Response
::The German frowned, reaching for controls for the internal comms. With a few efficient taps, he opened a channel.::
Brunsig: =/\= Reynolds, stop whatever Xerix has you doing and get down to engineering. Start lighting the warp core while we dig MacFarlane out of whatever hole she's fallen into. =/\=
::There was a pause and then,::
Reynolds: =/\= I'm on it. =/\=
Brunsig: Soup, raise the crew on the comms and get everyone back aboard. Vee, back in your chair and start getting tactical systems online.
::A quick about turn and she dropped into the seat again. Diagnostic screens were dismissed, and instead the weapons and shield operations took their place. She stole a look at Chris, aware that her attempt at a smile fell flat, and she was doing a poor job of hiding the worry from her eyes.::
Johns: Response