Fleet Captain Reynolds - Let It Snow

[Quinn Reynolds]

((Mindirra Mountain Range, Palanon))

::Quinn looked up at the night sky. The gas giant Palan wasn't visible in the sky here, and instead the high altitude and remote location provided a stunning vision of the stars. She'd spent most of her life living among them, but somehow they seemed all the more beautiful, glittering like gems against the midnight blue sky, when she had solid ground underneath her feet.

::Well, solid snow.

::After an intense introduction to the Tyrellian people and their Syndicate problems, Quinn and her crew had spent two weeks cleaning up the aftermath. Dealing with witnesses, prisoners, and all the chaos their arrival and intervention had caused. When the dust had settled, she had decided they had all earned a short break, and a mountain resort in the Mindirra mountain range had seemed a good a place as any. 

::It was a choice that was sitting well, at least with her. For those who loved their sports, there was every kind of winter exercise available. For those who despised the cold, there were warm lodges, blazing fires and delicious food and drink. Whether you desired solitude or company, both could be found in abundance.

::Quinn was currently enjoying the former, in one of the gently lit gazebos that decorated the resort. But the crunch of footsteps in the snow, followed by the thud of boots up wooden steps, told her she was about to experience the latter. She turned to see who it was.::

Reynolds: I didn't think you'd join us.

Brunsig: Even dour asshats need a break everyone once in a while.

::Much like her, he was wearing heavy boots, jeans, a thick winter coat, as well as gloves, hat and scarf. Unlike her, he came bearing beverages, an insulated mug in each hand. He passed her one and she took it, cracking open the lid to see what was inside. It smelled delicious, and she plunged her nose into the steam rising from the mug, taking a deep breath.::

Brunsig: The Tyrellian version of chai. Apparently. 

Reynolds: Thank you. ::She paused, eyeing him as he took a sip from his own mug. :: So are you going to come to--

Brunsig: Not a chance in hell.

::She grinned and took a sip of her tea. The spices were fragrant and warming, unfamiliar and delicious. Never one for parties, she was nonetheless looking forward to the upcoming gathering.::

Reynolds: Thank you, by the way. For how you dealt with that explosive.

Brunsig: ::He grunted, casting her a sour look.:: You and I are going to have a conversation about your death wish.

::And wouldn't that be delightful.::

Reynolds: But not tonight.

Brunsig: Not tonight.

::The snow crunched again, and that train of conversation fell to the wayside as they were joined by another.::

Any: response

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Fleet Captain Quinn Reynolds
Commanding Officer

USS Gorkon

T238401QR0