Re: [Dawnspring] Not Goodbye but Au Revoir?
RearAdm...@aol.com
We helped make three fleets what they were, and they were pretty incredible. I'll be around this list if anyone ever wants to say hey, do things, whatever.
On such a momentous occasion as a possible sign off for the game itself, I feel like there ought to be a parade or something. I more feel like Shatner on the balcony at the end of a Boston Legal episode though. A brandy, a cigar, and some quiet reflection.
If the building is going to be vacated, dear friends, just dim the lights. I'd like to linger for a bit.
Happy Holidays to you all, and may next year serve us all better than this last one.
The reason I didn't reply to these mails when they were first sent... and yes i was here and I did read them.... was partly because most of them upset me too much for an immediate reaction. :'(
My love and best to you all, always. My hailing frequencies are always open to you all. -Rion aka Da Grand High Poobah Madigan Frost
and too many more to name.
;) XXX
** Many people will walk in and out of your life
Captain Eleanor Anderson
XO (& Acting CO) - USS Damocles
Lt (jg) Leigha Brown
Asst. Counsellor - USS Damocles
Lt. T'Nara Norse
ACMO - Starbase Aurora
Cpt Simon Marks
CO - Starbase Aurora
PHILIPPA TIMMS
| Hi sorry to hear your news...take care |
Sarah Eccles
| So sorry to hear of your loss Jules, It's so hard when our beloved pets leave us, especially when they have become family members. I too have a fur baby who has had a lot of trips to the vet recently. The will to play is still here, I was in fact waiting for replies from Jules, but clearly there was a reason for the comms silence. Perhaps, after a little rest time, we might do a poll to see who is still interested in playing and, if there is enough interest, re-shuffle the crew a little and try again? But for now the vibe seems to be that everyone needs a creative breather, which is understandable. Love you all Sarah --- On Mon, 24/1/11, PHILIPPA TIMMS <philipp...@btinternet.com> wrote: |
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Sarah Eccles
| I was going through my writing folder and found this. It started off as a flashback following on from a brief mention of Saveron's mentor Ramsey Bakewell, but obviously got out of control. The scenes take place whilst Saveron was at the Federation Centre for Xenobiology Research, between four and two years before our game time. Enjoy, Sarah Professor Ramsey Bakewell was a pre-eminent Xenosociologist who frequently presented lectures at Starfleet Academy and supervised some of their honours students, though he was primarily employed at the Federation Centre for Xenobiology Research as one of their senior researchers. He was an energetic, rambunctious, occaisionally sarcastic but extremely patient man who had a habit of picking up confused, often mature aliens who were off their homeworlds for the first time as his thesis students. Saveron had been no exception.
“Humans are exceedingly illogical.” The Vulcan had
complained one day. “It is not logical to be so.” Saveron had replied, considering it to be obvious. “Circular argument.” Bakewell had pointed out, and gone back to the paper he had been writing.
They had numerous conversations along those lines, and Saveron became accustomed to the Professor’s taciturn manner, as Bakewell was equally patient with his persistant enquiries, although occaisionally the Vulcan pushed that patience.
“Look, I know you grew up in a society where emotional
repression and the persuit of logic as an absolute is normal, but you have to
realise that when viewed from the point of view of the whole Federation, it is
definitely not normal, right? Vulcans are weird.” Bakewell had insisted. “Like
Klingons are weird because they like to fight and sing at the same time and eat
things while they’re still alive and throw dead bodies out with the garbage.
And Bolians are weird because they regard service to others as the highest
calling and eat stuff that would dissolve the rest of us from the inside out.
And Orions are weird because they consider enslavement as a normal state of
being and their clans are run by women who physically can’t meet each other
face to face. Do I need to continue? We’re all weird.” Bakewell had lectured
one day when Saveron's persistant objections got the better of him. “You neglected to mention Humans.” The Vulcan had pointed out. “Good God, don’t get me started.” Bakewell had grumbled. Saveron had merely raised one eyebrow. “And don’t give me that look either.” The Professor had growled. “Fine. Humans are weird because we are one of the more irrational species, we get really touchy-feely which drives other species nuts, we obsess about food, adventure, physical pleasure and our standing in social hierarchies, we do crazy shit to ourselves like get drunk and take drugs and then do things under the influence of those things that I’m not even going to list, we rely on hunches and gut feelings, we get ourselves into trouble for the fun of it, and we get excited by the unknown, especially if it’s potentially dangerous.” “A number of these traits would appear to be counter productive and indeed counter to the principle of natural selection.” Saveron observed. “And yet you are one of the most prolific species in the Federation.” “I didn’t say it didn’t work.” Bakewell had replied with a smile. “Above all, we’re adaptable.”
Following his graduation from the Academy Saveron had come to work at the Federation Centre for Xenobiology Research alongside his old supervisor. It was Professor Ramsay Bakewell who had suggested that Saveron start reading more broadly from the literature of various species if he wished to understand their cultures more fully.
“This fiction is extremely illogical.” The Vulcan had said one day. “Whatcha got?” Bakewell had held out a hand for the PADD Saveron was carrying. The Vulcan had offered it wordlessly and Bakewell had perused it with interest. “Shakespeare huh? Well well, Romeo and Juliet. The greatest love story of all time. What’s the problem?” He’d asked, handing it back, “The entire premise makes no logical sense. These two clans-“ “Families,” Bakewell had corrected. “- are ‘feuding’ - which I understand means that all the members of one ‘family’ engage in acts of violence with all the members of the other should they encounter one another. This is extremely detrimental behaviour.” “No shit. Doesn’t mean it didn’t use to happen all the time.” Bakewell had assured the incredulous Vulcan. After a non-plussed moment Saveron had continued. “And then there is a social gathering, the entire purpose of which appears to be to hide the identities of the individuals participating. Normal social gatherings facilitate interaction between acquainted individuals and the initiation of novel acquaintances.” “You used the word ‘normal’ there Saveron. We’ve talked about that word before. There are always exceptions, masked parties are one of them. They allow for the unexpected, so they’re often more fun.” That had earned Professor Bakewell a dose of the Evil Eyebrow – which Bakewell had ignored - clearly expressing Saveron’s opinion of the level of fun likely to be involved in such an event. “Look, Sav, I know how Romeo and Juliet goes, OK? What’s bugging you about it?” The Professor had asked, accustomed by now to Saveron’s round-about method of approaching certain issues. “The prominent theme appears to centre around two adolescent Humans from these ‘feuding’ families, who despite said ‘feud’ insist upon attempting to cohabit, concoct an illogical plan to facilitate this attempt, and despite the apparent success of said plan, over-react to the expected results and commit suicide.” “Yeah, that’s basically the plot. So?” “Why?” The incredulous Vulcan had asked. “Why what?” Bakewell was getting mildly exasperated. So Saveron had ticked the points off on his fingers. “1) Why this insistence on cohabiting when there would no doubt be other, more logical candidates that their families would approve of? 2) Why this illogical plan? 3) Why did they not wait for the expected results of the potion to wear off as they had been informed it would? 4) Why, having mis-interpreted the effects of said potion did Romeo take his own life? and 5) Why, on discovering Romeo dead, did Juliet also commit suicide?” “Ok.” Bakewell took a deep breath. “1) They were in love. 2) Because their families would disapprove and try to stop them. Refer to your first question and my first answer. 3) Because love is blind and frequently stupid. 4) Because he was in love. 5) Because she was in love.” The Professor had a keen mind and a very good memory. “Does that answer your questions?” “Literally yes, logically no.” Saveron had admitted. “Y’see, there’s your problem. There is nothing logical about it. Absolutely nothing. It’s all about emotion, and love is one of the strongest emotions Humans have.” “It appears to be frequently destructive.” Saveron pointed out. “Yeah, and?” “It would be more logical to suppress it.” “What did I just say about love and logic?” Bakewell had asked rhetorically. “Oil and water Saveron, they don’t mix.” “I do not understand.” Saveron had admitted. “Look. You were married, right? Did you love your wife?” Bakewell had asked. “My bond-mate.” Saveron corrected. “Our individual traits and characteristics complimented each other’s and we functioned well as a family unit.” Saveron had replied evenly. Bakewell had pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess I asked for that. I mean what did you feel for her? And don’t give me that shit about not having emotions, because I know it’s a load of bollocks.” Saveron just looked at him wordlessly. Bakewell was patient, but nothing could wait like a Vulcan. “Ok, look.” Bakewell eventually gave in. “You had two kids right? I know, you lost your third, but you have a son and a daughter. Born two years apart. I know enough about Vulcan culture and biology to know that that’s pretty uncommon, right?” Saveron hesitated for a long moment, and his cheekbones and the tips of his ears went green. “That is… true.” “Right, so there was more than logic and Pon Farr in your relationship.” The Professor drove his point home. And that, of course, was a point that Saveron had made to T’Rel before they had parted, but it was quite something else to admit it to another. “Our parents deemed us a logical combination when we were bonded in childhood.” Saveron had replied mildly. “Right. So where is she now?” Bakewell had retorted. Again the Vulcan made no reply. These were extremely personal questions. “Look, I don’t want to argue about your personal life, what I’m trying to get across to you is that not everything that is true is logical – especially when it comes to love and relationships - and even you would know that, if you’d let yourself. Vulcans have emotions, including towards other people. So do Humans. And while Humans might not have emotions that are as strong as those of Vulcans – hence our survival in spite of their expression – love is considered to be the strongest and greatest emotion of all in our species. People have killed for it, people have died for it. There is no logic to it, it’s just the way we are. Deal with it.” There had been a long pause as Saveron had assimilated this information. “This is considered common within the Human species?” He had asked at last. “Romeo and Juliet are an extreme case, that’s why it’s called ‘the greatest love story of all time’, but sure, love and the associated idiocy is common, from the point of view of other species I guess most Humans are vaguely obsessed with it.” He thought for a moment, then pulled his dilapidated bag from beneath the desk and removed a novel-PADD which he offered to Saveron. “Here, when you’re done with Shakespeare try that. It’ll rot your brain, but it might prove enlightening.” The Vulcan was well accustomed to the Professor’s exaggerated turns of phrase. “Are those two points not mutually exclusive?” Saveron had asked, gravely accepting the volume. “Not with Humans. Now get, I have work to do and you should be running your DNA analyses.” “My analyses are complete.” “Then read your book.”
The volume with which Professor Bakewell had presented him had been Saveron’s first exposure to the ‘trashy romance’ genre. The storyline and behaviours described therein were completely bizarre, and therefore absolutely fascinating. Over the years Saveron built up quite a collection.
Ramsey Bakewell had encouraged interactions between his racially varied colleagues and students, and had instituted a tradition of having a group meal once a month where everyone presented a native dish; preferably something that wasn’t going to be poisonous to anyone else.
“Look seriously, you have to try this. I will consider it an insult to my honour if you don’t.” Gorck had pushed the plate full of wriggling Tilden gagh in thick blood sauce towards Saveron, a grin on his dusky face. The Vulcan regarded the Klingon dispassionately, but inwardly he was uncertain. The dish was obviously both meat and still alive, but to insult his colleague’s honour was not a course he wished to take. “Oh stop that Gorck, you know Vulcans are vegetarian. Give it to Tarna.” Professor Bakewell had intervened, knowing that Gorck was deliberately being an arse. The plate had been pushed down the table towards the Andorian parasitologist who had heaped a large portion onto her plate before pushing it back. “Honestly Ramsey, you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted real live gagh. Do you know how hard it is to get it this close to Earth?” Gorck had declared, in a loud and jovial mood. “Yes, which makes me wonder what methods you employed.” The Professor had replied flatly, giving the Klingon linguist a suspicious look. “Try something else.” He had advised the slightly non-plussed Vulcan. Fvenn, the Bolian biochemist, had passed a plate of Bolian soufflé down the table. “It’s safe for everyone, I promise. I checked.” Bolian food often wasn’t. Saveron obligingly served himself a small portion before passing the plate along. It was… edible. “What is this?” Tarna had asked, serving herself a bowl of liquid from a tureen. “Plomik soup. It is a traditional dish.” Saveron had replied. The Andorian had tried some of it. “Doesn’t taste of anything.” She complained. Gorck had grabbed a spoon and leant across the table to help himself from Tarna’s bowl, earning himself a rap on the knuckles with her own spoon but failing to stop him. He tried the soup. “Tastes like shit.” He pronounced. There was a pregnant, worried pause in the group, but Saveron knew the prescribed answer to this insult from previous encounters. “May I enquire as to how it is that you are conversant with the flavour of excrement?” He asked blandly. Gorck had burst out laughing and clapped the Vulcan xenobiologist on the shoulder, as chuckles sounded around the table. “Wouldn’t you prefer something tastier?” He had asked. “Vulcans do not express dietary preferences beyond nutritional and ethical concerns.” Saveron had replied. “That doesn’t mean it has to taste like cardboard.” Gorck had responded, and held up a hand against protest from down the table. “No seriously, you could improve this stuff.” The Klingon had declared. “Where’s that jar of chilli paste?” The last had been directed to the other end of the table. The jar was duly passed, and Gorck grabbed a bowl of the clear soup and mixed a healthy spoon of the paste into it, then tasted it himself before putting it in front of Saveron. “Try that.” Saveron had regarded Gorck for a long moment, aware that Humans used limited amounts of the paste and expressed discomfort if it was over-used, but he eventually sampled the soup. “It is… interesting.” He admitted at last. “You see? I’ll have you eating gagh in no time!”
Saveron never did eat Gorck’s gagh, but he did learn a lot about interacting with other species, including the games that people liked to play with each other.
“Humans are the worst.” Professor Bakewell had assured him. “Although Gorck could give most of us a run for our money.” He added dryly. “There’s usually no harm meant, the intention is to discombobulate an individual, which causes them to loose a small measure of social standing within the group. The person giving them shit gains accordingly. Of course, if the intended victim can turn the game around and cause confusion or discomfort to the instigator, then they win and gain, and the other loses.” “This does not appear to be a constructive activity.” Saveron had observed. “On the contrary, it’s all about constructing social hierarchies. Otherwise how do you know who’s the leader of the group?” “Vulcan society is a meritocracy.” Saveron had pointed out. “Good for you. Most other species aren’t.” Was the dry response.
Saveron’s time at the Federation Centre for Xenobiology Research had been very productive, both in the success of his research and in his learning to adapt to a multi-species environment. However, after two years there Saveron came to the conclusion that the forefront of xenobiology research would be on the edges of known space, where new species were being discovered. When a position aboard Starbase Omega had become available Saveron had applied for it, and been accepted.
“I knew you wouldn’t stay.” Bakewell has said, when Saveron came to say his goodbyes. “You’ve been getting itchy feet these last few months, I could tell. And I think you’re doing the right thing. You should always go where your interest takes you, that’s where we all do the best research.” Saveron had nodded, and there had been a long pause. “I desire to express my appreciation for your guidance and assistance over the time that we have been acquainted.” He said at last; and he had held out his hand. Vulcans did not shake hands save for a few momentous occaisions in the course of history. Zephram Cochrane and the Captain of the T’Plana-Hath had done so. And, wishing to express the sincerity of his gratitude and knowing no other way, Saveron had offered to do so. After a moment Ramsey Bakewell had grinned and clasped Saveron’s hand very briefly. “I never thought I’d see you do that.” He admitted. “Someone once said that in all inter-species interactions, we must decide which boundaries we are not prepared to cross, and elsewhere offer a compromise.” Saveron had said. “Silly idiot, he must have been drunk.” Bakewell had retorted, knowing full well that it was himself being quoted. “Now go on, shoo, you’ll miss your shuttle.”
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