Lt JG Imril - What The What?
Chris Taylor
(( Elysium, Deck 6 - USS Artemis ))
Shoreleave, vacation in general, was certainly over. There was digital paperwork to be done, and Imril had held it off long enough. Not so long as to be overdue, mind. But close enough to overdue that it had begun to claw at the back of the young engineer’s conscience.
Still, the various people who’d been nudging them to take more time to just ‘be’ would probably call letting their work go unattended this long progress.
A large padd lay on the table before them, laden with power distribution logs that needed to be cross-checked and filed. Not only for the Artemis, but all the shuttlecraft and runabouts that had been streaming in and out of their mother ship on a regular basis through the shore leave. All of them would need to be run through the usual maintenance checklist before the return to the Borderlands, as well.
Imril was so utterly absorbed in this reading that they had entirely forgotten to order the drink that they’d come in for.
Said Klingon koncoction shot even further from their mind when their eyesight suddenly failed them. Lost under a wall of someone else’s flesh. The hackles on the back of their neck rose up, stabbing against the long brown hair that was draped over it.
Imril: What?-Who?-
Years of self-defense training tingled into Imril’s arms, slamming against the more primal instinct to just tear themself away from being enclosed. Both were stilled by the gentle voice that entered their ears.
Bergmen: Guess who’s back?
Imril: Ollie?!
There was more than a little shock in Imril’s voice, and a small measure of annoyance.
Ollie… giggled. Giggled! With a graceful twirl, he spun into a perfect pirouette before settling onto the chair in front of them, a playful smile dancing on his lips. His way of reciprocating the danced greeting that they had demonstrated at the pair’s last sitdown at this establishment?
Bergmen: So this is how Bactrican looks when they are resting in their natural habitat. ::winks at Imril:: Good to see you too, Imril. Brought you raktajino, exactly as you liked it.
The thought of a ‘Bactrican’s native habitat’ rankled in a way that Ollie couldn’t have intended. It wasn’t his fault that they kept their past a black box. They looked over to the double-sweet racktajino that now occupied space next to the now-uneyed padd and worked their way back towards a smile and a tone of voice that wasn’t completely flabbergasted.
Imril: A Starfleet Engineer’s native habitat, more like. Hi. Welcome back. Thanks for the drink. ::a small laugh::: You’re lucky I didn't clock you just now. Lt. Storm would probably give you high marks on your stealth, though. She might still be offering phaser classes, if you’re looking to put those skills to work before we pull up anchor.
Bergmen: But now, how was Ferenginar? Come on, tell me everything!
The last time Imril had seen the Operations officer, he was throwing things at Tho’Bi. And now, he was so … giddy. Playful. Hyper.
Who was this person and what had they done with Ollie Bergman?
Imril: How about first you tell me what this… :: moves their hands up over their eyes and back down::... was?
Bergmen: Response
The answer was not at all what Imril could have expected.
Imril: ::Confused::: Letters? As in more than one?
There had been a letter from Ollie. Written as a way of making good on a promise of another coffee chat from across the lightyears which separated Ferenginar from Trill and whatever had summoned him to it. Another question in need of answering.
Bergmen: Response
The Gideonite put a padd on the table and slid it to them.
Imril glanced up at him, and saw a face that must have been something like their own whenever they turned into a skid on a motorbike. A mix of boundless hope and terrible worry. Triumph or crash, nothing to do in the final second but find out which.
They picked up the padd and started reading.
Bergmen: Response
Tags/TBC
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Lieutenant JG Imril
Engineering Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240110I12