Ensign Favon - Desert Interlude

[Favon]

(Returning from Proust Station)

Favon hopped off the bike as they entered the camp, brushing soot and sand off her uniform as she did so. She left the disruptors at what now passed for the camp armory, the medical supplies at the impromptu field hospital, and then walked off to find somewhere quiet. Someone else could deal with the supplies she just... needed time.

She walked back to the covered tent and bunks that presently served as quarters for her and Buccheri. She dropped her machete on the closest flat surface, the green blood staining the blade, her watch following soon after as she collapsed onto her cot. Thinking.

Her father had always said that the cost of the Federation stretching past its domains was the risk of losing the values it had cultivated, that with the Dominion War over, the Romulans reeling, and the Federation dominant in multiple quadrants, there was no more need for further intervention. That was time for the Federation to cease its ministrations to those beyond its grasp and tend to its gated garden. 

She didn't much of it at first, then came to disagree, first slowly and then vehemently as she undertook an education befitting that as a scion of a Federation politician. The dinner table was... interesting when she was growing up. Till she applied for Star Fleet and walked away from her family and a neatly groomed position as her father's dynastic successor.

Now she had blood on her hands, the cost of doing what she did, and had to wonder if her father was right all along. She shook her head, grabbing her watch and heading out to take a walk. 

oO Need to clear my head... Oo

(Underdetermined amount of time later, USS Eagle Base Camp)

She had stumbled into the hangar bay almost by accident, been drafted into the maintenance role and then lost hours of her time helping Braya and Drex and Williams cannibalize one starship to restore functionality to another. It was tedious, boring work, but necessary. Still she was glad to be out. She wanted an update ready to send to Vharo if/when they got back in range of a comms relay. Buccheri had been out for a hospital check-up or something, he hadn't specified... and there was, fawning over her uncleaned machete, gaping at the green blood. 

oO Knew I should've cleaned that... Oo .

Favon: It's just blood, Buccheri, stop gawking.

Favon walked into their tent, grabbing a PADD and outlining the beginnings of a message. New assignment followed closely by ship explosion and being marooned on a desert. The human stories on ship and space wrecks she'd skimmed at the academy no longer seemed quite so far fetched.

Buccheri: Response

Favon: ::Rolling her eyes:: Yes, it was from a pirate during the excursion to Proust station to rescue Commander Jashkaa's away team.

She went back to typing, trying to ignore Buccheri giving her a studious look. He may have had a mediocre sense of humor, and likely (Favon was not 100% sure, but that was mostly because she was looking the other way) cheated on at least a noteworthy fraction of his examinations, but he wasn't totally unobservant.

Buccheri: Response

Favon: ::Sigh:: Yes, there were several firefights. Commander Jashkaa's team suffered casualties. Yes, we engaged and neutralized a number of pirates. Yes, we escaped with their salvage. And Yes, I killed at least one pirate, and drew blood from at least one other. ::She threw the PADD aside and leaned back on her cot:: Anything else you want to know, August?

Buccheri: Response

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Ensign Favon

Helm/Ops Officer
USS Eagle

E240209F13