Lieutenant Hallia Yellir - Live Through This
Ryan Fender
((Civillian Quarters, Deck 121 — Deep Space 224))
B. Yellir: When was the last time you got a good night’s rest?
This dermal regenerator was running on borrowed time— the high-pitched whirring was growing faint and gradually began to distort. The best Hallia could manage was a quick whack with an open palm in hopes some concussive engineering would keep it going. But, alas. It petered out and promptly died in her hands, like a cheap toy car.
Hallia stared at the man, bedridden before her, who would’ve bore a striking resemblance to her if it weren’t for a face riddled with scars. It was strange to see him act so concerned, but his aloof attitude seemed to soften at a half-put-together Hallia. Which, now that she was where she was, very much seemed to be a sight for sore eyes.
But the younger Yelikan didn’t answer the question. There was a pointed silence as she reached into a medkit that looked like it was freshly replicated, the silver was unscuffed, and many of the medical instruments were practically unused, standing in stark contrast to the clamoured-together apartment. Small little meows were heard nearby, sticking closely to Baraann as Hallia had been.
Hallia lifted a small canister and brought it to his arm which was laid out with little resistance. With her free hand, she pushed up the already rolled sleeve of his worn old jacket. There was a small hiss as the aerosol-like particles formed a white patch against the burn-riddled arm. Half expecting a wince at first from her surprisingly cooperative patient, there was a moment of hesitation before the dermapatch had been fully applied. But with the patch now firmly in place, covering nearly the entirety of his forearm, she pulled herself away.
B. Yellir: What— you think 'cause you’re some big shot engineer now, you’re too good to talk to your own brother?
Yellir: Don’t start.
And there it was— that utterly smug, haughty grin that not one thing could wipe off of his face. Not a disruptor to the arm, not nearly losing a leg, not even an imminent core breach could shake it off of him.
B. Yellir: All right— I’ll just wait ‘'til those spikes of yours retract. Clearly, someone turned you into a pufferfish while I was gone.
Hallia let out a sigh, placing the dermapatch canister back into the medkit. With a snap, the case was sealed shut and she stood up. Placing the case on a nearby table, not too far from Baraann in case he popped yet another one of his sutures.
Yellir: I just— work’s been..- I don’t want to leave. I don’t understand why we have to leave. First the Resolution, and now we’re being asked to go somewhere else, and there’s nothing short of leaving Starfleet that could stop it.
B. Yellir: Hey. Offer’s still on the table to give us a hand. Pigs aren’t gonna blow themselves up.
Her head fell in her hands as she faced the wall. Hallia hadn’t quite yet turned to face her brother, and part of her didn’t even want to be seen in such a state. She had been tossing and turning for what seemed like days now, not only losing sleep over the changeover, but not even a grace period was given to the crew. They had been asked to essentially pick up and leave as if it were nothing. Hallia just bellowed with an exasperated groan, feeling too exhausted to even bother verbalising the little cocktail of utter fatigue and resentment for the situation.
And now, not even her own brother was bothering to listen to her.
Hallia felt like she was drowning, and every scream and cry for help just heaped more water into her lungs. She heaved and huffed into her palms as the groans just slowly turned into broken sobs.
But it still just didn’t feel right to feel this way. Why was she crying? When she knew the people she loved were going with her— and it wasn’t like she’d be on her own, so why? Why now of all times? Why not when the Resolution was destroyed? Why not when the crew had come so close to dying multiple times over the last few months?
A warmth wrapped around the Yelikan, along with the careful weaving of a fluffy form, delicately stepping around both of her feet.
Hallia had lived through so much worse— and something told her she’d live through this just fine.
((Timeskip))
((Hallia’s Quarters - Deck 03-RM.0903 - USS Artemis-A))
Stepping through the threshold of the door, Hallia gently set down the cat carrier she kept with her. Thankfully, Aster had slept through the trip, and many of her things had been delivered with little worries from her. Ensuring the doors were closed, she’d opened to door to the carrier, and let Aster stretch his legs on his own accord. But it wouldn’t take long for the Yelikan to get herself stuck into unpacking.
Perhaps using it as some kind of distraction— she put every ounce of focus into arranging every little thing. Be it her little starship figurines of the Excalibur and the Resolution, the multitude of things she’d grabbed her hands on to keep Aster entertained or the boxes upon boxes of colourful clothes and shoes Hallia had ordered from goodness knew where. With room to spare, the wardrobe was arranged by colour and pattern. Each pattern slowly getting somehow busier and more delirium-inducing than the last.
End of Scene
_____________________
Lieutenant Hallia Yellir
Chief Engineer
USS Excalibur-A
G239409EK0