Lieutenant (JG) Valesha Sienelis - "Adventures"

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Quinn Reynolds

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Mar 15, 2019, 8:22:04 PM3/15/19
to Gorkon (IC)
((Secondary Shuttle Bay, Deck D, USS Njörðr))

::They planned their escape, and the few minutes rest while doing so had given Valesha's limbs a chance to recover from her panic attack. She knew they had to start moving again. They could sit around and talk once they were safe. Perhaps on the beaches of Deluvia IV, drinking tequila in front of a campfire, watching the sun set, and maybe see it rise again later.

::That had been the plan for next sharing his company. Not this desperate struggle.::

Sienelis: I hate that you're here. ::She looked at him for a moment longer, then she pushed herself back onto her feet, a little embarrassed by the spontaneous confession. Aware that was much more badly hurt than she was, she leaned over to offer him a hand.:: But… I'm a little bit glad, as well.

::He took her hand and grimaced as she pulled him up onto unsteady legs, and for a moment she thought he was going to continue forward and fall against her. He teetered, holding on to his balance and her hand, and she couldn't quite read the look in his eyes when he met her gaze. No doubt the surprise on her own was plain, when his hand found the middle of her back, and kiss landed in the middle of the subtle, v-shaped ridge on her forehead.:: 

Johns: The feeling's mutual. ::And then, because it was Chris,:: I hate that I'm here too.

::She rolled her eyes at him, while his attention was caught by something elsewhere in the bay, and confident that he wasn't going to topple over, she let go of his hand and stepped away.

Johns: Not to assume the limitations of your superior physiology here - ::He paused for a second to indicate over to it with a tilt of his chin.:: - but could you flip that over?

::Valesha turned to look. It took her a few moments to see what he was seeing among the disarray of supplies and crates, much less familiar with the inner workings of a shuttlebay than the operations officer. Finally, she caught it, the base of an mechanical arm standing proud in the air, the mount for one of the mobile tractor emitters.::

Sienelis: I might need to move in with ship's physio for the rest of the year, but… yeah. I think so. ::She glanced toward him.:: You can get it working?

::She followed his gaze upwards, landing on the bay's flight control panel. The screens were smashed, the display flickering. Exactly what problems that would present would take her a while to figure out, but she was the scientist, and he was the operations officer.::

Johns: It should have a secondary control matrix on the unit itself, but how good it's going to work after taking that dive is another thing. How're your Officer piloting skills?

::The Romulan shrugged. She knew how to fly a shuttle, because Starfleet demanded that its officers did, but Valesha wasn't a gifted or exceptional pilot. Able to get from Point A to Point B without issue, providing there was no trouble to be found along the way. Hardly an accurate description of this situation.::

Sienelis: I am an exemplar of mediocrity. ::She shot him a wry look.:: I do my flight hours and recertify like a good little girl, but it's not like I take one out on a regular basis.

Johns: You'll be safer in the shuttle, if everything goes to hell in here. ::He nodded, agreeing with himself before she could scowl a protest, and counted off the elements of their plan on his fingers.:: Get the emitter arm working, tractor out the shuttle, flip it over, get communications working, try and get out of here. ::He tongued his cheek.:: Least it's only five things. Five things is doable.

::It was. It had to be. The alternative wasn't worth considering.::


((A Short While Later…))

::Launching herself out of the pilot's chair with her full strength, Valesha charged through the cockpit and long body of the Freyja, straight out of its door. Her feet landed on the ceiling of the inverted shuttlebay before the shuttle sat down, a crate creaking and groaning as it was squashed flat by the settling mass of the Danube-class. She had a fresh bruise blooming along the back of her shoulder where she'd slammed into the side of the cockpit during the manoeuvre, the joint crunching when she moved it, her arm tingling and a little numb after the impact.:: 

Sienelis: Chris!

Johns: Response

::The chaos that had followed their attempt to conduct points two and three of their five-point-plan was strewn across the floor of the bay, and scored into one of the dented nacelles of runabout. The Freyja had been in mostly working order when they'd powered it up, the solid little ship having survived its tumble fairly well. Perhaps that small mote of luck, running contrary to much of their "adventure" so far, should have been a warning sign by itself.

::She clambered across the detritus, her breath escaping in rush of relief when she set eyes on him, the tightness in her stomach ebbing away. He didn't look any worse the wear than he had a few minutes ago, but she suspected she didn't either, and she felt like her arm was about to fall off.:: 

Sienelis: Are you okay?

Johns: Response

::She came to a still near him, and took advantage of a scattered crate to prop up her increasingly exhausted form, resting her rump on its edge. Never mind a good night's sleep when this was all said and done, she was hibernating for a few months. Running her good hand through her hair, her other arm resting in her lap, she flicked a glance over to the anti-grav sled. It was where they'd stowed it, Kiyal still safely ensconced. Satisfied she hadn't caused any additional harm to Chris' friend, she looked back toward him.::

Sienelis: So that neatly fit the definition of going to hell.

::She didn't think it had been the Freyja, or the tractor, but the combination of the two. Thirty tonnes of runabout had begun to misbehave halfway through their attempt to turn it right side up. Frightening enough by itself, what had been plain terrifying was the knowledge it was happening in the small space that contained the soft and very squashable body of someone she cared about. She could only imagine what it must have been like for him.::

Johns: Response

Sienelis: If we take it slow, it should fly out of here. ::She spoke a hope as a statement, looking back toward the dark, dead nacelle. It wasn't going to warp any time soon, but that wasn't their aim.:: Can we send a subspace message from inside the bay? The sooner someone starts hauling their backsides our way, the better.

Johns: Response


--
Science Officer
USS Gorkon

simmed by

Rear Admiral Quinn Reynolds
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
T238401QR0
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