Ens. Serren Tan - From A Dive Bar, To A Literal, Actual Dive Bar

[David Adams]

((Cargo-2 Shuttlecraft, Denak IX))

Tired, a bit sore, hungover and full of last night's bacon, Serren Tan felt a little green around the gills. This was the first time this host had consumed enough alcohol to really feel it the next day... and he was not used to the sensation at all. The question had been asked, "Is there such a thing as too much bacon?" The hypothetical answer was: "A limit exists, yes." And then he had found that limit.

The Baconator was a mistake. Other things... had not been.

The shuttle bobbed and rattled in the atmosphere, which did nothing to help his upset stomach. Still, as a young and stupid person, he didn't mind a little discomfort. This is what being joined was all about... doing new, crazy things and passing those experiences onto his symbiont.

Oh yes. The last 24 hours had absolutely, definitely, one-hundred-percent all been for academic reasons. All to enrich the life of the symbiont. Or something.

Regardless of motivations, it had been remarkably enjoyable. As he played the last night over again in his head, Serren couldn't help but stare at the guy he was pretty sure he had been introduced to as Toran Sevo. The guy was older than him, but he carried the age well; Toran was a few inches taller than him and probably stronger too. This guy was an absolute unit, strong and hardy with remarkably pleasant features. He hoped he looked half as good when he was... whatever age Toran was. It was kinda hard to tell.

Being somewhat hungover and baconed half to death, Serren wasn't sure if he'd either misheard the name or if Sevo had changed a wee bit in the twelve or so hours since he had last seen them. After all, he had gone blind only a week or so ago. Maybe there were residual effects.

Of course, there were two Tan symbionts kicking around the universe as well, so maybe there was a much more reasonable explanation other than poor eyesight.

Serren's eyes caught Torans, and he stuck out a friendly hand.

Tan: Sorry, I don't think we've met properly. I'm Serren Tan, sir. ::he paused:: Say, just checking, and this might sound crazy but... indulge me. You definitely weren't at a dodgy Klingon bar eating a mountain of bacon the size of a photon torpedo and drinking random-blue-stuff-that-you-didn't-know-what-it-was last night, were you?

T. Sevo: Response

Tan smiled sheepishly, trying to disguise how crook he felt.

Tan: Okay. Just... making sure.

He gave Toran a big thumbs up, then one to Pira, too.

Tan: Ready for a gear check? Just remember, folks, each one of these parts was replicated by the lowest bidder.

sh’Qynallahr: Response

He spent a moment checking Toran's gear as Pira checked his, then he checked hers as Toran checked his. Basic stuff; verify seal integrity, make sure the heat shield was good, check for leaks and cracks and manufacturing defects.

Tan: You're both good.

T. Sevo/sh’Qynallahr: Response

He pumped his fist, adrenaline (hopefully) clearing away an appreciable part of the hangover. That and a little more oxygen than required.

Tan: The team in Cargo-1 won't know what hit them.

The minutes ticked away as they got closer to the drop zone, and his excitement grew. Then their comm system lit up, and a familiar voice drifted into his ears.

Marshall: =/\= How are you doing over there? Ready to jump? =/\=

T. Sevo / sh’Qynallahr: Response

Tan: =/\= We are good to go, Commander! Ready to run! =/\=

Marshall: =/\= That’s what you said last time we nearly died and look at us now! Doing it all over again! =/\=

Absolutely true. Serren didn't answer with words, but instead with a definitely-not-insane cackle over the line.

T. Sevo / sh’Qynallahr: Response

Marshall: =/\= Remember, it’ll be like being shot from a catapult, so remember your training and try not to vomit in your helmet. ::there was a dull, almost imperceptible finger-snap.:: Don’t take your helmet off to vomit either. =/\=

T. Sevo / sh’Qynallahr: Response

He was really getting into it. Serren, overfed on bacon, decided to embrace his partially-ham nature and crank the dial to maximum.

Tan: =/\= Let the sky rain Starfleet, and to the victor goes the glory! =/\=

The vital signs on his suit were perking up. A good sign. He trusted both of the other officers, though, so it wasn't a surprise that everything worked.

Adrenaline blasted away the lingering remnants of the hangover. For now, anyway. He clipped on his helmet, giving the seal one last check, and visually inspecting Pira's and Toran's. Both of their helmets seemed on okay, and their life signs showed up projected onto his helmet at the edge of his vision. Yep. They were good to go.

Their pilot called into the passenger compartment, a grumpy Tellerite with a voice like gravel turning over and over in a cement mixer.

Erix: We're nearly at the drop site. Grab the rail. Gravity is going buh-bye in five... four...

Marshall: =/\= Alright, people! This is it! Good luck! =/\=

He was definitely in a Klingon mood. Serren gripped the guide bar -- euphemistically, the Dive Bar -- firmly. 

Tan: =/\= Qapla'! Today is a good day to ... enjoy safe, exciting, family-friendly fun and healthy exercise in one simple package! =/\=

T. Sevo/sh’Qynallahr: Response

Erix: ... two... one... ::he waggled his fingers:: Buh-bye.

The bottom of the shuttle fell out, and the three lunatics were tossed into the atmosphere like detritus from an exhaust vent.

Sixty kilometres never felt so high. The air shimmered with the heat, rising in billowing clouds all around him. The winds buffered at him, doing the lingering stomach unease no favours, but were manageable. His previous host had been a pilot; he drew upon Alleran's knowledge, his experience, as he rightened himself.

Getting to the ground as fast as possible would win them the most glory in the race with absolutely no stakes and no prizes what-so-ever, but he was sorely tempted to take his time. The roiling, billowing atmosphere all around presented a wild opportunity to just... fly, with the stakes so much higher and better than anything any holodeck or simulation could ever produce.

He caught sight of Pira soaring nearby, and then Toran too. He patched himself into their comm channels as the howling atmosphere whipped past.

Tan: =/\= Okay you beautiful souls. There's fifty-five kilometres to the ground, we've got a full tank of oxygen, half a backpack of water, the atmosphere is carbon dioxide, and we're wearing dropsuits. =/\=

T. Sevo/sh’Qynallahr: Response

--

Ensign Serren Tan

Security/Tactical

USS Gorkon

O238704AT0