Ensign Talon Morda: Boss, we need to talk
Eston Melton
(( Security Suite, Deck 8, USS Khitomer, en route to DS33 ))
Despite delays stemming from lingering commode-affiliated filaments (not a euphemism) and Stella Sparks (not a pseudonym), Morda had finally slept, showered, and shaved. He felt almost Kerelian again. He’d considered taking breakfast in his quarters, but seeing and being seen outside duty hours was good for unit cohesion, so we went up a deck to the officers' mess for chow, helping himself to a second mug of coffee on the way out. He didn’t even need to wait long for the lift.
Lieutenant Zerva was waiting in the office and gestured Morda to sit. They’d been in here just a few hours ago with Chief Khitsu to strategize how to support the ship’s damage control efforts, with Morda taking the first rack time rotation. On the way out, he suggested a one-to-one check-in with Zerva in a shift or two, and Zerva’s body language read as “I was going to suggest the same thing.”
Morda took the proffered chair and opened up.
Morda: L-T … I think you noticed I was a bit off as we were coming off red alert.
Zerva: Response
Morda leaned forward, holding the coffee mug with both hands and elbows on the arm rests.
Morda: Right. Well. Two things, and I’d appreciate your feedback. First: I was struggling with that torpedo. I don’t question the orders or the necessity, but I wasn’t ready-- I wasn’t prepared for how all that death at the tap of a console would land on me. I got angry at Lieutenant Semara for singing and then at the computer for being less-than-helpful.
Zerva: Response
He sipped his coffee, shifted a bit, resituated his elbows.
Morda: Yes, sir. Then about fifteen minutes later, I had-- well, I don’t know the wording in my file, but it’s there: I had a sensory flashback to a violent boarding action in the OSF. It lasted a couple of seconds. I did the techniques the Kerelian and Starfleet counselors taught me, and I’m fine. But part of my response plan is to notify my chain of command.
Zerva: Response
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
Morda: They’re triggered by something, yes -- for some, it’s external, like a sound; for others, internal, maybe from a feeling. We’ve never pinned down what brings mine on.
Zerva: Response
Morda: The last time was during the Kebnekaise FTX last January. (OOC: backsim incoming, one of these days! think security-track mountside field exercise) Before that, one during my plebe year. A few more times back in Kerelian space. But, there you have it.
Morda was glad he’d gotten it out there, that it’d been comfortable sharing with Lieutenant Zerva, whom he was still getting to know.
Except … he took stock, and realized he’d wrapped himself into a little bit of a ball. His shoulders still hung high from his shrug. His elbows had moved from the armrests to his knees. What had begun as a lean-in to engage and build rapport had become something of a defensive stoop. Morda took in a bushel of air, unfurled himself, and took a chug of his rapidly-cooling caf.
Zerva: Response