Secondary School Student Mi'shune sh'Sonora - The Crusty Clutch of the Manchild
d.reinhart
(( Trinity City - Commercial Sector - Starbase 118))
sh’Sonora: ::Balls up her first.:: Oh that’s it you little fu…
A fast, tightly controlled punch. Not enough to do any damage, but intended with a little more gusto than what she’d launch at a person more her size. Enough power to get a little past the mass disparity. Enough to knock the big blonde man on his ass and neutralize his infantile attitude. Sonora Clan were proud of their traditions, including the martial arts, which all women in the Clan trained from an age younger than than the maturity of her opponent, for purposes of protection of their charges and the increase of their own personal value. That was, from her perspective, several years of experience. Enough katas, physical conditioning, repetition, and footwork, to make her confident in the effectiveness of a one-inch punch to the diaphragm and a backstep before the big guy could retaliate.
The movement of her fist, corkscrewing from her hip, shot out as fast as instinct, too late for the rational part of her to stop it.
A rough hand, like a restraint cuff on high power, clapped over her wrist.
The shock of her punch being intercepted snapped her to reality like a taut rubber band breaking, her arm slowed to a halt after momentum meet solid resistance.
Munshi:::His voice was dry, carrying slight hidden pain and an edge of weary sarcasm that felt more human than he had permitted himself all day:: While I am certain the structural integrity of this tower would benefit from you knocking some sense into this particular variable, Mi'shune, I believe Starfleet still frowns upon assaulting fellow officers—even if they are currently having a playground dispute over a 'dorky simulator.'
For a human, Alok was strong, but it didn’t mean she was out of options. The anxious Andorian teenager knew ways to twist out of the grip, flip his wrist like a fencer’s epee, break free from his grapple, toss him on his ass.
None of which was guaranteed. The grip on her wrist was tight. She wasn’t sure she could break it. Hip tossing the Starfleet engineer wasn’t a guaranteed option either, more than likely she would end up collapsing under his weight and being pinned for her troubles.
There was also the issue that he was, by circumstance, her ally. One that decided not to be so reticent. Meaning he wasn’t going to take any of Mi’shune’s attitude.
Not desiring to retaliate against her comrade’s intervention, her anger gratefully flushed out.
McLaren: You're correct, Ensign.
sh’Sonora: Okay. ::Her arm relaxes in his grip.:: I’m standing down. ::She glared at the Manchild.:: For now.
The Manchild sticked out his tongue. The urge to punch the gigantic goblin of a man returned.
sh’Sonora: Someone deal with this repulsive little ice-bore before I’m tempted to.
Munshi:::To the blonde engineer, voice smooth:: If you find the simulator 'lame,' perhaps you’d prefer a real challenge. We are trying to find the 'Master Game' hidden behind these lockouts. It requires biometric authorization from someone with your specific rank. If you help us win, I might be able to find where the rest of the peanut butter is hidden.
McLaren: We could really use your help.
The offer seemed to mollify the Manchild. He waved to McLaren and Munshi to follow him.
The Manchild shot a sly look, further aggrevating the Andorian teenager.
Munshi:Logic suggests that hitting him will only result in a louder noise, not a cleared system. Let’s try to use the... unique perspective... to our advantage.
Mi’shune: Yeah, he’d probably whine and cry until we phaser him to sleep. Alright Mister Starfleet Sir. I’ll go easy on him. ::She glowered at the Manchild.::
Manchild: ::Looks wounded.:: Alright, geez, I was just playing, blue. ::He waved for the others to follow:: C’mon! I’ll show you where the weather sim game is.
To the others, Manchild was the smiling, eager face of childlike cooperation.
For Mi’shune, he stuck out his tongue while the others weren’t looking.
The excitable Andorian reacted with a glare powerful enough to blast a hole in a Galaxy Class starship.
McLaren: Maybe we can even find another game to play after.
Mi’shune waited for their new charge to pass next to her.
sh’Sonora: ::whispered sweetly, but with enough subtle menace, as the Manchild passed within earshot:: These are good people. Don’t jerk us around, or they’ll never find the body.
The swallowing sound from the Manchild’s throat wasn’t the removal of glommed up peanut butter.
sh’Sonora: ::Claps her hands together and speaks eagerly for the benefit of the others.:: Alrighty then! Let’s find that master control!
Sol smiled, nodding to the officer. She stepepd away from the console so they could access it.
McLaren: Show us how it's done... I bet you're really good at it.
Manchild: Hah! I already aced it! I figured out how to make tornadoes with it!
sh'Sonora: ::With barely held back righteous indignation.:: That’s gggrrreeeaaattttt! Maybe you can show us how to turn them off, huh kiddo?
Munshi: Response?
Sullenly, the Manchild took a position at the main weather control console.
Manchild: Awww… they weren’t even ready yet. Fine. ::His fingers flew on the console with an expertise beyond his maturity, but well within his biological years.::
McLaren: Maybe a nice sunny day would be nice, hmm?
sh'Sonora: And a surface temperature that won’t split oxygen atoms, thank you very much.
Munshi: Response?
Manchild: Alright already! One at a time! Sheesh!
A messy, smeary palm press unlocked the Master controls. He hunted and pecked at the key commands, the uncertainty springing from what Mi’shune could only guess, but she saw parallels in her own lost hunting and pecking when she crashed the runabout. It wasn’t muscle memory that betrayed them both, it was still sharp. She’d never punched so fast or so strong, never ran so swiftly. It was the gap years she’d forgotten, athleticism ingrained during the intervening period.
What she was witnessing was more like latency. Processing, understanding, filling in the gaps to trigger the series of muscle memory commands.
Their new charge had to think about what to do. Once he figured it out, it was the equivalent of riding a velocipede. The body never forgot.
Manchild: And… there! I got it! Another lame, sunny day. No tornadoes!
The weather outside, as seen through the panorama of the weather control networks viewscreens, parted black clouds and flooded with deep, beautiful blue. The artificial sun emerged from the retreating bleakness. Bowed trees and bushes ceased their precarious, uprooting sway, floating debris settled to terra firma, and the waters of the civilian sector’s marine portions stopped tossing about like a churned cauldron, returning to glasslike placidness.
Impressed with himself, the Manchild turned to the adults (and one teen) in the room.
Manchild: Can I have a snack now?
Mi’shune rolled her eyes and flicked her antennae.
sh’Sonora: Kid, what about the other sections?
Manchild: What about ‘em?
There were plenty of sections to worry about. The gravity fluctuations in the Klingon sector, the melting and flooding in Little Laibok, among others. Too many others too count, little disasters cropping up all over the civilian sector requiring immediate intervention.
sh’Sonora: ::She turns to the adults in the room.:: Ummmm… pick a section and see if we can sort ‘em out, I guess? I’ll take Little Laibok!
Any: ?
TAG / TBC
Ensign Mi’shune sh’Sonora
Helm Officer
Starbase 118 - Ops Department
O240208MS1