MSNPC T'Varek - Taking Care of Loose Ends Part 2
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Ryden Kel
Nov 18, 2025, 3:26:24 PM (4 days ago) Nov 18
to sb11...@googlegroups.com
OOC: Content Warning. Character Death occurs with the full knowledge
and consent of the writer. This outcome was discussed and agreed upon
ahead of time.
((Streets of Capricalia, Capricalia))
The crowds had thinned by the time T’Varek slipped from the teahouse’s
side entrance, folding himself into shadow with practiced stillness.
The hood of the travel-cloak concealed his features just enough to
pass unnoticed, but not enough to look suspicious. Just another civil
servant avoiding the rain.
From here, he watched.
Jera sat at a small table, shuffling the cups and cutlery in a nervous
fashion. The Gorn had gone... finally, after an interminable
conversation that had lasted far too long for T’Varek’s comfort. But
in the last minutes, T’Varek had seen it: the way Jera leaned in, the
way she gestured, the nervous swallow she tried to hide.
Loose ends had a posture. That was one.
One he had given too many opportunities.
T’Varek stepped out from the alley and slipped into the bar discretely
grabbing a metal cup from the bartender's tray.
Jera’s head shot up the moment she sensed someone approaching. The
color drained from her face. She knew that silhouette. She always had.
T’Varek: Jera.
Her breath caught, a frightened animal sound trapped behind her teeth.
She tried to stand, but he lifted a hand... not to touch her, only to
quiet her.
T’Varek: You were told to keep your mouth shut.
A tremor raced through her shoulders. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Jera: ?
T’Varek stepped closer, slow, measured. The picture of Vulcan
restraint masking the coil of Romulan calculation beneath.
T’Varek: You met with a Gorn. A Starfleet Gorn, nonetheless. That is
indiscretion enough.
Her eyes shone with fresh panic.
Jera: ?
He studied her, not out of sympathy but confirmation. She was
breaking... cracked porcelain barely holding shape. She would shatter
completely with the slightest pressure.
It had to be now.
T’Varek lowered himself into the seat opposite her, placing a small
metal cup between them... the one he had taken from the bartender’s
tray on the way in. He poured a clear liquid into the cup from a vial
hidden within his cloak.
T’Varek: Drink. It will calm your nerves. Or don't... in which case I
will need to calm your family's nerves.
Her hesitation was brief. Fear made her obedient. She reached for the
cup with shaking fingers.
He watched the liquid touch her lips. Watched her swallow.
The Romulan compound hidden within... colorless, tasteless,
untraceable... would still her heart in minutes. No spasms. No
struggle. A soft collapse mistaken for exhaustion or stress. Perfect.
Jera set the cup down, chest rising in shallow gulps.
Jera: ?
T’Varek lifted the empty cup and slipped it inside his cloak.
T’Varek: You were never part of this, Jera. And now… you will trouble no one.
Her pupils widened. Her breath hitched. The poison was already working.
She reached for him as if he might change his mind. Her hand fell short.
T’Varek stood.
For a moment, he simply observed her... this woman who once overheard
a single conversation she should not have. A careless maintenance
worker who had tried to profit from whispers she did not understand.
He had warned her then, quietly, coldly, that silence was the only
thing standing between her and death.
She had failed.
T’Varek lowered her gently to the bench beside the table, arranging
her so it might appear she had simply fainted.
He turned toward the door.
The night air was cool as he stepped outside, cloak sweeping around
him as he moved with purpose down the dim street. The path toward the
freight yards stretched ahead... his temporary refuge, his cache of
documents, his next relay point to the outpost hidden deep within the
Phaethon Nebula. He set out toward the freight yard.
Loose end tied.
Now the real work continued.
-----
MSNPC Lieutenant Commander T’Varek (Impostor)
Federation Diplomatic Corps (Cover Identity)
as simmed by
-----
Lieutenant JG Ryden Tarus Kel
Medical Officer
StarBase 118 Ops
O240109RK1
and consent of the writer. This outcome was discussed and agreed upon
ahead of time.
((Streets of Capricalia, Capricalia))
The crowds had thinned by the time T’Varek slipped from the teahouse’s
side entrance, folding himself into shadow with practiced stillness.
The hood of the travel-cloak concealed his features just enough to
pass unnoticed, but not enough to look suspicious. Just another civil
servant avoiding the rain.
From here, he watched.
Jera sat at a small table, shuffling the cups and cutlery in a nervous
fashion. The Gorn had gone... finally, after an interminable
conversation that had lasted far too long for T’Varek’s comfort. But
in the last minutes, T’Varek had seen it: the way Jera leaned in, the
way she gestured, the nervous swallow she tried to hide.
Loose ends had a posture. That was one.
One he had given too many opportunities.
T’Varek stepped out from the alley and slipped into the bar discretely
grabbing a metal cup from the bartender's tray.
Jera’s head shot up the moment she sensed someone approaching. The
color drained from her face. She knew that silhouette. She always had.
T’Varek: Jera.
Her breath caught, a frightened animal sound trapped behind her teeth.
She tried to stand, but he lifted a hand... not to touch her, only to
quiet her.
T’Varek: You were told to keep your mouth shut.
A tremor raced through her shoulders. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Jera: ?
T’Varek stepped closer, slow, measured. The picture of Vulcan
restraint masking the coil of Romulan calculation beneath.
T’Varek: You met with a Gorn. A Starfleet Gorn, nonetheless. That is
indiscretion enough.
Her eyes shone with fresh panic.
Jera: ?
He studied her, not out of sympathy but confirmation. She was
breaking... cracked porcelain barely holding shape. She would shatter
completely with the slightest pressure.
It had to be now.
T’Varek lowered himself into the seat opposite her, placing a small
metal cup between them... the one he had taken from the bartender’s
tray on the way in. He poured a clear liquid into the cup from a vial
hidden within his cloak.
T’Varek: Drink. It will calm your nerves. Or don't... in which case I
will need to calm your family's nerves.
Her hesitation was brief. Fear made her obedient. She reached for the
cup with shaking fingers.
He watched the liquid touch her lips. Watched her swallow.
The Romulan compound hidden within... colorless, tasteless,
untraceable... would still her heart in minutes. No spasms. No
struggle. A soft collapse mistaken for exhaustion or stress. Perfect.
Jera set the cup down, chest rising in shallow gulps.
Jera: ?
T’Varek lifted the empty cup and slipped it inside his cloak.
T’Varek: You were never part of this, Jera. And now… you will trouble no one.
Her pupils widened. Her breath hitched. The poison was already working.
She reached for him as if he might change his mind. Her hand fell short.
T’Varek stood.
For a moment, he simply observed her... this woman who once overheard
a single conversation she should not have. A careless maintenance
worker who had tried to profit from whispers she did not understand.
He had warned her then, quietly, coldly, that silence was the only
thing standing between her and death.
She had failed.
T’Varek lowered her gently to the bench beside the table, arranging
her so it might appear she had simply fainted.
He turned toward the door.
The night air was cool as he stepped outside, cloak sweeping around
him as he moved with purpose down the dim street. The path toward the
freight yards stretched ahead... his temporary refuge, his cache of
documents, his next relay point to the outpost hidden deep within the
Phaethon Nebula. He set out toward the freight yard.
Loose end tied.
Now the real work continued.
-----
MSNPC Lieutenant Commander T’Varek (Impostor)
Federation Diplomatic Corps (Cover Identity)
as simmed by
-----
Lieutenant JG Ryden Tarus Kel
Medical Officer
StarBase 118 Ops
O240109RK1
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