Lt. JG T’Fearne - Spirits Rising
Teayl Thorn
((OOC: No Tags, just T’Fearnes’ perspective of the Awards Ceremony.))
((‘Disco Inferno’ Roller Arena, The Farm, Endicronimas V))
T’Fearne surveyed the venue and made a deliberate—if only partially successful—effort to disengage her security analysis.
The venue was, in a word, horrible.
The smell of hot plastic, rubber, sweat, and various greasy, frankly inedible foods overwhelmed her olfactory senses. Gaudy lights strobed overhead, reflecting off chrome railings and the dizzying pattern on the carpet was clearly designed to disorient rather than decorate. From a security standpoint, it was a nightmare.
The skates only made things worse.
She had already seen several crew members crash painfully to the floor, and even the Captain was struggling to stay upright. T’Fearne herself had fallen almost as soon as she put the skates on, landing in an undignified sprawl. They were impractical, unstable, and significantly increased the likelihood that she would cause an accident rather than prevent one.
She was barefoot and in the process of returning the cursed devices to the attendant when something else caught her eye.
T’Fearne: Excuse me—what are those?
She pointed to a different set of wheeled footwear. Unlike the four-wheel clusters of the standard skates, these had their wheels aligned in a single, narrow row.
Skate Attendant: Oh—those aren’t as popular as the skates. They're called Rollerblades. People with ice-skating experience usually prefer them.
They did appear closer to the footwear she had on occasion worn for ice skating activities on Betazed.
T’Fearne: I’ll take a pair. Betazoid size eight, if you have them.
Buckling them on, she found she was upright—and functional.
The motion was familiar, the balance intuitive. Not ice, but close enough. The Vulcazoid pushed off, gliding smoothly into the crowd, weaving between bodies and flailing limbs with controlled ease. As she moved, she offered the occasional steadying hand, a swift tug on the back of a uniform before its wearer pinwheeled into disaster. Where others slipped and skidded, she flowed—quickly adapting to the similar motion and functionality of the rollerblades.
From the floor, she took in the scene.
Some of the crew were clearly more skilled at skating. T’Fearne noted Dominika Ślimak—newly transferred from the Compass Rose—skating with confidence and flair. Another figure caught her attention. A tiny, blue-clad science officer, possibly in her forties or fifties. Worryingly frail-looking, almost birdlike in the crowd of taller, boisterous crew. But as she watched curiously, the woman navigated near-collisions with uncanny precision, emerging from chaotic clusters of bodies as the only one still upright. The woman’s ability to avoid the collisions was almost predictive.
She would have studied the woman's behaviour more, but the Captain pulled her attention.
Niac: It’s a pleasure to see you all together once again. I believe we owe the staff of The Farm our compliments, it certainly seems to have lived up to its restorative reputation. Up until I put these ridiculous roller-wheels on, I was the most relaxed I’d been in months.
Karrod Niac stood at a lectern planted squarely on the rink floor, spots standing out with white-knuckled determination as he clung to it. From her vantage point near the edge of the rink area, T’Fearne made no attempt to suppress her smirk as the Captain appeared to sink—millimetre by millimetre—lower behind the lectern.
She activated the volume-filtering earbuds she’d come prepared to this Awards Ceremony with, dampening the noise to a tolerable level for her particular sensitivity. Idly, she wondered what Commander Raga did to survive the cheering crowd environments like this.
Niac: In the interests of conducting our business here today before I need to avail myself of medical care, I’ll be as brief as reasonably possible considering the broad scope of your recent accomplishments. Because of you…because of your steady nerve in the face of a horrific attack…because of your focus under pressure…because of your dedication to one another…the embers of a grave threat to the Federation were extinguished before they could ignite an inferno. You have once again stymied the plans of a ruthless organization and shown them that Starfleet stands firm against terror for profit, against opportunistic brutality, and against anything that would reduce life to an expendable asset.
T’Fearne’s empathic senses flared, emotion rolling outward from the Captain and the assembled crew in heavy waves. Pride. Anger. Sorrow. Bitterness and Grief. She winced faintly, wishing that she could turn emotions down the way she could with sound.
Niac: To that end, each member of this crew is receiving a Silver Lifesaving Ribbon for your efforts to save our brothers and sisters from the Compass Rose. Let it be a reminder to you of the souls you were able to make safe…and all those others who will forever remain on patrol in the Kappa 214 system. In addition, based on my discussions with Starfleet Medical and owing to the incredibly unusual nature of the information we were able to uncover during the course of our mission, the whole crew will be receiving the Scientific Discovery Ribbon. You demonstrated once again that knowledge is the ultimate power and, in this case, used it to neutralize an insidious threat. Lastly and with the knowledge that each and every one of you suffered a level of exposure to a weapon that was, until very recently, invariably deadly…each member of this crew is awarded yet another purple heart to add to their ever growing collection. I believe several people have earned enough to redeem them for prizes, which are available in a variety of colors at a small stand-off in the corner of this facility.
T’Fearne glanced over at the Andorian attendant as the captain’s gesture nearly rendered him horizontal.
Four Purple Hearts. Four missions.
She wondered briefly what that would earn her or if she should keep saving them up. Her track record was not good, and she considered making a 2403 resolution to be more cautious.
She discarded the idea almost immediately.
Her duty—her instinct—was to put herself between danger and the crew. Anything less was unacceptable.
((OOC: skipping over some dialogue here to keep the sim to a reasonable length. See Niac/Raga and others' sims for full tags and responses.))
She cheered with the rest of the Ronin as recognitions and awards followed. It had been a particularly tough mission, and she allowed herself to unwind another notch, celebrating what was saved even while remembering what had been lost. This was the flip side—the swell of appreciation, pride and joy—her panacea to the negative emotions. The dual sides of the ability she was coming to understand. There couldn’t be one without the other.
Niac: While everyone contributed greatly to the outcome of our mission, there are a few officers among us who distinguished themselves in the performance of their duties…
She joined in clapping with the Ronin in congratulating Alyndra, Kel, and Beck as they were recognised for their work.
And then again, when Commander Tucker and Tess received their recognition. T’Fearne grinned at Tess’s slightly stunned reaction.
For an instant, she felt a tentative brush of emotion against her senses—cutting through the overlapping auras of the crowd. Then it caught her breath with its clarity. A flicker of desire focused on her.
She looked up to meet Tess’s eyes across a sea of red, blue, and gold uniforms. Warmth and joy plain on his face, and felt her own smile echo it, followed by an unexpected spark of shy tenderness she made no effort to suppress.
Then Commander Raga and her new Boss, Chief Kessler, whose metal had been sorely tested this mission.
The biggest surprise came last.
The Ronin’s newest crewmember—the tall, striking Klingon counsellor—was called forward, recognised for both their actions and their exemplary career record, receiving an award and a promotion to Lt. JG.
Shortrith: Um… Thank you. I won't let you down.
The arena erupted in applause.
Niac: With our business concluded I’ve been told to inform you that something called ‘free skate’ begins in a few minutes and…
He turned too fast.
Gravity claimed another victim as Niac landed in a heap on the rink floor and, without attempting to rise, addressed the ceiling.
Niac:....dismissed.
Raga: TAG, you’re it!
The Commander tapped the now horizontal Captain on the shoulder and zipped away into the throng of assembled officers.
And just like that, the arena erupted into chaos.
Tag spread across the rink, laughter echoing for over an hour as the Captain—still "it"—attempted to regain dignity on wheels.
At one point, Tess skated across her path and solemnly presented her with a strange, furry creature, accompanied by a playful ceremony. Unsure of the ritual, she accepted graciously, privately lamenting the growing collection of plush toys in her quarters that Alyndra and now Tess had bestowed upon her.
Dom swung by and grabbed T’Fearne’s wrist,
Dominika: C’mon, El-Tee! "Konga line" with me!
T’Fearne let herself relax and joined the line, hands resting on Dom’s shoulders. As they swept past the crew, she reached out to draw others in—lightly touching Sybil’s wrist, Tess’s shoulder, Renaie’s hand and Alyndra’s sleeve—inviting them to join. Soon the line grew, with people holding the shoulders or hips of the person in front, and the line stretched into a long chain spiralling around the rink, laughter echoing as it swayed and flowed.
T’Fearne let herself glide with it.
[No Tags / End Scene T’Fearne]
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14