Lieutenant JG Meris: A Song for THK
Meris/Brian
((Living-room, House, USPS Showrunner))
A month ago, Meris had been the star of a fading action franchise. Now they found themself standing in a suburban house that was also a starship, carrying a triangle instead of a firearm and trying to make sense of a reality that seemed determined to reward nonsense and punish common sense. The years spent inside TRY HARD had taught them something valuable, though. Stories had patterns, and this one was beginning to reveal its shape.
As Agent B345T enthusiastically unveiled yet another manufactured crisis, Meris watched the pieces fall into place almost before they were announced. A prestigious gig, an important test, interpersonal drama, and a ticking clock. The conflict felt less like a coincidence and more like something assembled deliberately for an audience's benefit. What surprised Meris was not that they recognized the formula, but how naturally the recognition came. Around them, Naledi and Ral continued pushing against the edges of the narrative in their own ways, recovering fragments of truth even while the show tried to bury them beneath sitcom logic. For the first time since arriving in the Paranetwork, Meris began to suspect that understanding the story might be just as important as remembering reality. Somewhere behind the laugh track and manufactured complications, someone was shaping the script. And for the first time, Meris was beginning to see their hand.
Naledi: Tick Slip Slide... So, Agent. Have you selected a setlist for our performance?
Ral: Please none of that old stuff you keep getting us to do. We need something a bit more modern, up to date.
Their "Agent" brightened instantly, like a stage light had just been switched on inside their enthusiasm.
Agent B345T: I’m glad you asked! I got your favorite songs, plus a few good new ones to really bring the crowd in!
Meris immediately regretted that Ral had asked. Agent B345T's enthusiasm had the dangerous energy of someone who believed every problem could be solved by adding more material.
Meris: I hope some of these songs will feature the triangle. You know how our fans adore its geometrically efficient three-sided majesty.
Naledi: Slide Slip Pop Twist... How many new songs!? We haven’t the time to practise that!
Ral: We need to play along.
Sure enough, sheet music began appearing from nowhere. Some drifted down from the ceiling. Some emerged from drawers that had not existed moments earlier. One particularly determined page launched itself from behind a decorative cushion and smacked Meris directly in the face. They removed it with as much dignity as someone could muster after being ambushed by musical notation. As they gathered the scattered pages together, Meris noticed that some of the songs appeared familiar despite having no memory of ever performing them. Others looked completely incomprehensible. One appeared to contain more exclamation points than notes.
Meris looked pointedly at Ral as they gathered the pages of sheet music between their hands.
Meris: No pun intended, I'm sure.
Agent B345T: Don’t worry, I have faith in you guys! ::beat:: We just need to practice, practice, practice!
Before anyone could object, Agent B345T clapped their hands together. The world immediately complied. Meris had experienced scene transitions before. Five years of TRY HARD had taught them not to trust walls, geography, or basic continuity. Even so, the transformation remained unsettling. The living room folded inward like stage scenery being cleared between acts. Furniture rolled away under its own power. Walls pivoted, collapsed, and reassembled. The half-house, half-starship vanished beneath a wash of colored light, replaced by a pristine recording studio filled with instruments, soundproof panels, glowing displays, and entirely too much enthusiasm. Background music appeared from nowhere. It was aggressively motivational and, Meris suspected, focus-group tested.
Agent B345T strolled through the new space like it had always existed.
Naledi: Tick Slip Slide Pop... So that’s why we should open with Entomology Rockology... What just happened? How did we get here?
Meris felt it too. Not the studio and not the music. The attention. Every time someone questioned the premise, every time they pushed against the script instead of following it, the atmosphere seemed to tighten. It was subtle, but after years in the Paranetwork they had learned to recognize it. The story noticed when people stopped cooperating, and somewhere behind Agent B345T's cheerful smile, Meris had begun to suspect something else was noticing as well.
Naledi: Slip Slide Pop Whistle... It apologises. It is tired from practice.
Ral: Meris, what’s the name of the ship? I have an idea for a new song.
Meris: The name of the ship is the Thor...
The words came so easily, so automatically, that they were out of their mouth before the former action-film star had a chance to think. With them came a flood of memories as Naledi and Ral both clicked into place, followed quickly by others. The green-haired woman. Tito. Talyra. The Magni. Meris froze in place, their mind flicking through the memories like an old holovid index held in front of a child’s face as it snapped through the images. They were a pilot. The pilot of the USS Thor. This wasn't some old production they were remembering. It was their real life. They were as certain of it as they were that triangles were the backbone of modern music.
The flood of memory lasted only a moment before movement pulled Meris back to the present. Agent B345T had crossed the studio floor and now stood beside Ral. Their long fingers settled lightly against the larger man's back before effortlessly lifting the enormous bass guitar free and placing it into his hands. The gesture should have felt helpful. Somehow it did not. Nothing about B345T ever felt entirely helpful.
Agent B345T: Oh you have a song idea? Why not show us then?
Fortunately, B345T seemed not to have noticed the significance of what had just happened. Still, Meris now knew something important. The memories were still there, which meant the Thor was still real, which meant escape was still possible. They tightened their grip on the triangle and deliberately returned their attention to the scene unfolding around them.
oO Play the long game. Oo
That advice had carried them through five years of explosions and improbable sequels. Perhaps it would carry them through this as well.
Meris: I'll accompany you on my triangle...
They held up the instrument with all the confidence of someone presenting a far more impressive musical contribution.
Naledi: Response.
Agent B345T's clipboard snapped open. Their voice instantly regained its cheerful authority.
Agent B345T: No, this is perfect! Big buddy studies while you show off your new song! ::speaking to Ral:: And little buddy can text their crush.
Meris immediately identified themself as "Little Buddy" and disliked it intensely. No one had called them Little Buddy during TRY HARD. Had anyone attempted to do so, they likely would have been launched through a window during the second act. Admittedly, that might have contributed to the franchise's declining ratings.
Meris: Sure, yes... I'll text my crush.
Meris didn't really know what those words meant, but they stepped off to the side of the set, having stowed their triangle in their back pocket once again.
Naledi/Ral: Response.
Really driving home that they each had things they needed to do, and so little time, the spotlight was pushed onto Ral as it seemed to focus in waiting for whatever performance, or idea, he could randomly come up with.
Naledi/Ral: Response.
As Ral's performance wound down, Meris drifted back toward the others from the wings. Agent B345T eventually returned to their director's chair, looking entirely too pleased with how events were unfolding.
Meris: That sounded great, Ral! And guess what! My crush says they're going to come to our performance tomorrow. Won't that be swell!
Agent B345T: Since little buddy is good at tests... maybe you could switch places?
Meris looked to the Director momentarily confused. Did they intend them to change places with Ral or Naledi? They looked from one of their fellow Thor crewmembers to the other and finally decided that B345T intended for them to provide a song as well.
Agent B345T: Oh! And maybe you can help them with their love confession!
oO Love confession? How am I supposed to lead a bloody song with a triangle! Oo
Meris: S-sure... but for that I'll need to rely on a stronger instrument than just my trusty triangle.
Naledi/Ral: Response.
The pilot stepped forward and the lights at the back and sides of the stage came down, bathing just them in light as a stool appeared before them, allowing them to sit upon its surface while the mood shifted dramatically around the set. Meris took a deep breath and centered themself as they sat atop the stool. It was followed by a series of slow, deliberate breaths as if they were performing a breathing exercise - or hyperventilating, it was hard to tell those two things apart in the moment.
As their eyes adjusted to the spotlight, they became aware of movement beyond the drone-like cameras. The audience seating that had been hidden in darkness was now illuminated just enough for them to make out faces. Not a laugh track. Not a hologram. An actual audience. Hundreds of beings sat watching from beyond the edge of the set. Some looked vaguely humanoid. Others resembled species Meris had never encountered before. A few held signs bearing the names of the performers. One particularly enthusiastic audience member appeared to be waving a glowing triangle over their head.
For a moment, Meris forgot about the song entirely.
oO They voluntarily came here to watch this? Or, perhaps, not so voluntarily… Oo
Meris: This goes out to my crush... Trake Herrick Kreshkova. Or, THK as I call them for short.
Naledi/Ral/B345T: Response.
The spotlight settled upon them and the words and tones simply followed.
Meris: I call this "When the Stars Leaned Close"...
The pilot began to perform a ballad in the style of Tamarian Throat-Singing. The low drone emerged first, deep and resonant, vibrating through the studio floor. It was not the sort of sound any reasonable sitcom audience would expect from a love ballad. Which, in Meris' opinion, improved it considerably.
A sustained undertone filled the room.
Meris: Meris, still as the winter lake...
Above the drone, a harmonic overtone rose and sharpened like sunlight breaking through cloud cover.
Meris: Shaka, the walls falling... my calm undone at your approach.
The rhythm shifted. Pulsing. Beating. The sound seemed almost too large to be coming from one throat.
Meris: Darmok on the ocean, his heart open to the storm.
Naledi/Ral/B345T: Response.
The harmonics softened into something almost whispered.
Meris: So am I, THK - your name, a comet’s tail across my sky.
The next note descended into a deep growl that reverberated through the recording studio.
Meris: Uzani, his army scattered - my doubts retreat when you smile.
The final harmonics layered atop one another into a surprisingly beautiful chord.
Meris: Mirab, at the gates of dawn - you, the light I rise toward.
Naledi/Ral/B345T: Response.
The last overtone faded and Meris sat silently for a moment, allowing the final harmonics to linger in the studio air. Then, remembering their assigned role in the band, they reached into their pocket, withdrew the triangle, and struck it exactly once.
TING
The pilot nodded satisfactorily to themselves as the single note echoed across the still audience.
For a heartbeat they returned only silence. Then the audience erupted into applause that thundered through the studio as cheers, whistles, and enthusiastic whooping rolled across the set. Somewhere, someone began chanting Meris' name. An applause sign flashed so aggressively that Meris suspected it might achieve warp speed if left unattended.
Meris: Nailed it.
Naledi/Ral/B345T: Response.
(( TAGS/TBC ))
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Lieutenant JG Meris
Helmsperson
USS Thor
A240207M14