Post by Captain_Quintus on Apr 4, 2016 6:51:44 GMT
"A Tale of Two Officers"
Postby FSF Eris » Wed Jun 29, 2011 2:43 pm '
One week ago...
Lilah Moretti was so screwed.
Not literally, of course. That probably would have meant she was having a much better day/week/month/lifetime than she really was. Not that she couldn't. She resented the idea that just because she was recuperating from injuries, she was less than... capable. And apparently the whole idea had been a running joke among the more immature members of the crew, judging by the strange new ornament she found attached to her scooter one day. But that was beside the point.
Lilah was so, metaphorically, screwed. She wasn't running on fumes anymore, oh no. She was absolutely exhausted. She hadn't slept during the Scoutship Crisis at all, and that lasted... however long it lasted. She had slept some, during its aftermath and the towing procedure that followed, but playing catchup for almost a week of sleep, while still far from one hundred percent of normal capacity, was not something that was solved with one good night of rest.
And she felt absolutely horrible. Horrible didn't begin to describe it; she hadn't ever felt so incredibly guilty in her life. She was quick to admit that her own pride and a misplaced faith in her own abilities had resulted in the catastrophic results at the end of the evacuation. If she hadn't been so stubborn and had admitted that she was only semi-conscious for a large amount of the time, well, there were people who would still have been alive and at least one security officer who wouldn't be getting his own version of the Lilah-Mobile.
And Akena hadn't said anything. He'd threatened to immediately after it was apparent what had happened and whose fault it was, and that looming conversation had been weighing like heavy ice on her thoughts since it had transpired. But now, nothing.
Lilah found the whole situation rather ironic, really. Seven months before she had been put into her current position aboard the Aquarius so that she could monitor Akena. A few of the wrong people at Command thought that he was the sycophantish supporter of Quintus' "party-ship" ways, and sent Lilah to "fix" the "problem". It didn't even really need fixing after all of that. Le-Gran had managed to establish himself as a -- more than -- competant commanding officer in his own right, and it was entirely unnecessary that she mend any offensive habits picked up from the bad influence that was his former captain -- he really didn't have any (unfortunately, maybe; the occasional dressing-down of the now-war-hero could have been entertaining).
But now she was the one who found herself in deep water, deep water that was very, very hot indeed. Lilah was well aware that she could have been dismissed from her position for her conduct, especially with as much as she had been forced to end-around her medical restrictions to be on duty (much less for the full shifts she had been pulling). She was also well aware that if Akena wanted her gone, she would be gone, instantly.
The thought made her... uncomfortable. Not for her own career, which she was fairly certain was dead and buried along the crewmen and colonists who were floating somewhere in orbit of their former colony. And not because she didn't think Le-Gran should have had the right (or desire) to have her removed, because if she had been in his position, she would have had an unreliable ex-oh yanked as soon as the "incident" occurred. When it came down to it, she suspected that he wasn't sadistic enough to want to, well, fire her, or demote her, or probably even reprimand her. But in this business, a mistake like that (especially since her performance prior to the "incident" was less than immaculate) had consequences.
Pulling a padd over to her spot at the desk, Lilah sighed, and began a text communique to the captain, undoubtedly sleeping at oh-two-hundred. She was completely willing to accept all of the responsibility for her actions, but if she could avoid some of the pain of the consequences -- at least for Le-Gran -- she was going to do it.
* * *
Four hours ago...
Considering the seas of emotions in which she had been riding for the past weeks, Julia was surprised by how... apathetic to her current situation she was. She had been in a state of anger and confusion, punctuated with the occasional bout of self-hate.
But now, more than likely aided by a distinct lack of sleep and enough Starfleet inquisitions and disappointments to last a few lifetimes, Julia was fairly deadened. This situation, she thought, finishing the docking procedures for her personal shuttle on Risa, should have really been out of her own, personal Tartarus, but she couldn't even bring herself to care. Really -- asking Akena for something, even a small thing, after everything he had done, should have been repulsive to her. But it wasn't. Tracking down the blue-haired barbarian on Risa should have disgusted her. But it didn't. finding out that the Morian had taken up residence, on Risa, in Dano's private Risan residence, should have annoyed her to the point of giving up and going back to Starfleet Command and accepting the tactical post that they had offered her. But she didn't. And walking back along those same beaches should have brought up a well of old, bad, bittersweet memories. Well. It did do that, at least. Hmm, maybe there was some hope for her after all. Really. Akena and Dano, friends. If it weren't so pathetic, it would have been laughable... though the two deserved each other, she supposed. Rotten and deceitful, the both of them.
Now Julia Quintus was going to ask the blue-haired one for what was... sadly... a favor. She could cloak her suggestion in whatever terms she wanted, but what it boiled down to was a favor. A self-serving act of desperation that somehow would have preserved the little dignity she had left in Starfleet. Not that she deserved to have even that much after Atlas, but Roman pride died hard. She sighed, changing into something more lovely and suitable to the beach, and headed out into the main docking bay of the Risan Villa N'Dak, and barely avoided rolling her eyes. She was going to kill Le-Gran for choosing this as the Aquarius vacation spot. Kill. Kill. Kill.
But when she was being completely honest with herself, a favor it really was. She would not have been particularly surprised if Akena told her no, or laughed at her, or sent her out of the Elasian residence without so much as a shot of whiskey. And when she was being even more, brutally, honest with herself, after Atlas, she didn't deserve the favor. She didn't really deserve the position they had offered her in the tactical hierarchy. She quite frankly deserved to be dishonorably discharged. Trying for anything else, anything better, took a great deal of gall , in an amount that she didn't think that she still possessed. But still, it was worth the chance that this could work. Even if, as a small and skeptical part of her thought, her idea might in the end be more humiliating and more of a punishment than anyone at Starfleet Command ever could have imagined for her.
Postby FSF Eris » Wed Jun 29, 2011 2:43 pm '
One week ago...
Lilah Moretti was so screwed.
Not literally, of course. That probably would have meant she was having a much better day/week/month/lifetime than she really was. Not that she couldn't. She resented the idea that just because she was recuperating from injuries, she was less than... capable. And apparently the whole idea had been a running joke among the more immature members of the crew, judging by the strange new ornament she found attached to her scooter one day. But that was beside the point.
Lilah was so, metaphorically, screwed. She wasn't running on fumes anymore, oh no. She was absolutely exhausted. She hadn't slept during the Scoutship Crisis at all, and that lasted... however long it lasted. She had slept some, during its aftermath and the towing procedure that followed, but playing catchup for almost a week of sleep, while still far from one hundred percent of normal capacity, was not something that was solved with one good night of rest.
And she felt absolutely horrible. Horrible didn't begin to describe it; she hadn't ever felt so incredibly guilty in her life. She was quick to admit that her own pride and a misplaced faith in her own abilities had resulted in the catastrophic results at the end of the evacuation. If she hadn't been so stubborn and had admitted that she was only semi-conscious for a large amount of the time, well, there were people who would still have been alive and at least one security officer who wouldn't be getting his own version of the Lilah-Mobile.
And Akena hadn't said anything. He'd threatened to immediately after it was apparent what had happened and whose fault it was, and that looming conversation had been weighing like heavy ice on her thoughts since it had transpired. But now, nothing.
Lilah found the whole situation rather ironic, really. Seven months before she had been put into her current position aboard the Aquarius so that she could monitor Akena. A few of the wrong people at Command thought that he was the sycophantish supporter of Quintus' "party-ship" ways, and sent Lilah to "fix" the "problem". It didn't even really need fixing after all of that. Le-Gran had managed to establish himself as a -- more than -- competant commanding officer in his own right, and it was entirely unnecessary that she mend any offensive habits picked up from the bad influence that was his former captain -- he really didn't have any (unfortunately, maybe; the occasional dressing-down of the now-war-hero could have been entertaining).
But now she was the one who found herself in deep water, deep water that was very, very hot indeed. Lilah was well aware that she could have been dismissed from her position for her conduct, especially with as much as she had been forced to end-around her medical restrictions to be on duty (much less for the full shifts she had been pulling). She was also well aware that if Akena wanted her gone, she would be gone, instantly.
The thought made her... uncomfortable. Not for her own career, which she was fairly certain was dead and buried along the crewmen and colonists who were floating somewhere in orbit of their former colony. And not because she didn't think Le-Gran should have had the right (or desire) to have her removed, because if she had been in his position, she would have had an unreliable ex-oh yanked as soon as the "incident" occurred. When it came down to it, she suspected that he wasn't sadistic enough to want to, well, fire her, or demote her, or probably even reprimand her. But in this business, a mistake like that (especially since her performance prior to the "incident" was less than immaculate) had consequences.
Pulling a padd over to her spot at the desk, Lilah sighed, and began a text communique to the captain, undoubtedly sleeping at oh-two-hundred. She was completely willing to accept all of the responsibility for her actions, but if she could avoid some of the pain of the consequences -- at least for Le-Gran -- she was going to do it.
* * *
Four hours ago...
Considering the seas of emotions in which she had been riding for the past weeks, Julia was surprised by how... apathetic to her current situation she was. She had been in a state of anger and confusion, punctuated with the occasional bout of self-hate.
But now, more than likely aided by a distinct lack of sleep and enough Starfleet inquisitions and disappointments to last a few lifetimes, Julia was fairly deadened. This situation, she thought, finishing the docking procedures for her personal shuttle on Risa, should have really been out of her own, personal Tartarus, but she couldn't even bring herself to care. Really -- asking Akena for something, even a small thing, after everything he had done, should have been repulsive to her. But it wasn't. Tracking down the blue-haired barbarian on Risa should have disgusted her. But it didn't. finding out that the Morian had taken up residence, on Risa, in Dano's private Risan residence, should have annoyed her to the point of giving up and going back to Starfleet Command and accepting the tactical post that they had offered her. But she didn't. And walking back along those same beaches should have brought up a well of old, bad, bittersweet memories. Well. It did do that, at least. Hmm, maybe there was some hope for her after all. Really. Akena and Dano, friends. If it weren't so pathetic, it would have been laughable... though the two deserved each other, she supposed. Rotten and deceitful, the both of them.
Now Julia Quintus was going to ask the blue-haired one for what was... sadly... a favor. She could cloak her suggestion in whatever terms she wanted, but what it boiled down to was a favor. A self-serving act of desperation that somehow would have preserved the little dignity she had left in Starfleet. Not that she deserved to have even that much after Atlas, but Roman pride died hard. She sighed, changing into something more lovely and suitable to the beach, and headed out into the main docking bay of the Risan Villa N'Dak, and barely avoided rolling her eyes. She was going to kill Le-Gran for choosing this as the Aquarius vacation spot. Kill. Kill. Kill.
But when she was being completely honest with herself, a favor it really was. She would not have been particularly surprised if Akena told her no, or laughed at her, or sent her out of the Elasian residence without so much as a shot of whiskey. And when she was being even more, brutally, honest with herself, after Atlas, she didn't deserve the favor. She didn't really deserve the position they had offered her in the tactical hierarchy. She quite frankly deserved to be dishonorably discharged. Trying for anything else, anything better, took a great deal of gall , in an amount that she didn't think that she still possessed. But still, it was worth the chance that this could work. Even if, as a small and skeptical part of her thought, her idea might in the end be more humiliating and more of a punishment than anyone at Starfleet Command ever could have imagined for her.