Post by Captain_Quintus on Apr 4, 2016 6:59:06 GMT
Postby Atton Jetrel » Wed Sep 07, 2011 8:27 pm
Atton sat, well, hovered in Stellar Cartography. Since departing the Starbase on their little raiding missions, he had managed to have the room temporarily refitted as a sort of tactical planning room. While it could have been done somewhere else, it made him feel good that he could still play the cripple card and complain that it was the easiest for him to access. That and the room was rarely used by anyone else, which let him smoke and put together the next raid plan in peace.
"I had wondered where you were doing all of your important thinking now that the atrium was less accessible," Jocelyn said from the doorway. She entered the room and glanced about, doing her best to ignore the ring of smoke about his head.
"I convinced Le-Gran a few days ago to let me hijack this room and turn it into my own personal war room. I'd ask if you like what I've done with the place, but I'm not much of a decorator." He tapped the console before him a few times, producing a few beeps, causing the display to deactivate. He spun his chair around to face Jocelyn. "So what's up?"
"I wanted to see how you were adjusting." She took one of the chairs and leaned back, propping her feet up on the counter. Her hands linked over her stomach. "With another attack coming up, you are going to be under significant pressure. I have no doubts that you'll be able to handle yourself, but command needs to know that your temporary condition isn't going to impact your ability to run Tactical."
"Command." He smirked and then chuckled to himself as he rubbed his chin. "You mean Julia, right? She's been very polite about my situation but I can sense the doubt in the back of her mind. 'They' shouldn't have anything to worry about. I've held together fine so far, and I'm getting better each day. You yourself said I should be out of this chair in a week or two. Though, I almost prefer them to those annoying leg brace thingys."
"At least the leg braces give you better mobility," she pointed out. "But yes, you are correct as to the source. She is worried for you -- or about you -- I can't tell which. Or perhaps she's worried that any poor performance will reflect badly upon her." She shrugged lightly. "Whatever the case, it is my duty as your doctor to make sure you're capable of handling such stress. I haven't seen anything that would indicate otherwise, but I'm also not on the bridge during these attacks."
"You know me well enough to know I thrive under pressure." But did she know that it was from a constant need to prove himself? The console beeped behind him, interrupting that thought. Spinning around to bring the display back up, he frowned at the results. "Stupid simulation..."
"Yes, I do know that you've never withered under pressure in the past, but you also have not been subject to the traumas that you've been afflicted with lately." Her attention shifted to the console. "What sort of simulation are you running?"
"Various fleet deployments for our next raid. We can't be predictable in our attack problems. However," he paused pointing at the display, "a forty-three percent chance of critical system damages and/or significant casualties doesn't exactly make this the best idea I've ever had."
"No," she agreed, "but simulations can't predict everything. You know that. The human equation is the one that the computer can never seem to get a handle on."
"True, but the human factor doesn't just turn the scales. Thanks though." He glanced back to her for a moment before setting up another simulation. The display switched off and he turned back around to focus on her. "I get the feeling it's going to be a late night."
"We all have preparations to tend to." Dropping her feet to the floor, she rose, leaning with one hip on the console. "As long as you are feeling alright and think you can handle it, then I can have no objection to you handling Tactical as normal."
"Good, I think I'd go crazy if I had to sit on the sidelines." He smiled, hovering his way over to her. "Although it's not like I couldn't convince you I was fit for duty."
"You could try, but you are not half as charming as think you are." She smirked. "I am more than capable of separating my personal and professional feelings without letting one effect the other. If I had any inkling of doubt that you would be a danger to this ship, you would be on the sidelines, like it or not."
He smirked, appreciating her professionalism, which was a bit of a shock to him. "I thought this relationship was supposed to have more perks then the continued glances at your ass."
"Compromising my medical opinion will never be one of those perks." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "To all others, I'm open to negotiation."
He had to stop and watch for a moment as her bosom shifted. "I need to get out of this chair," he said, eyes drifting up her body to her face. He smirked, about to reach out for her before the console behind them beeped again. With a sigh, he turned to face it. "Really? This very second?" Grumbling to himself, he hovered back over to it.
She laughed. "Work first, as always." She drew up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, massaging lightly as she peered over his shoulder at the display results. "I need to get back to medical, anyhow. There is still a lot to be done."
"Right," he nodded. "I've got to improve these odds. Can't let either of us die until I get my legs back."
"Good idea." She slapped his shoulders lightly, grinning. "There are still things left unexplored and it would just be a shame if we never got the chance."
His arms reached up and back, running his hands down her sides. "Truly a shame. That's why a 33% chance of death and/or dismemberment is unacceptable. Now please, woman, stop seducing me. I have work to do." He flashed her his trademark boyish grin.
"As you wish, Security Chief. Let me know if you need anything to help you on the bridge. You know where to find me." She patted his shoulder again and pushed away.
Atton sat, well, hovered in Stellar Cartography. Since departing the Starbase on their little raiding missions, he had managed to have the room temporarily refitted as a sort of tactical planning room. While it could have been done somewhere else, it made him feel good that he could still play the cripple card and complain that it was the easiest for him to access. That and the room was rarely used by anyone else, which let him smoke and put together the next raid plan in peace.
"I had wondered where you were doing all of your important thinking now that the atrium was less accessible," Jocelyn said from the doorway. She entered the room and glanced about, doing her best to ignore the ring of smoke about his head.
"I convinced Le-Gran a few days ago to let me hijack this room and turn it into my own personal war room. I'd ask if you like what I've done with the place, but I'm not much of a decorator." He tapped the console before him a few times, producing a few beeps, causing the display to deactivate. He spun his chair around to face Jocelyn. "So what's up?"
"I wanted to see how you were adjusting." She took one of the chairs and leaned back, propping her feet up on the counter. Her hands linked over her stomach. "With another attack coming up, you are going to be under significant pressure. I have no doubts that you'll be able to handle yourself, but command needs to know that your temporary condition isn't going to impact your ability to run Tactical."
"Command." He smirked and then chuckled to himself as he rubbed his chin. "You mean Julia, right? She's been very polite about my situation but I can sense the doubt in the back of her mind. 'They' shouldn't have anything to worry about. I've held together fine so far, and I'm getting better each day. You yourself said I should be out of this chair in a week or two. Though, I almost prefer them to those annoying leg brace thingys."
"At least the leg braces give you better mobility," she pointed out. "But yes, you are correct as to the source. She is worried for you -- or about you -- I can't tell which. Or perhaps she's worried that any poor performance will reflect badly upon her." She shrugged lightly. "Whatever the case, it is my duty as your doctor to make sure you're capable of handling such stress. I haven't seen anything that would indicate otherwise, but I'm also not on the bridge during these attacks."
"You know me well enough to know I thrive under pressure." But did she know that it was from a constant need to prove himself? The console beeped behind him, interrupting that thought. Spinning around to bring the display back up, he frowned at the results. "Stupid simulation..."
"Yes, I do know that you've never withered under pressure in the past, but you also have not been subject to the traumas that you've been afflicted with lately." Her attention shifted to the console. "What sort of simulation are you running?"
"Various fleet deployments for our next raid. We can't be predictable in our attack problems. However," he paused pointing at the display, "a forty-three percent chance of critical system damages and/or significant casualties doesn't exactly make this the best idea I've ever had."
"No," she agreed, "but simulations can't predict everything. You know that. The human equation is the one that the computer can never seem to get a handle on."
"True, but the human factor doesn't just turn the scales. Thanks though." He glanced back to her for a moment before setting up another simulation. The display switched off and he turned back around to focus on her. "I get the feeling it's going to be a late night."
"We all have preparations to tend to." Dropping her feet to the floor, she rose, leaning with one hip on the console. "As long as you are feeling alright and think you can handle it, then I can have no objection to you handling Tactical as normal."
"Good, I think I'd go crazy if I had to sit on the sidelines." He smiled, hovering his way over to her. "Although it's not like I couldn't convince you I was fit for duty."
"You could try, but you are not half as charming as think you are." She smirked. "I am more than capable of separating my personal and professional feelings without letting one effect the other. If I had any inkling of doubt that you would be a danger to this ship, you would be on the sidelines, like it or not."
He smirked, appreciating her professionalism, which was a bit of a shock to him. "I thought this relationship was supposed to have more perks then the continued glances at your ass."
"Compromising my medical opinion will never be one of those perks." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "To all others, I'm open to negotiation."
He had to stop and watch for a moment as her bosom shifted. "I need to get out of this chair," he said, eyes drifting up her body to her face. He smirked, about to reach out for her before the console behind them beeped again. With a sigh, he turned to face it. "Really? This very second?" Grumbling to himself, he hovered back over to it.
She laughed. "Work first, as always." She drew up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, massaging lightly as she peered over his shoulder at the display results. "I need to get back to medical, anyhow. There is still a lot to be done."
"Right," he nodded. "I've got to improve these odds. Can't let either of us die until I get my legs back."
"Good idea." She slapped his shoulders lightly, grinning. "There are still things left unexplored and it would just be a shame if we never got the chance."
His arms reached up and back, running his hands down her sides. "Truly a shame. That's why a 33% chance of death and/or dismemberment is unacceptable. Now please, woman, stop seducing me. I have work to do." He flashed her his trademark boyish grin.
"As you wish, Security Chief. Let me know if you need anything to help you on the bridge. You know where to find me." She patted his shoulder again and pushed away.