#entrplot: taking over

[mentr-randyarchive]

The day's tension and stress of his work could be easily washed down with a nice cup of tea. Tea was nice. And hot and stinging against his tongue, in a rather good way. It was even better when enjoyed in the privacy of his rooms. 

But his break was short, and he was forced to go to the mess hall to coexist with the rest of the crew. To drink that disgustingly bland drink they dared to call tea, when it was actually no better than a glass of fucking piss with sugar. All while listening to the mindless and hollow chatter of the rest.

His mood had worsened consequently. It was a true miracle he hadn't snapped. Not even at the small girl approaching, he'd seen her before he'd just seen her somewhere. It didn't matter. Hopefully she'd leave him alone. 

He wrinkled his nose, scowling as he shoved the half-full mug aside. 

[mentr-sejeln-blog]

[Everything had been a blur, really. Dropping the bomb on the Capitol Building, being chased. The gunfire and smoke. The shouting and the terror. Sejeln relished it all. He recalled flinging himself into the first shuttle he could, only to find another man in it already. Taire. He was like Sejeln, though slightly less motivated. The last thing Sejeln remembered seeing was the city burning below as they took off.

They were called terrorists. And perhaps that was the best name for them, for what they did. For the apparent freedom of the citizens, he and a group of young men launched attacks on the government. And they enjoyed it, every minute of it. Watching people fall. Observing death like it was all an act.

And now they had fled. Because there was nothing more they could do. But of course they managed to land themselves on a ship that belonged to none other than the Terran Empire (Taire's fault). Sejeln knew they couldn't possibly be safe here for long, because these were the people that caused his beloved planet to succumb to the madness. The war. The Ramurans knew they couldn't fight humanity, so they cooperated instead. And now Sejeln and Taire were in the middle of one of their ships. 

In other words, they were fucked.]

[Sejeln slipped out of the closet he was hiding in, a red uniform shirt that felt too tight as a disguise. He walked slowly and quietly through the halls. He couldn't get caught. Not here. Not not. Reaching into the waistband of his pants, he felt the gun that was loaded with not bullets, but the pheromone that made people forget. The best of Ramuran technology and science in one convenient package.]

[mentr-evelyn]

Playing God || Closed: Jesus

Evelyn hadn't expected to run into Jesus so soon after they fought. From the sad, apologetic, and frankly pathetic looks the man had given him, Evelyn had assumed that Jesus would probably be hiding in his quarters. Evelyn had gotten mad. Very mad. But here was Jesus, facing Evelyn with a smile, if perhaps a somewhat nervous one, and Evelyn was pissed.

"What? Do you really think you're so great that you can just pretend none of this happened? That you're above it all? Did you think you could get away with ahem, playing God, and think I wouldn't get a little bit upset? You don't want to see me angry, Olivera. You really don't." He rolled his eyes. He thought he had given the man a clear enough explanation of this already. 

"Do you actually think we're still friends? No one has friends around here. I learned that quickly. When you do, they stab you in the back."

[mentr-piper]

Everything appears to be in order. [Piper took one last look around the bridge from the doorway and turned away. Not the time to be distracted by petty disputes among the crew. The time was drawing nearer- time to dispose of Jim Kirk like he was supposed to. And with the captain out of the way, he could quickly take over the ship. It would be easy after that.

But not now. Now he had to act normal. Like a regular crew member. As if he hadn't been specifically assigned. What a joke. He needed to get back to his quarters and-] 

Watch it! [Piper didn't even look up to see who it was he bumped into. it hardly mattered in fact.] 

[mentr-linda]

[For the first time in forever, she'd taken her sisters' advice to heart. 

"Carry a weapon,” Chamilla had said, "if you're going on that thing. Don't be caught dead without one, or you will be caught dead."

Of course she had one already, standard issue from the Empire. Linda had protested on account of it being a placebo, its kill probably only good for vermin and the stun no more than a shove. If she’d held out for a few more years, she could have become an officer, gotten one of those little daggers they carried around and had showed off to her hours before. They had it easy. 

“That’s not what matters,” Amara had chimed in, all smiles on the screen of her PADD, sitting behind her sister. Chamilla was the one who worked in tactical, so if the second oldest supported the endeavor, she knew it was for real. “It’s how you use it.” 

“And if you know how to use it.” 

She had told them she didn’t, and they had her secure a spot on the range in one of the lower decks, just for a few hours of practice. 

Hour two and still nothing doing. Her subpar eyesight and lack of hand-eye coordination had finally gotten to her—things that she knew didn’t really matter, except for this one hypothetical scenario she suspected her sisters gave to her just to get her worked up. Just to fuck with her.]

Damn it.

[mentr-uhura]

This was much better. Fuck hand-to-hand. It gave the illusion that she’d opt for direct contact over direct communication. Punching things wasn’t cathartic, and didn’t give that same snap of satisfaction it did with this.

So she tried fucking with moving targets. Assault wasn't her strong suit, or her preference. But it was invigorating, at least, and it wasn't often she could go for ranged attacks. Now those were gorgeous. Dead on the floor in the blink of an eye, giving neither of them the satisfaction of a fair fight.

Minutes later, she checked her rifle--emptied out just like that. A few minutes of pacing, sipping on her water, trying to shake the last of that energy, pulled back the sheet and admired her handiwork. Her hands had been shaking during the first few, the accuracy of her shot the only clear sign of concentrated frustration. One misplaced shot--would have hit the wall, probably--four in the chest.

And then, in a moment of sheer focus, right between the eyes.

She wished.

The linguist ran the tips of her fingers over the bullet holes and allowed herself a smile, then could hear someone approaching.

"Yeah?"

[entr-jesusarchive]

Corrupt || Chekov

At least the Commander had cleared a path for them. Surprisingly he hadn't even broken the engineer's neck, or something, he'd just walked away and pretended nothing had ever happened. That was good enough for them and they weren't going to question him now and who was he kidding. As much as he tried to play it cool, he was confused. 

Avoid people. Right. He could do that.

They smiled at him as he walked by. Actual smiles, not forced emtpy gestures, just --what? The whole ship had lost their damn minds. An elaborate prank, maybe? Jesús hurried the fuck up to get somewhere isolated and get his shit together.

Or, that had been his expectation, at least. Im-fucking-possible.

It was him, only it wasn't him, and that didn't make any sense, but it was happening. Right in front of his eyes. Innocence and brightness, all curly ruffled hair and smiling. A child. This was not Chekov, the tricky bitch who slept his way through. In fact he wasn't even sure he was real so why bother.

And he was getting closer to Jesús, who had no hiding place in sight. "Fuck it."  

[entr--spockarchive]

Your Grace Should Fall

There had been the blinding white, there had been the familiar golden glow swirling around him until it gently faded to nothing. There had been a single man behind the transporter controls, looking up and squinting. And that was the only manifestation Commander Spock required to notice.

Transpose. v. To change the relevant position, order, or sequence of; cause to change places.

Unless it is inevitable or necessary, you must not seek interaction with the crew of this vessel. Should this occur…follow a convenient course of action.

Interchange. Transfer or transport.

Have you understood?

The man he had seen, had died only months before in the hands of Montgomery Scott.

Diverging from the transporter room was the only solution to their predicament. Since they did not encounter any aggressive behavior upon their arrival, they had a clear advantage over the situation. However this was no indication of their safety. Nature of the enviroment, unknown.

The nature of this ship. Seemingly harmless, naive, emanating a pristine atmosphere that for a moment, overwhelmed and sickened, then confused, then it crashed back down and left behind nothing but cold. The acquainted emptiness he could work with once more running through his system.

They had not attacked. No cognizance, immediate assimilation. They know us. The realization was fascinating.For what reason? Must investigate circumstances. Report findings to the Captain.

Spock was duly prepared to find answers.