Not today Justin
blake kathryn
Show & Tell
izzy's playlists!
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Three Goblin Art
Claire Keane
if i look back, i am lost
@theartofmadeline
hello vonnie
NASA
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Jules of Nature
Cosimo Galluzzi
Misplaced Lens Cap
dirt enthusiast
Stranger Things
noise dept.
wallacepolsom
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Netherlands
seen from United Kingdom
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seen from United States
seen from Italy
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seen from China
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seen from Uruguay
seen from United Kingdom
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@temporalobservations
Pinned: OOC Quick-Reference
Pinned for mobile and easy navigation! This is an RP blog pretending to be the PADD files of my Star Trek OCs. I post personal logs, images, and other in-universe files. I am open to RP threads, and will also answer subspace messages, tag games, and other IC interactions.
About | Navigation | Khaius | T'yel | Neith | Laleen
Mun is 18+ and can be found on my personal blog.
Normal RP Blogs: Elnor (PIC), Soji/Dahj (PIC)
In holographic theories, physicists may have traced the pliability of space-time to its quantum roots: a measure of quantumness known as “ma
(walks off whistling innocently)
Maybe he should know better than to approach so boldly, but bold had always worked for him before, and he had no reason to think that was going to change any time soon. Most people, he thought, expected others to respect the same societal rules that they did, and while there was nothing wrong with that, it did make them nervous when the doctor didn't.
For his part, the stranger took it well. The Doctor had a tendency to miss the more intricate parts of behavior, but he knew when something was right. Maybe it was a quiet part of a Time Lord's telepathic ability, but he preferred to think it was because he was very, very smart. Whatever the case, he knew that this man was not right. He wasn't sure whether he was wrong, but he certainly was not right. Much in the way the Doctor himself was not right.
He made his way to him, though he was slowed as the cat began to move around his legs. "Hello," he said, softly, to the animal, reaching down to offer his hand. It was possible the action was dangerous even if the cat was normal, but how was he meant to resist? Beautiful creatures, cats. He straightened to answer, but was told that the cat had something to say before he got the chance. Ah. Not a normal cat, then.
"Cats that speak are also impossibilities." Not an answer in the slightest, and he wasn't all that eager to give him one at the current moment, even if it seemed that the cat had enough information to form an opinion on his validity. Cats were also judgemental creatures.
"You're scanning something. What are you scanning?" A beat. "And please skip the part where you tell me you're not. I hate that part, and, anyway, either you are, or claiming your cat said anything becomes a problem."
It made, Khaius thought, a certain amount of sense. Time was broken... at least on his own branch of it. And Neith talked about Time Lords. Complained about them, mostly. But, well, Neith complained about most things. They were almost like Travelers. Once had a similar mission as the Aegis. Two hearts. An innate connection to time.
.... and supposed to be extinct. But, well, that was time travel for you.
He pondered how to politely bring up that the man's species was supposed to be a casualty of the Temporal Wars, that his universe was a cautionary tale, then decide it was best to leave it. For all he knew, none of that had happened yet on this man's relative timeline. The truth of the story was far, far beyond his guesswork.
But, still, they were fellow travelers, weren't they? So Khaius decided to keep his lies to a minimum. He took the servo out and presented it to the stranger. His reaction would be informative, if nothing else.
"Chroniton radiation," he murmured. "Which you are practically swimming in. Neith says you have two hearts... and I'm sure her own scan picked up other anomalies. I trust her judgment, usually."
He ignored the telepathic laughter echoing in his mind at that.
"My name is Khaius Sirun. I work for the Aegis. I'm a Watcher, though this isn't my usual watch. I'd be less candid, but I have a sense we're here for a similar purpose."
🏳️🌈 SEND AN EMOJI TO SPEND PRIDE WITH MY MUSE… 🏳️🌈
LET’S:
🌈 — attend a parade together
🎨 — make each other Pride bracelets
🌻 — go on a picnic date/friend date
📸 — take selfies at a Pride event
🎵 — exchange playlists
🛍️ — shop for Pride outfits
☕ — have a deep (or fun!) conversation around identity
🍿 — watch queer movies all day
🎆 — watch fireworks together
💖 — have my muse confess something personal
💌 — receive a Pride month letter / post-it/ text from my muse
🎲 — learn random headcanons about my muse during Pride
🌙 — spend Pride night stargazing
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜 — have a pride themed moodboard for our muses!
Acht waved off her apology with one hand. "It's fine. I'd be one shell of a hypocrite if I got mad at you for taking your time." If anything, they were rather notorious for it; 'goes at their own pace' was the polite, marketing-approved phrase used in their artist profile. 'Slow and often flaky' was more apt, probably.
Speaking of flaky. They return their attention to the quiche. That was definitely on their list of 'untested' foods; there'd be no knowing whether their body rejected it or not until they tried it. Well, it would be rude to refuse, especially if they didn't know it would make them sick for certain. Might as well.
They started on the quiche, giving a contented hum at the flavor. Comforting was a good word for it. Familiar, too. As they ate, they turned their laptop towards her, opening up their file explorer. "Sure. It's under my stage name, Dedf1sh." They pulled up the network settings, opening it up for the data.
T'yel nodded and sat down to do the transfer, taking some things from the belt-pack she usually just used for work. She set out a portable diagnostics console--more specialized and powerful than a PADD--and set the rod on a glass panel to upload data.
"Vulcans have used wireless transfer for many centuries. I could set your computer up with a simple subspace transceiver. Khai-- Sirun used to give all new residents to our era a quantum discriminator upgrade to whatever device they were already familiar with."
She hesitated and glanced at Acht. "The mystery of your arrival and subsequent illness... must have caused him to forget."
Not just that. If she remembered right, that had also been around the time he was dealing with his own cognitive issues. She sighed and refocused on the screen.
😢🎂
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The Machine had sat motionless, quiet save for the occasional click of interior machinery. Outside, the galaxy twinkled and glowed like it always did, and his focus was on a small shot glass on the table in front of him, filled to the brim with an iridescent oily fluid.
"49999 Hours, 30 minutes, and 10 seconds."
The words escaped him in a flat, even tone, no movement accompanied it, a purely synthetic diagnostic, and in thirty minutes and 5 seconds, it would be 50000 hours since he got back up and started walking again.
A lot had changed in that time, not least of all him. His optics focused on the smooth artificial skin that now covered his once heavy plated frame. It wasn't in emulation of organic skin, at his insistence, grey pallor and visible seams a declaration to the world that although he had made himself softer, he was not keen on becoming something he wasn't.
Although at this point in time, he wasn't sure what he was anymore.
Khaius rarely stopped by the Palms for pleasure. It was almost always business: posting 'have you seen this person?' holos, checking in with Ledger about guests, occasionally running a training program in the holosuite. He had one in-pocket to load up, on T'yel's insistence, of the non-work variety, though she hadn't told him exactly what it was yet.
He decided to procrastinate leisure by getting some food. Which is how he stumbled onto Solander's ritual. He eyed the fluid in the glass, then ordered his own meal as quietly as possible. Kreyla and plomeek soup. He was nothing if not predictable as a machine, himself.
".... Counting time?"
If there was ever going to be a Star Trek spinoff show it should have been whatever is going on in the background with the Watchers over the past 60 years
Audio: Alberto Balsam - Aphex Twin (with additional speech from the film Mulholland Drive)
"Look, one of my more trustworthy crewmates named himself Bowflex, after an exercise machine. He comes from the ruins of a seceded corpo-colony outlet mall moon that's since been reclaimed by his people. Unlike most people here, those like you, Bowflex, and Varus actually seem... reliable. If Varus and his siblings were numerically organized and his birthdays were conducted via some manner of form-filling domestic bureaucracy, I can try to keep an open mind. Especially if it means a cabin somebody filled with mass quantities of silly putty weeks ago finally gets clean. By hand, without robotic assistance. Like he insisted back there."
If only Nero had caught on that Varus-Two wasn't who he said he was. There was a certain irony to the fact he'd sent anybody to work with the hidden counter-strike agent and tried to badger him right back. Khaius by comparison was not given so much regard. Free to do his work as he saw fit and left to his own devices when his shift rotated. In some unspoken way that was the form that something akin to respect started to take form with the Technician-Adjutant.
"Hm. Maybe next run you'll be on a top-tier fleet vessel. For now, I guess... hope this might feel more like home? Makes the journey a bit easier."
The word hope was weird on Nero's tongue. Like he only said it out of necessity rather than genuine belief in such a thing.
"Uh. Go boldly ahead. To your station. I gotta go fix one of the simulac-rooms."
Oh... Nero had no idea how close he was. If Counter-Strike was anything like the old Aegis, which he suspected they were, poor Varus was little more than a cog in a grander machine, raised to see the mission as the only thing that mattered, identity suppressed into codenames and cover stories. And if he was a 'two'... Second in line. And the first of his name probably met an unpleasant end.
He filed all of this away under 'Varus is dangerous but perhaps inexperienced' and made a mental note to ask Neith for research.
But he caught the inflection, raising an eyebrow. "Simulac-rooms? Is that recreation or training?" He checked his new communicator. Small screen, but nothing too bad. He would have to link it with his servo later, push it beyond its limits for extra-ordinary functionality. "Understood. Comm me if you need help."
Not that he was going far. Ops station was the perfect place to look out for a saboteur. He just hoped the station was somewhere unobtrusive so that he could do his work without being questioned...
🧺 for each of them :)
what life skill was the hardest for your muse to learn once they were out on their own?
// Oooooo interesting one.
Khaius: This is a weird one because Teen Khaius emancipated himself, but he was under the influence of others so he wasn't really on his own. That didn't happen until after his arrest / rehabilitation. Life with the El-Keshtanktil was one long slog of being forced to face his own inner world, fears, thoughts, and contradictions. Gonna go with "therapy works, actually," though I'm not sure he entirely learned that.
T'yel: She's getting better at it, but just like... basic cross-species social and communication skills. T'yel's only really interacted with other people from Ni'var. People go into two categories in her head: logical, and emotional but still open to logical argument. The fact that this does not work with every species is something she's still getting used to.
Neith: How to not work alone and get along with others. She used to be even more "this is my ONE person and the rest of you can fuck off" than she is now. She got broken out of that by one of her first partners, an older agent assigned to ~22nd Century Vulcan. Just imagine this little old canny Vulcan woman coaxing Neith into society by tricking her with "very important mission assignments."
Rhoan: Rhoan's an orphan, so the easy answer to this is 'everything.' Not sure what it's like now on Ni'var, but Romulan society is not particularly forgiving towards the clan-less. They get funneled into dependence on their patrons. Rhoan would probably tell you that learning how to live off the land if needed was his hardest and most important life skill, but the context is this kid ran away a lot.
Vaani: Masking, code-switching, and other social cloaks. While this tends to come naturally to the higher Romulan social classes, Vaani is from one of the lowest rungs, where open expression is much more common. She went through some coaching by her patron to 'blend in' with her academy peers so as to not 'embarrass' him. Abandoning this with the Qowat Milat felt very good, but it's still a useful skill because, knowing how to do it, she's also able to spot it happening.
Laleen: Everything is new and difficult for baby. D:
headcanons, volume one.
a series of randomly assorted headcanon questions for character development. feel free to adjust or expand on any questions when sending and specify muse if you're sending to a multi.
☕ : how does your muse take their coffee or tea? what does their average coffee shop order look like? 🌨️ : how does your muse react to snow? do they want to stay huddled up inside where it's warm, or do they want to go out and play in it? 💝 : what is your muse's love language? how do they usually convey it? ⚖️ : does your muse trust their own judgement? what kind of situations would cause them to freeze up with indecision? 🧺 : what life skill was the hardest for your muse to learn once they were out on their own? 🍸 : does your muse drink alcohol? if so, what kind and how often? if not, why? 💪 : describe your muse's body language, how do they tend to stand idly, what do they do when they're bored, etc. 🎨 : what is your muse's favorite art medium to use? what do they do with it? 🔋 : how does your muse like to recharge, physically, mentally or spiritually? 🐉 : if your muse could be any mythical or supernatural being, which do you think they would be and why? 👻 : if your muse could live the life of anyone else for a day, who would they choose? what would they hope to learn about this person? 🩰 : does your muse know how to dance? do they learn routines, or do they improvise? what styles of dance do they prefer? 💎 : if you could describe your muse as any gemstone or mineral, which would they be and why? 🧨 : does your muse have attention seeking tendencies? how far are they willing to go to get it? ⚽ : does your muse have any favorite sports? do they play any sports, or do they just spectate? 🐈 : is your muse conscious of online trends and memes? 🥀 : describe a time in your muse's life where they were dishonest, either with themselves, or others. 💸 : what is the most valuable thing your muse has ever broken? 💍 : does your muse carry any good luck charms or other memorable trinkets? what makes this item significant to them? 🤝 : what does loyalty mean to your muse? 🏹 : does your muse know how to use any weapons? which ones? what is the most unconventional item that your muse has ever armed themselves with? 🫗 : what would it take for your muse to lose their appetite? 🎁 : how does your muse respond when they don't like a gift they've received? 🌌 : would your muse rather explore outer space or the deep sea? why? would they be afraid of either or both of these places for any reason? 🎥 : does your muse know any movies or books by heart? which ones? why do they like them so much?
Somewhere within the vastness of time and space--or, more specifically, without the vastness of time and space--a man and his boss were speaking within a void. Somewhere else, not without space, but within, a man flew in a TARDIS, going both nowhere and everywhere.
Something was wrong. There was an alarm going off on the TARDIS console, not quite the terror-inducing cries of the klaxon alarm, but a beeping of a registered error. If he ignored it, the klaxon could start, but this was still something he could fix. Even if he couldn't, he would still go, because something was wrong with the Department of Temporal Investigations.
Oh, of course he wasn't supposed to know about it, but he wasn't supposed to know about a lot of things. But UNIT had a lot of information on a lot of things, and he'd spent a lot of time there over the years. Besides, you didn't spend as much time in and out of time as the Doctor did without learning about who else was out there doing the same thing.
He didn't quite know what was wrong, only that something was, and that the impact could be great. So, if something was sick, if there was a wound in time, what better to do than call a Doctor?
Not terribly far from where the other man exited into the park, the Doctor landed the TARDIS. It reminded him, as it often did, of a junkyard so long ago. He missed that place, sometimes. He missed the people. He missed so many things. But now wasn't the time to think about that. Now he had a crisis on his hands, and nostalgia wasn't going to do anything to help him to solve it.
The idea of past and present meant nothing to him, the idea of what was now, and what was then. There was no past, no future, no present. Only time. And for this matter, the time was the early twenty-second century. Nothing terrible happening here, for the most part. At least, not counting the imminent destruction of time, but he was going to fix that. He had to. He was very attached to the existence of time.
The park was nice, for what it was worth. Beautiful. People enjoying themselves, exercising and talking, a man talking to his cat with a portable scanner in his hand...
Well, that was interesting, wasn't it?
He smiled to himself, and he approached.
Early 22nd century wasn't so bad. Earth was still in the process of rebuilding itself after the devastation of the 21st. Their still-separate nation-states sent out ships at Warp 1 to explore their own system. The Martian Colonies were new and thriving. But Humanity still had a long, long ways to go before it would be familiar to him... or friendly to Vulcans. The main attitude seemed to be resentment at being "held back" by overly cautious meddling diplomats. Hence, the disguise.
Khaius's scan was... inclusive. This area, holding a park and a museum, did not scan with much by way of technology: some energy sources where the buildings were, and--
--and one tachyon surge, somewhere over... He turned to look at a distant box he was unsure had been there before, but was definitely the source, and a man walking directly towards him.
He put the servo back into his pocket, standing casually--fake casual, keeping his limbs loose in case he needed to spring into action--and tilted his head at the stranger. "May I help you?"
Neith was less subtle. She ran over to the Doctor like any Earth cat looking for attention and began to weave around his legs. What better way to slow him down while also taking measurements of her own?
He did not smell Human. That much was obvious. And after a moment the devices in her collar informed her he certainly was not. That heartbeat was highly unusual and distinctive.
<Careful, Khaius. I think he's a Time Lord.>
"Is that a joke?" he directed his question to the cat. Then looked up at the stranger. "My cat says you're an impossibility."
Nero snickered a bit at Varus-Two, before returning his attention to 'Sirun.' So many questions on this one, but the Technician-Adjutant chalked it up to just being curious about INTERPLAN structure.
"Well. See, the support-survey series is the welcome mat for proper fleet and convoy missions. For instance, the Wishbone here used to be a freighter. They gave it a cutting edge science lab, standard-issue defenses, and we scrounge up most everything else ourselves. Capable, but... expendable. Worst of the best."
Where it was begrudgingly conducted business he had with Varus-Two, Nero actually felt somewhat more candid after hearing Khaius speak. He pulled a teledex from his tool-gunbelt and put in an equipment requisition, before pulling out a personal cartridge and passing the device to Khaius.
"Walk with me, I'll take ya to Quartermaster Ragripp, and you can custom order your own comms device from 'em, plus standard issue everything else."
Then to the two ironic questions while leading the way.
"Mm. The cook's 'famous frittata no. 9' if you see it on the freshmades of the day section on the mess hall menu. Varus-Two back there, the guy who insisted on cleaning every nook and cranny himself... very similar attitude to our would-be bugler, who kept waking everyone up at odd hours out of a ~sense of duty~ or whatever."
Once arrived to Ragripp's station, a red multi-legged alien with no arms (and a sash with the emblem patch and a communicator badge) strained itself somewhat to telekinetically offer over an ID cartridge like the one Nero had. Ragripp would also push keys on a metallic pinpad over an enmat replicator, programming it to create a communicator with proper clearance levels, a screen previewing potential shape configurations for Khaius to choose from.
"... So. Uh. Vulcan, you said before? Never been."
Khaius followed along, listening to every word, but also glancing around the corridors. He was trying to get a sense of the ship: how it functioned, what the crew was like, where the escape routes were. But his stride broke for a moment as he heard the technician's name.
"... Varus Two? His surname is a number?"
Great. That must be the agent. And now he was walking in the wrong direction. He tried not to glower. That would look weird, considering his cover. He fell back into step to follow Nero to the quartermaster.
"That is not surprising," he said in answer to the question. "My homeworld is careful with outsiders. And INTERPLAN is new to the galactic stage. Politics isn't my strong suit, though."
Not totally inaccurate. None of the politics he knew applied here. He watched the fabrication process with interest, selecting a design that resembled the badge-mounted devices he was familiar with.
"It's a desert world. Very different from Earth. Our exploration vessels are also quite different. But... for a ship like this... coming from a freighter myself... the differences are far fewer."
Acht looked up from their laptop and nodded, minimizing the window. "I've got time. My set's not for a couple hours." They weren't sure why they came this early... maybe just in the hopes that their extradimensional friends would be there. Looks like that hope paid off.
They eyed the food she'd brought them curiously, taking a moment to deliberately inhale so they could get the smell. It smelled nice, at least. Come to think of it, had they remembered to eat before coming here...? Ah, well, this was a chance to correct that, at least.
They then turned their attention to the 'music' she brought. They wouldn't have known it had anything on it if she hadn't said. "...not sure if I can plug that into my laptop," they remarked. "Unless you have some sort of adapter?"
T'yel offered the kisan first. "I apologize for how long it took. I have been... distracted. There is no excuse. But I made this for you. It's..."
She looked at her food. Her, to her, very weird food. Though it certainly smelled good. Still, it was for Acht, not for her, which is why it included meat. She calculated a 97% chance that the combo of robust and fatty proteins would put it in the 'comfort food' category for any species.
"... an experiment. I combined two Ni'vari recipes into one. The result is similar to a Human dish called a quiche that my research says is comforting. You will have to tell me if you like it."
With the food dealt with, she moved on to the laptop, studying it. "It is surprising you have not already solved that problem. I could transfer it over subspace... can your laptop receive wireless data?"
"Welcome aboard, Sirun--" said Nero, giving Khaius a hasty handshake before whipping his head around to look at the counter-strike agent. "Hey. Don't talk about those little 'bots like that. They really try."
Seemingly, Nero was going to provide the counter-strike agent with the disdain and lack of attention that would have enabled his mission to be undertaken nearly unnoticed. But it seemed that a contradictory component was thrown into the mix.
"Buuuut it's also rare that somebody actually wants to do their job beyond the minimum around here. Tell you what: I'm gonna assign you a work detail to help you out. No Buffers, which ought to slow things down a bit. But hey: just means you get to flex those skills! I expect great things from you, so I'll check back reeeaaaal soon."
Nero tapped at a casing akin to a digital watch, preferring his comms device wrist-mounted. Hollering for some layabouts to assist the agent in question. Whether he wanted them there or not.
"--Sorry. Sirun, was it? Alright. Looks like you just scored yourself a seat on the bridge for the length of your exchange, somebody actually hacked in and took themselves off that section. You'll also confer with stellar cartography after your duty shifts... They may seem like old hat to you if Vulcan's charted a great deal more than us, but it's imperative we develop things we can count on, ourselves. And for now you're one of us. Any questions?"
The agent--let's call him Varus Two---briefly glared, then turned it into a huff of annoyance. "Alright, fine. We'll get it done." His poor work buddy was, no doubt, destined for an unfortunate accident.
Khaius watched as he stormed off to 'do his job', then looked at Nero's wrist-device curiously, assessing the technology he was dealing with. At least the tech seemed more-or-less parallel to his universe. Not that 22nd century tech was all that familiar to him... not Human, anyway.
"Someone--- hacked their way into the ship's computer to remove themselves from bridge duty? Why?"
This really was a different universe. Anywhere else, he would have imagined someone hacking into the computer to add themselves to a more prestigious position. Maybe this was a clue to follow.
"Of course. I am here to learn from you, not the other way around." He thought the question over. What questions were important? "Daily routine? Where might I access a map?" He nodded to the wristcom. "Do I get one of those? What not to eat at the galley? Are bugle-inspired rebellions also 'old hat'?"
The last two were delivered with just a touch of irony.
Sol quickly, but gently retrieves the PADDcorder, optics focused on the screen as he scrolls through the data. "Well, even if the universe isn't organized and intentional by default, doesn't mean people can't stack things on top of each other in orderly patterns." he assures.
He parses the scans, looking for any inconsistencies that this small floating blob could be natural, but everything he was seeing seemed to further confirm his suspicions. Without further fanfare, he hands the PADDcorder back to T'yel.
"He's engineered. no doubt in my mind. For what purpose I couldn't tell you, but given his high prey drive, the first thing that comes to mind is ecosystem management."
Like a sickle, he observed silently in his mind.
"His genetics also look...real malleable as a result of his origins." the machine adds with considerable concern, scanning the terrarium it was kept in as if to verify its security against any kind of external contaminant.
"... Ecosystem management," T'yel repeated, her brow furrowing lightly as she thought that through. For some reason, that thought was more disturbing than any other one. it took a moment to place why. "Oh. That has a disturbing implication. Have you done the mathematics on how often he has eat? I have a program already which projects potential breeding rates for the target prey species."
She hesitated. Maybe that was not... normal. She clarified, "It is one of the safety features on my 'valiit colony' program."
'Valiit colony' a.k.a. her holo-pets. With advancements in photonics, he last thing anyone needed was a rapidly reproducing colony of rodents known for burrowing under buildings until a sinkhole inevitably formed.
She distracted herself from that thought with philosophy, joining him as he searched the case for weak points. "That is one of T'mor's arguments in favor of her model. She offers several in her Analects. Individual, random actions, which self-regulate into patterns. Entropy is an illusion. Temporal theory... actually... confirms some of that. It is one reason I chose to remain here for my research."
[[ I had one of those 1 AM while trying to sleep realizations about my muses here last night. Long-term RP friends you're about to learn one of Khaius's secrets because this is circling my brain like a hawk.
Okay so we joke about how we're "the most neurodivergent station in the Federation" but, no, no T'yel really is very autistic even by Vulan standards, and Khaius is very much ADHD-coded, so Laleen's already kind of doomed to be an AuDHD kid even with excellent parenting.
... But I kind of forgot that Khai has genetic modifications. Because that is just standard Aegis procedure. And I did not... think about whether this would also get passed along or if that might have consequences. I think I accidentally made a tiny Romulo-Vulcan Julian Bashir. ]]
[[ Jumping off this, there is a weird unspoken thing going on with Vulcans and Romulans where there are cultural taboos against genetic engineering (very, very strong ones for the Romulans) but they still practice eugenics. Arranged marriages on Vulcan evolved as a less violent solution to people kidnapping and/or selling into slavery individuals with desirable physical or telepathic traits.
This resulted in the Pelsh't and the Clan of the Eye acquiring cultural supremacy in antiquity, which resulted in the forced evolution of double eyelids and pointed ears across the entire species. Nothing about it was natural, and keeping old bloodlines intact, or keeping psionic gifts closeby, or just acquiring useful traits for your clan is still part of the equation. In Spock's World Surak's family business is literally trafficking mind-talents. Even in Spock's time, this is a problem: there's a book plot centering around Spock's niece being bonded to a Romulan boy as a political gesture, and that book does spiral into basically a very Vulcan version of Taken. Every time we're presented with a Half-Vulcan character the writers make a point to show us how speciesist they are.
So like... there's this unspoken truth underwriting a lot of Vulcan stuff where eugenics is bad, but only if you use technology to do it. The 'why' becomes abundantly clear in Vulcan's Soul: on ancient Vulcan, mixing the soul with technology was heresy; this logic extended to even the simplest uses of technology for reproduction, which led to a dwindling Romulan population in the exile fleet, which led to a Technocratic uprising, which led directly to the Ruling-Queen and Reman species.
There's a lot to unpack regarding Ni'Var's probable relationship to the Eugenics Ban and how it's actually REALLY conservative for them. ]]
[[ I had one of those 1 AM while trying to sleep realizations about my muses here last night. Long-term RP friends you're about to learn one of Khaius's secrets because this is circling my brain like a hawk.
Okay so we joke about how we're "the most neurodivergent station in the Federation" but, no, no T'yel really is very autistic even by Vulan standards, and Khaius is very much ADHD-coded, so Laleen's already kind of doomed to be an AuDHD kid even with excellent parenting.
... But I kind of forgot that Khai has genetic modifications. Because that is just standard Aegis procedure. And I did not... think about whether this would also get passed along or if that might have consequences. I think I accidentally made a tiny Romulo-Vulcan Julian Bashir. ]]
