TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

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TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Thu Mar 31, 2016 10:15 am

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Alpha Tauri III, commonly known as Aldebaran.

From there, SOL is a barely visible point of light, lost near the plane of the galaxy. Perhaps having been born on the greatest colony in the quadrant is why Marcus never quite established the emotional connection to distant planet Earth his fellow humans seem to uphold wherever they roam.

Sure, he experienced a whole bunch of patriotic jolts to his stomach back in his Academy days, when that ominous black and green block of steel showed up in orbit to say hi after blasting through Wolf, only to get blown to pieces by a straight-on-target Federation Starship's uppercut punch. That might have been the last time he'd experienced something resembling pride for feats accomplished by beings other than himself.

Well, a little morsel maybe, when his first set of cadets won the Rigel cup in '89, which he forced himself not to chalk up as a personal accomplishment. Five percent of all that could have been genuine talent in those boys, after all.

Okay, maybe ten.

Thing is, Admiral Warren Bonehead Brooks went to lengths over it, to try and prove that freshly appointed flight instructor Marcus Trevanion, also fresh Lieutenant Commander at the time, had bent the race's rules enough to be suspended from the neat and orderly facility he had kept running smoothly for the last three decades. Luckily, the committee knew how to read, remarking mister former hot shot racer Trevanion's tactics had been merely a case of reading between the lines, cleverly exploiting a hole in the rule book to gain a tactical advantage. Yes, the chrono of the last ship of the team across the line was the benchmark, yet nowhere was it said that all five pilots had to participate all of the tests, too. Divide and conquer, simple.

Appeal for suspension dismissed, new rule book two weeks later.

But it was already a certainty that 2392's public headbutt incident was an inevitability waiting to happen.

-

The resulting one year service suspension didn't actually get to him as much as he'd expected. Marcus could enjoy some time off, especially on Aldebaran, where the weather was okay, the food was tasty and cheap, and where the ladies were plenty and of various lineage.

The fact that he got assigned to active space duty once his "sentence" was served wasn't bad either. He liked it out there, after all, although his record didn't really showcase it. Easily bored and thirsty for new experiences, he never stuck to the same gig for long and managed to get behind the wheel of every ship class in the fleet, and then some. Having been stuck on board the Miranda class Port of Cornwall for the first twelve years of his life might have shaped that mindset and fueled his hunger for change, just a little.

What did get him all wound up was the simple notice he received with his assignment letter, about his wings being kept under indefinite suspension.

Wankers.

-

Today, Marcus sat around, aimlessly waiting for a ship that shouldn't have been on assignment in the first place, for a yet to be revealed non-NAV position which no-one cared to tell him about, stuck on a station with nothing but synthetol and expensive holodeck time, since last christmas. He felt bored out of his mind, thoroughly.

Somehow, this starbase had managed to become as unfriendly an environment as possible for new arrivals.

Even having selective bartenders, ugh.
Merchant with local business? Here, great real booze. Regular drunkard? Here, foul real booze. First timer of tourist? Not a drop, not even from the shitty bottle. Go find a replicator.

About the women? The nice ones were all taken. Stations should not allow families to live there. In fact, parents and their kids don't belong in space. Not as a home for twelve years or so, that is. The "okay" women apparently underwent a strict schoolyard nun style brainwash during inbound transport. So damn, well... cold.
All the others, on the other hand, were great. Really great looking, suitably interested in Marcus' tales, but all in it for the money. Ofcourse.
After some hot dark haired Portuguese broad in a red dress nearly broke his wrist for putting a cashless hand on her shapely thigh, he'd felt he had enough of it and resorted to sleep, exercise and old movies for the rest of that particular week.

And the law enforcers here! Come within an AU of a line, any line, and you're smacked up against a wall faster than you can say "go f...". Something to do with a double theft case some months ago. By ghosts, apparently, since nobody got caught yet. Shamed, on edge police are a bad thing. Real bad. Always on the prowl, ever quick to filter out and pick on the fresh meat, just to get their daily dose of justice juice.

Marcus Trevanion, again at Ensign now, felt he had been dealt a real shitty hand.

At least the news was up: that ship was on it's way back. Half wrecked and under tow. And with a captain that had a lot of explaining to do in her immediate future, or so was rumoured in the corridors. To Marcus, though, the real up was the ship itself. Intrepid class. Agile, fast, tough and hungry for space. Mostly fast.

Marcus "Racer" Trevanion liked things fast.
Things, and people, too.

He'd do almost anything to get out of this hell hole and get flying again.

-
Last edited by Gunther Vermeulen on Fri Apr 08, 2016 11:05 am, edited 1 time in total.
Lieutenant, Junior Grade Marcus "Racer" Trevanion
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USS Bremen
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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Einar S » Thu Mar 31, 2016 2:39 pm

that was one hell of an intro log! Sounds like an interesting character and I look forward to getting to know him
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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Thu Mar 31, 2016 6:06 pm

Hah! I love how difficult Harlan has made Trevanion's time on that station.
Brilliant over-lap of experiences, Gunther.

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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Thu Apr 07, 2016 12:43 pm

-

"You know what, forget it."

Marcus turned away from the promenade's police service desk with a dismissive hand gesture and muttering muted expletives under his breath. He shook his head before thinking better of it, sending sharp pangs through his temples, straight through the body numbing meds he'd taken. He clutched his head between his palms and started walking along the broad corridor, towards the latinum bank terminal near the far bulkhead.

His mind felt even more hazed, disconnected, as if floating behind and above his silvering cranium. This didn't feel alcohol induced at all, he knew how that felt all too well. Today's blackness was deep and felt alien to him. This was nothing like the usual churning sea, random thoughts beneath the surface, waiting to come up and recreate the previous night's events, as in a... normal... hungover sunday. This was a hole, though, with nothing there at all.

Marcus Trevanion remembers what he does, all of the time. With some delay at times, but he still does. This morning, though, his head hurt. Real bad. His night was missing and so was his wallet.

Gentle coughing behind him indicated the guy in front of him had moved away, allowing access to the banking screen here. He stepped closer, quickly peered over his shoulder and let the panel scan his body DNA.

"Oof."
He audibly sighed a breath of relief at the sight of his latinum balance. Promptly, Marcus changed his transaction codes. At least, he couldn't lose anything over the five strips he was already missing this morning.

Swiping away his account, he left the terminal to the next customer and headed on towards the large blue pair of UFP banners flanking the base's transition office.

An inch less stressed out, Trevanion thought back to the Bremen Heroes party last night.

Great food, healthy and varied, loads of fruit. Of the few things he took care in, a decent diet was something he never let slip. That, and his body care. Great physical condition had helped him rack up league wins in the past, and he liked to keep himself ready for any challenge that might arise, be it but in a holodeck for sport. Some other of his after hour plans benefited too, ofcourse.

Hey, stop straying from the subject.

Right. No alcohol anywhere in the room, no surprise. Then how the hell did the rest of last night happen? Never a fan of hallucinogenic drugs, he used to stick to either relaxing or energizing substances. Never on pre-competition days though, he wasn't the cheater some people wanted him to be.

Once on board the Bremen, he'd go look for a foreign substance intake analysis in sickbay. Not on this base here, with the local Doc under pressure to report any illicit finds to the brass up top. Great way to introduce his body to the ship physician anyway, he thought. They'd be seeing him regularly, he was sure, for checkups and bruises. And most starship nurses were pretty hot. And skilled.

"Crap."

A line, fifteen strong, at least. Breathing a deep breath seemed to bring him another few steps nearer to his own skull. He took his spot in the waiting row and tried to think of nothing for a while.

Took over half an hour to dwindle down to being fifth in line, but just standing there with an empty head did actually help him lighten up, calm down, feel a little more like himself. He tried a clearer approach to his predicament.

Okay, tricked by some cute looking chick, then? Wouldn't have been the first time someone went after his well known assets with a short dress, a smile and a sleeping pill. Had never worked though, he'd gotten immune to those by overdoing 'em in school. Well, first time for everything, right.

Couldn't have been that pretty young lady with the gold accented uniform. Far too nice, that one. Genuinely nervous when spoken to as well. He managed to catch her name, Mackenzie something, apparently number two in the ship's engineering department. Great hands, then. Nice.
Anyway, just as the old racer got her to join him for a drink, she got called front and centre to receive some award for her chief, who was probably too busy fondling bioneural gelpacks or something. Not her then. Too bad.

The blue science officer? Too busy getting congratulated. Couldn't have been the Orion twins, they'd been avoiding him ever since he found out they weren't real sisters. The Dabo girls were on watch by the cops, so no way either. That left still a whole maze of people, too many to keep wasting energy over, he thought. Over three hundred people there last light, over half female, Terrans, Trills, Bolians, Vulcans, Tellarite (eww), probably some Betazoids, more Andorians, a Cait, a Del...

Deltan! Shit.
Standard first year Academy error...

Trev looked at his shoes and scratched his scalp, trying not to laugh at himself for this. Even the remote chance of his hunch being right left him wanting to keep this under wraps, lest he be a subject of ridicule for months to come. He shrugged off the realization and smiled anyway.

Two more fresh cadets between him and his new, finally confirmed assignment.
His headache was finally beginning to lighten up, relieved that the damage to his wealth and pride wasn't very extensive, and probably containable. Marcus decided to drop the overthinking for now, or for good, never too much of a guy to linger on relatively trivial occurences anyway.

He stuck his head out of the line, two places to go.
At least he was looking forward to getting off this station.

Usually not a guy to turn up early, he'd gone out on a limb and hit the door chime to the docked Bremen two days early. Such an out of character event was decent enough proof of his motivation to leave this dank place, filled with misplaced ideals and smelling of children. Ofcourse that hadn't played out nicely for him, with the party and the broken ship and all. Folks were busy, so he just fell back to his normal reporting date, figuring these couple of extra days wouldn't hurt.
This urge, this... hunger to get back behind the wheel of a ship, was consuming his train of thought, though. Even through the headache this morning. He was absolutely certain to get his wings back, he just knew it. Starfleet couldn't really afford to keep one of its best pilots out of the NAV seat, could they?
He stepped forward with a start when the line in front of him had finally cleared.

"Thanks, babe. Be seeing ya!" He smiled and winked at the blonde officer before walking off and tapping the PADD he just received from her.

A few steps on, Marcus Trevanion froze in his stride.
He read and re-read the short but quite clear assignment letter six times over. It was there, no doubt about it, with the right signature and all: No wings yet, report to Captain Sumner for duty as Tactical officer.

He bared his teeth in an aggressive grin and launched the PADD down the crowded hall, landing it hard to the floor after connecting to a liason clerk's black briefcase. The guy just walked on, not even registering it. Marcus just stood, hands to his hips, trying to calm down with deep breaths, staring at the scratched document reader for a good while before stepping over and picking it up again.

One more read through, a quick count of the hours to go 'til reporting time, then he tossed the PADD in the nearest recycling bin. He marched towards the cash terminal again, determined to go and find, and get, that Aija, Ayia, Aa.. the Portugese one.

-
Last edited by Gunther Vermeulen on Fri Apr 08, 2016 11:00 am, edited 2 times in total.
Lieutenant, Junior Grade Marcus "Racer" Trevanion
Tactical Officer
USS Bremen
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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Thu Apr 07, 2016 4:45 pm

Man, the atmosphere in this log is wonderful.
I cannot wait to see how this magnificent ego interacts with the rest of the crew.

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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Einar S » Fri Apr 08, 2016 9:27 am

I love/hate him already. Great intro log, showing us last mission from the eyes of a stranger
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TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion - sd11604.28

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Thu May 05, 2016 10:37 am

With Aoibhe as the mysterious scantly clad jungle lady. Thanks!
.

Ernest Endurance
.

Well, they didn't die. Marcus was fairly certain about it, unless the afterlife is filled with constant, throbbing headaches.
He felt the cold from the Shackleton's duranium panels seep through his briefs and shirt, chilling his shoulders and bottom. In a corner then, he figured, propped up like a discarded mannequin, hands bound behind the back. Before shifting his body to feel for broken bones, he allowed himself a moment of patience as his blurred sight tried to return to normal. Then he slowly turned his head to the right, to see who was sitting in his rightfully claimed seat.

Bare feet... ankles... legs, tanned smooth legs. Legs that went all the way up to... his uniform jacket. Across the copilot seat, he noticed his uniform trousers. Maybe she'd planned to put them on too, and found them too big, or she'd been interrupted while dressing. Trevanion suspected it was the latter as he focused back on her from his position on the floor.

"Burro!" she cursed, rolling her R's in a passionate fury. She was leaning over the main conn console, jabbing her slender fingers at the darkened surface.

Marcus had to blink a few times at the surreal spectacle there, not quite sure whether he'd been lucky or doomed. The vista suggested the former, his bounds the latter. Well, in this whole "knocked over the head and apparently not rescued by the Bremen" sort of deal, that is. It took him a series of blinks to tear his gaze away from her. Hostage takers didn't like to be stared at when being spoken to, he'd learned that much during the war. So, he tried focusing on the set of numbers on this Type Nine's emergency supply cabinet before saying something.

"Gently, my lady. They might react better if you don't poke 'em so hard."
He found his throat was as dry as the words coming out of it and tried to swallow, which only resulted in more dryness. Marcus coughed, keeping his head down.
"Some water would be.. rrch... nice."

"The code... " she answered, frustration etching every heavily accented syllable, "Estou trancado para fora!" She slammed a hand on the unresponsive console and spun to face Trevanion, supporting herself in the console's edge. "Merda! Merda em tudo! Give me the access code."

"Code? Lady, this is a modern craft." Cough... "That panel scans whoever is sitting there, then acts accordingly. If it doesn't accept you, you're not in the database. Simple, eh?"
That line threw him back into a bout of dry coughing, after which he looked up at her livid expression. Awfully familiar, that look. He frowned and tried to dig up... something, anything.

"Simple," she nodded. Then she turned gracefully, opened a maintenance hatch, pulled out a hyperspanner, and approached him. "Up", she ordered, the spanner held ominously over her head.

He eyed the spanner for a moment, then sighed and stared at this woman's dark eyes. Angry, clearly. Unhappy, too, but perhaps not because of him. He'd seen that look before, the kind of subtle sadness that stays, doesn't grow or shrink, just exists as a part of one's persona. Curious.
"Sure, my butt's starting to freeze off anyway..."
Marcus shuffled his legs so he could roll over to sit on his knees, then got up while sliding his body against the exit hatch. Not easy with bound hands.

She was shorter than him, but not by much. Her fingers tight around the metal handle, she brandished the spanner like a whip. Her dark, wary eyes trained on him, she ordered him to sit at the conn.

With a slow nod, he cautiously turned and walked to the front of the little vessel, stopping between the seats. Outside, there was no planet in sight, nor any indication of them being within a light year of any star. Only subtle starlight brushed the visible parts of hull outside the window. Constellations change when you fly around space, so navigators were taken on sector tours, to learn about the local night sky. Here, he saw nothing familiar, not immideately at least. Marcus had no idea where they were, but is wasn't anywhere he'd flown before.
After that short pause, he spoke over his shoulder.

"I'm afraid you will need to untie my hands, my lady. My tongue has many talents, but licking a shuttle out of warp isn't one of em."
She looked at him, mildly disgusted. Instead of replying she suddenly grabbed a handful of hair on the back of his head and pushed his cheek onto the cold console surface. It scanned his DNA, beeped approval, flickered once and came to life. "Computer," she said, her voice impatient, "disengage warp engine, reverse course." The shuttle complied, the glowing streaks that had flashed past the windows like so many fireflies slowed and shortened, eventually becoming tiny pinpricks of pure light.

"Keep your tongue to yourself," she added as she let go of his head and shoved him roughly. His head bumped into the MED cabinet next to the window, after which he slid ungraciously into the copilot seat, his right brow split, sending a thick drop of blood down his face.

There wasn't a chance of him shutting up, though.

"Ow... That wasn't very civilised, ey... spent too long on a planet with only apes, perhaps? Sheesh." He tried to shake off the impact, only to worsen his headache. "By the way: reverse course? To what? That whole damn system is gone by now..."
"Que?!", she interjected in alarm. Hyperspanner forgotten in her loosened grip she stared at him with growing concern.

It was only then that Marcus realized his commbadge, with buit-in translator, had been removed together with his jacket. That same jacket that was still the only garment this woman was wearing, no badge to be seen. As he turned to look, the sudden change on her face had made him frown as well.
"You... haven't seen?" He looked down to a random spot on the floor and couldn't help but feeling sorry for her. "The Bremen was there to blow up Delta Leonis, save two hundred million people on Deneva. Madness, I thought... I came down to evacuate...." Returning his gaze to her eyes "...you, from the surface, before..."

"Before you... destroyed a sun and murdered all these innocent peoples?" She didn't sound like she believed the words she was speaking. "No, no, this is not Starfleet's way. You don't seem very bright, you must be mistaken."
The guy didn't mind her thinking him to be dim. Being smarter that you appear is a very useful trait, he'd found. Still, her growing panic roused some sympathy from him, cracked skull or not, so he kept his voice as calm as possible.
"Well, Starfleet's ways have strayed a lot since the peaceful sixties, dear. Wars shift priorities, difficult stuff to unlearn, all that." He took a deep breath, his next sentence in a sigh. "Millions of Federation citizens versus a couple thousand aborigines..." He shrugged. "Simple choice for the brass, really. Predictable. History's full of that kind of shit."
She glared at him, her dark, exotic eyes watering. Dropping the hyperspanner onto the pilot's seat, she moved over to him. "Sit forward," she ordered flatly. Moments later he felt the medkit strap that had bound his hands loosening.
"I will speak to whoever is in charge of you." She announced with finality.

While he took a deep breath of relief, Marcus felt the blood return to his fingers.
"Thanks... and yeah, back to the ship sounds good to me."
Grunting while flexing his hands and forearms, Trevanion felt happy to get clear with her. He had set out to check a random beacon and found a pretty exotic lady for him to rescue. Apparently, both of them wanted to find the Bremen, good. Feeling a little more relaxed, his memory clicked. Finally, he remembered why she seemed a tad bit familiar...

"You know, I don't think Captain Sumner can really answer any of those questions you've got. Might want to talk to Jacksmouth instead, the big brass who sent her the order. You'd have to wait until we pull into base again, of course. Although..." He scratched his scalp, as if trying to rub away the headache, then reached for the water bottle next to his seat. "...I don't think he'll want to make time for a woman, gorgeous as she may be, with a resumé like yours..." Marcus popped the cap and drank eagerly.

She tossed her long, black hair over her shoulders in a nonchalant display of indifference. "What?" she spat, "my resume?... A planet is destroyed, the people... how you say... who are in my heart... murdered, and you think to chat chat chat like old women about my past? I have no past! They have no future! This is a sad day, you... you... você é sem coração!"
"Hey, nothing personal, okay." Damn, she's edgy... "Yeah, the place is gone, and that's bad, I know. I protested about it in my first minute on the bridge, got some boring orders as a reply. That's the chain of command for ya."
He stared at her for a minute, having difficulty to keep his eyes from wandering downward, then looked away, shook his head and tossed her the pair of trousers she wasn't wearing.
"I didn't mean to minimalize dear. Just fair warning, that's all. It's just, I've experienced the admiralty up close for years, didn't do me any good either."
"Take me to your leader," she replied, clutching the baggy trousers tightly. "We shall see..."
"That we will... Should make for an interesting chat. We'll have to find her first, though."

Trevanion's hands slid across the console, activating the little ship's scanners. He hoped the force from the nova hadn't pushed them out too far. Although he wouldn't mind spending time with his charming travel companion, Marcus was slightly concerned about the Bremen's no-show. She was far faster than the Shackleton, with better sensors, so, yeah, there was a knot of worry gnawing in the back of his head. As the long range scan started to round its arc, another thought seemed to beg his attention, too. Without looking up from the flickering panels, he asked her.

.
Lieutenant, Junior Grade Marcus "Racer" Trevanion
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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Einar S » Thu May 05, 2016 1:21 pm

YES WHAT IS HER NAME??
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TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion - 11605.12

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Sun May 22, 2016 2:22 pm

(This one takes place in the week between arriving at SB16 and the terrorist attack)

With Aoibhe as Ajya, sole survivor of the Delta Leonis III Supernova disaster.

.

star date 11605.12

.

TAC's quarters, almost eight in the evening.

Chili bubbling away on the stove, chickpea nuggets in the fridge, bottle of pure Old Aberdeen natural sparkling spring water on the table. Next to the wine, of course. Ever since those dumb Earthlings thought it wise to come up with something as ridiculous as synthetol, the local wineries had been free to export their brands off world.

Therefore, this bottle of Vinho Verde hadn't been too hard to find, nor too expensive. Perhaps she'd like it, perhaps not.

Drinks should be fit for the occasion, always, but that's as far as it went. He didn't care for his other usual bits of effort, the small details, the roses, candlesticks, finer silverware and incense burners. Not tonight. No, this was to be an attempt at proving he was not as heartless or disconnected as most people had thought him, told him, made him. Try and convince, not her (he was quite certain her mind was set solid on virtually any conceivable subject anyway), but himself. Mostly.

Definitely.

Marcus poured two small flute glasses of Douro, to accompany his bowl of baton-cut raw veggies with wasabi mayonnaise.

Finger food, easy as anything. He had shut the bottle's cap, set it away to keep cool, heard footsteps coming to a halt out in the corridor. The chime sounded and the door slid open. "I hope this is not too hot," she remarked as she swished past Trevanion in a Burgundy dress, handing him a plate full of small flakey pastries smothered in a thick layer icing sugar.

"Thanks, and welcome." he answered while looking down at the overloaded collection of fats and sugars. "Those look pretty..."

He glanced at her walking towards the table, swaying curves and all, but feeling strangely dis-affectionate about her rather obvious and undeniable attractiveness. He walked over to the kitchen console he had made the tech guys put in - "You want me on a ship and not fly her? Then this is the deal..." he had told the chief of assignments on the Starbase - and set down the plate on the far left side.

"Chili needs a couple more minutes, so grab some greens if you like." He turned back to face the lady and gently reached for the fortified wine.
"Apero?"
"Yes," she replied, hesitated and added "thank you."

Her deep, dark eyes watched him intently, like a cat in the hunt as he poured her glass, then his own and passed one over to her. "How is your head?" she asked out of nowhere.
"Not like it used to be yet. Guess I'll have to go see our large-lobed friend about it... Well, I've had hangovers that were far less comfortable, so It'll be fine." He smiled, genuinely, for a second. "How are you holding up?"

She took a deep mouthful of wine in reply, flashing Trevanion a look loaded with regret. It was a remarkably honest expression for one so closed off. "I am disgusted your Captain has agreed to keep your mission secret. Those people deserve better."
"She's going to want a lot more of those..." Marcus though about the wine.

He took a long and deep breath, filled up her glass again and shook his head. "Yeah. 200 million Denevans saved by supernova! I've seen the headline... Nothing about any planet of course. Damn brass care only about themselves, they do! Ever met an Admiral that was no string puppet? I haven't, not sure those even exist."
"You are very cynical for someone in Starfleet," she observed, turning her body towards him with interest. "Were you this judgemental before you blow up the sun?"

An avid fan of gracious lines, Trevanion couldn't help but notice that dress hugging her quite captivating curves. Different from when he first saw them at the station, though. They were no longer empty, but filled with regrets, and anger.

"I've been not one to keep my opinions or feelings to myself. Thought this supernova thing was outrageous, you know. Even before we found people on that planet. Told Jameson, got a shrug and some dull orders as a reply. That's Starfleet for you these days..." Marcus shook his head, getting rid of this visible build-up of agitation, not wanting to spoil his appetite. He raised his glass, emptied it and turned away towards the refrigerator, getting the falafels out for frying.

"I'm only here because I want to fly a fast ship."
Ajya filed that comment away til later.

---

The bottle was empty, a second one following fast on the heels of the first, and the pair were reclining on Trevanion's sofa.
"... and before I knew it, my brother had let go of the rope, and I fell three feet into the lake." She laughed at the memory, "he swears it was an accident, but I don't think so."
She sipped her drink and turned to rest the glass on the small table.

Marcus smirked into his glass, nearly spilling wine on Ajya's dress.

He too set it on the table, his hand glancing the fabric over her left knee. Accident, habit, who knows... For once, he wasn't purposely building warm tension when alone in a room with a gorgeous woman, any woman... and it felt awkwardly good. Last time he'd gotten this relaxed in any circumstance, was the last time he rode a racing car across Aldebaran's salt desert.

Ajya noticed the reflex and leaned to pick up the bottle they were working through. She poured enough to fill Marcus' glass, then finished the bottle into her own. It was a good wine, she noticed, a nice warm buzz, but as always, she had been able to enjoy the effects without losing her head. Marcus, she hoped, didn't have that training.

"I have made a decision," she announced, her smouldering eyes turning from her wine to him. "You are not as stupid as I first thought." She threw him a half smile, almost shy.
The silvering man arched his brows in surprise.
"Am I now? A lot of people would disagree with that, my lady. Hell, even I do, considering where I ended up..." He looked around the room, which could have been a lot more posh, had he not picked a fight with the wrong Admiral two years ago. With a decent swig from his glass, he turned back and took a moment to study her face. He felt light headed, but not enough to let his guard slip, at least that's what he believed.
"I don’t want to be here, wings clipped. You don't want that either, you were good as you were. Yet, here we are sat. A gorgeous woman with no past and an ageing playboy with no future."
To that, Trevanion clunked his glass against hers and downed it in one go.

"Tell me then, why am I beginning to feel we're well on our way to doing something irrationally stupid?"
"Because," she purred, her accent lacing every syllable, "at the end of every very good bottle of wine, is a very, very bad idea."

Marcus knew all about those, he lived for them, by them. As the alcohol hit his head, he felt some of his restraint drop and his eyes wandered up from Ajya's eyes, into her hair, imagining his hand following there. Down along those curls, touching her shoulder, sliding down over the soft fabric and feeling warmth underneath to her hip and onwards to her bare ankle and feet. God, did he want to throw her on the mattress and rip off that intentionally feeble burgundy attempt at concealment and have his way...

Marcus looked up and locked eyes with her, leaning in close, their noses merely centimetres apart, and rested his left hand on her right thigh.

"Very bad, indeed."

Without looking, Marcus took her hand and kissed Ajya's palm instead, before letting go and leaning back in the sofa, legs crossed.

"Why did you say yes to my invitation?"

"I was hungry," she replied immediately with a bite of her bottom lip. She shifted a little closer to him on the small sofa. "Hungry," she repeated, her attention gliding subtly to his mouth, "and I needed help."

He knew this was coming, felt it all along, so a noticeable little smile appeared around those lips of his that she was so intently watching. Of course she'd want something, the question was what... With no access to sensitive data, reliable people or stacks of latinum worthy to behold, Trevanion wasn't entirely certain what this veiled woman was chasing. Must be more than mere pleasure, he thought, although she was showing some of the tell-tale signs of failing self-control that Marcus knew how to spot. Her wandering eyes no longer locked on his, he was free to explore the long strands of wavy dark hair that were dangling between them now that she was leaning closer, with his gaze at first, then with a gentle hand.

Perhaps she wanted his piloting skills and access to the Federation internal markets to go fetch something for her. Possibly. He wasn't keen on smuggling, never needed to.

His fingers played with the ends of those curls, watching them twirl and bounce. He spoke silently, barely above a whisper.
"Tell me, my lady. What is it exactly that you would have such... dire... need for?"
"I need," she replied, her voice a barely audible growl, "to get off this ship," she leaned in a little more, her eyelids heavy and her breathing uneven, "and away from this station." Her hand rested urgently on his chest, her fingertips pressing hard against him, "I need you to help me... disappear."

Well, he could do that. He knew the galaxy by heart. Well, known space at least.
"Sure." Marcus whispered, right before swiftly sliding his hand through that silky hair to the back of her neck, closing those last few centimetres and kissing her, hard.
She let him kiss her. She told herself it was a means to an end.

---

The next morning, she stirred, her bare back visible as the sheets moved.
It would take a few more moments for her to notice the bed was empty and cold, except for her warming presence, of course.

As per his weekday routine, Trevanion had woken up early. For a good while, he had studied these gracious curves next to him, spine, shoulders, hair... and had slid off the king size bed, careful not to wake Ajya.
A hot shower followed a cold one, then a sonic session and a rather vain microtrimming of his beard, and back to his kitchen he went.

As soon as he heard silken skin sliding among soft bedding, he smiled and called out.
"Breakfast? We have rye toast, tofu scramble, soy sausages, spinach and apple smoothie and some pineapple juice. All freshly replicated and cooked by this guy here!"
Ajya could smell the delicious aroma wafting from the steaming hot pan.
Using a fork to empty the contents of the pan onto both plates, Marcus was aware this could easily be the only decent meal he'd be able to prepare this week. Who knows what kind of barge they'd be on by noon, eh.
Ajya sat up as he entered the bedroom. Her hair was tousled, her posture relaxed as she surveyed the platter laid before her with interest. "When do we leave?" she asked.

"Good morning." Marcus said calmly as he sat down to eat. He continued while chewing a piece of bread. "I've sent a request to station OPS for a two-man civ craft, Warp six minimum, to rent for the week. Should be ready in about two hours, so you'll have time to abuse the replicators for a full pack of clothes and gear..." Taking a swig from the chilled fruit juice, he couldn't help but cursing fake fruits in his mind. "You can also use my water shower, if you like." The guy wiped his beard after downing the rest of the sweet and tangy liquid, then looked at Ajya's eyes for a moment.

"So, have you got a destination in mind? Aldebaran is within reach from here. Great weather down south, I checked."
She raised her dark gaze from her breakfast suddenly, meeting Marcus' eyes. "You checked?" She kept her expression neutral. "With whom?" she asked, picking up some toast and biting into it.

Marcus looked at her and arched a brow. "With... the... weather forecast for this week? Plus, I was born there, attended seven years of boarding school in New Aberdeen, was a test pilot at the shipyards for eleven, and just spent over fifteen months confined to the surface without wings." He winked. "Great weather. Bit crowded though."

She chewed as she thought. "Let's find somewhere less busy." She stretched, her body clearly outlined under the light sheets. "That way, whenever the mood strikes, we can take the initiative." She smiled cheekily.

"Three days out, that's the farthest I can get you. Still over seventy hours of cruise, on autopilot. Plenty...", he said with another wink while biting off a piece of hearty sausage.
She conceded without uttering a word. Instead, she sipped from her glass, and began to eat. "A man of many talents..." she remarked as she ate.

---

"Aldabaran, thirty minutes out." He turned from his rare visit to the pilot seat. "Better get dressed."

Moments later, the ship dropped to impulse for the last leg of their approach.
Marcus zipped up Ajya's duffel bag while she brushed her hair, face turned away from him, looking at the growing planetary vista outside.

"So... What will you do? Find another scrap worthy shuttle and disappear?"
"Maybe... Or perhaps I'll lie low for a while. I hear that the weather on the southern continent is very nice right now." She swept her hair over her shoulder and turned her body in a graceful arc. She smiled a rare smile in his direction before stepping over the evidence of last night's wine towards him. "I can't thank you enough for your help," she purred, her exotic lilt a familiar sound to Marcus at this stage. He flashed a short smile back at her and stroked her cheek. "You've thanked me far more than I deserve, dear." He let go and looked past her at the aft bulkhead. None of this was going to diminish the facts. Bremen blew up Ajya's adopted planet and nothing's going to bring it back from the dust.
"I just hope you'll find what you're looking for." Trevanion turned away and started towards the pilot seat. "We should begin landing procedures..."
As he turned, she seized the opportunity. Slipping a hypospray out from her sleeve, she pushed it hard against his neck and activated it. "No need," she said, as she broke his fall. "I'll take it from here."

She stepped over his sleeping body into the transporter, set it to delete her destination after transport, paused as she graced him with one last, smoldering look, then disappeared in a shimmer of blue light.

---

Three days on, Trevanion eased the luxurious tender into its home berth at starbase sixteen, having enjoyed the solidary ride back more than he expected. Ofcourse, she wouldn't tell him where she'd go. Hell, she probably never set foot on the Diamond Coast down south, hitching a ride on a freighter or something.
He didn't mind, would've done the same.

Marcus wasn't one to let his mind linger on things and events, no matter how pleasant or dramatic. He'd taken only the prescribed minimum of four days off to bury his parents. Well, the thought of them anyway. Nothing different to this case, then. Oh, he had a great time with this Ajya lady, detached as she'd stayed through all of it. He might remember her still in twenty years time. Maybe. Probably.

Definitely.

One thing Marcus Trevanion was best at though, on top of the flying, drinking and whoreing, was letting go.

So, just like that, as he unbuckled and got up from the helm, he did.

.
Lieutenant, Junior Grade Marcus "Racer" Trevanion
Tactical Officer
USS Bremen
-
CW3 Andrew Harlan / SFI & Section 31 Admiral Cix Jordaïn, AWOL

Commander

Posts: 958
Joined: Sun Feb 02, 2014 3:47 am

Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Thu May 26, 2016 12:58 am

Never got to read the ending when we were writing this, Gunther. I think I'm gonna love having Trevanion around.

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