TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Thu Oct 06, 2016 7:35 pm

Marvelous writing, G!
It's given me such ideas, too. :D

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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Thu Oct 06, 2016 7:42 pm

Uh-oh...
Lieutenant, Junior Grade Marcus "Racer" Trevanion
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USS Bremen
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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Thu Oct 06, 2016 7:52 pm

Gunther Vermeulen wrote:Uh-oh...


You bet your sweet ass "uh-oh"!

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TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion - 11610.20

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Sat Oct 29, 2016 9:23 pm

(Ths one happened before last thursday's mission. I just hadn't gotten around to finishing it yet.)


sd 11610.20

.

Since about half an hour, things had been relatively quiet on the Jadotville's bridge. No phaser hits, exploding consoles or spooks had interrupted the rather confused security team's tentative peace as they assessed their troubles. Meanwhile, ozone oozed from the ready room's inner bulkhead panels as Mac and Illin made slow progress on cutting into the hardened duranium escape pod access hatch.

Martin and Turimi'n, bloodsworn comrades since childhood, stood on watch, shoulder to shoulder, their combined arc of vision covering the whole shoddy room. Naturally up for just about anything, they still did not regret coming down here. Yet. Always happy to volunteer, even pushing the effort themselves at times (like inspiring Marcus' little entertainment project), both Warrant officers sincerely felt they were living up to their task as protectors. As long as they stood together, they could and would never back down. The only thing that gave away a hint at their inner turmoil, was the odd notion of them not chatting to eachother all the time like they used to.

Behind them on the floor, Chokra Mahassiné worked with just as much determination, and worry.

After careful examination, well... as thorough as possible without removing that scathed but intact EVA gear, the ochre skinned petty officer had found Ensign Anne Colchester's concussive injuries to be "containable": one cleanly fractured clavicle, one badly torn set of knee ligaments. Once the suit's built-in painkiller shot would take effect, Chokra's trusted chef would be able to climb out of this wreck of a starship on her own, albeit without brandishing that favoured phase pulse rifle of hers. Still, Mahassiné was determined to support her throughout. "Girls gotta stick together, right." she mumbled.
Anne hadn't registered. She was still teethgrindingly cross with herself for losing her cool 'cause of some random holograms.

"Nathan, Catch!"

With Trevanion and Darloch keeping an eye on the ready room from just inside the door frame and undoubtedly discussing Officer-like things in hushed tones, Krull had taken the liberty of copying the data he'd extracted from the "USS Registerless" to a second stick and tossed it over to Nathaniël Davis, who caught the light metallic data module without looking. Sat half-slumped in what remained of the Nova class ship's Captain's chair, slow-witted space ace Davis struggled with the current situation. Despite being aware of his non-redundant position on the team, he felt an intense need to remove himself nonetheless. Shifting his non-multitasking attention to Krull's voice distracted the poor guy just enough to keep him from getting lost in those desperate thoughts.

"Hey Krull," young Davis spoke in an already apologetic tone, "how do they start their letters to you? I... I don't want to be rude or anything, but you guys don't have a mister and missus difference, right? Just curious, you know me..."

The older data specialist wasn't feeling up for an encyclopedic litany about his J'naii origins, but hadn't the heart to ignore away his colleague's innocent enquiry either. He took a deep, slow breath, looked up and somehow managed to conjure up a weak excuse for a smile. "Let me get you a printed file on my race, eh Nathan? then you can take as long as you like, reading about me and my kin, once we get back to the Bremen."
"If."
"What?"
"I said if. If we get back."

Everybody had heard Davis' remark and silently stared at each other for a few long seconds, afraid to agitate that hanging question into ballooning out of proportion.

Nathan just shrugged at Krull.
"But, thanks. I'll study it really good."
"Well."
"Huh?"
"Nothing, Nathan. It's okay."

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

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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Sun Oct 30, 2016 8:41 pm

Gunther, I long for the day when I can write conversations like these. This is so atmospheric and creative.
Nice one!

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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Einar S » Sun Oct 30, 2016 10:37 pm

seconded!
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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby C. J. Short » Thu Nov 03, 2016 10:22 pm

FNGs, right? Nicely written, G :)
"As long as I have a want, I have a reason for living. Satisfaction is death." - George Bernard Shaw, Overruled

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LtJG Marcus Trevanion and LtCmdr Anya Jameson - 11611.06

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Sun Nov 06, 2016 5:21 pm

TAC Lieutenant Junior grade Marcus Trevanion
&
CTO Lieutenant Commander Anya Jameson

Stardate 11611.06

.

Once nurse Wilson had finally granted the away team members permission to leave sickbay (barring Illin, Mac, Hitch and Colchester, who needed to stay in a while longer), Trev had scooted off to his room for a thorough rinse and a cask strength shot to try and numb the overload of sensations he'd experienced down on the Jadotville's upper deck.

Not feeling up to running at all, his training routine was out the window, too. All he wanted was a decent bit of rest, in his comfortable couch, with some relaxing music on.
Unsurprisingly, the pilot-with-guns fell fast asleep in mere minutes.

.

A full two days later than originally planned, and relatively confident of his regained calm, Marcus made his way to deck six, where both of Bremen's holodecks were located. "Good thing Commander Jameson rescheduled." he thought. He hadn't bothered dressing up, the simulation would take care of any appropriate vestimentary requirements.

Upon arriving, he was quite happy to find the number two installation ready to go, access limited to only Jameson and himself, and nobody else in sight. Instead of risking exposure by coming down in person to see who'd had overridden their privileges, Craig and Craig's inquisitive message concerning the cancellation of their "time" was impatiently sat in Marcus' private inbox, which he hadn't bothered to check.
With a confirmation of his identity and clearance code, Trevanion stepped through the sliding doors.

He found himself in the last moments of twilight, underneath the back street's solitary lantern in front of the red framed bar door. One hand pocketed in his holo-applied black summer wool pair of fine trousers, he felt infinitely more at ease, the ruby cuffed black shirt fitting snugly underneath that dark burgundy waistcoat he designed himself.
Clicking his faux forcefield-and-replicator generated burgundy laqcuered shoes and stroking the edge of his Brixton Messer hat, Trev leaned his shoulder against the lamp post and waited for his superior officer to join him for supper.

.

Anya walked along the corridor towards the holodeck, not too sure what to expect, having left the details to Marcus. She took a shallow breath as she reached the doors, thinking that she had just set herself up for an extremely intense evening. She was going to find out what was going on with this ship, and how Trevanion had been dragged into the mire that goes along with the Section.
Stepping forward, she tapped in her clearance code, and entered through the swishing doors, glancing around and absorbing the atmosphere as she did so.

"Great, a theme..." She puffed quietly, before raising her voice. "Computer, generate appropriate attire for the program, and apply to myself." She almost thought she heard the hum at the same time she felt the clothing around her change, a sudden tightening around her torso and a hat forming on her head. She looked down at herself and groaned. Really? This was the type of program they were using?
The dark red dress had definite tones of Rita Hayworth, as the seams of her tights moved gently against her calves as she walked for the street towards the person leaning on the lamp-post ahead of her.

"If your program dresses me like this, Marcus, I need a drink to go along with it."

Looking up from underneath his own hat, Trevanion smiled, a tootpick sat firm between his teeth. Jameson looked the part in that outfit, which he only acnowledged with a quick glance down and up, nothing more.

"I knew you'd like it." He looked up, then left and right. "Made it myself, only last weekend. Had it tested with a few enlisted folks, runs as smooth as a Deltan's b.. err, yeah. Plus, it's the only program I'm fairly sure about being safe from external eyes."

Turning towards the bar door, which was promptly opened by an equally immaculately dressed doorman, Trev made a curt nod towards Anya.

"Shall we, commander?"

"We shall indeed Marcus. And how do you know how smooth a Deltan is?" She raised an overly plucked eyebrow, a gift from the holo-deck gods as she slipped by the doorman into the bar. A few steps in, she stopped, fully absorbing the atmosphere.

"Woah Marcus, you spent a lot of time on this. You sure you want to use it for something as sordid as the conversation we about to have?" She could taste smoke on the air, liquor, and something else she couldn't quite place.

The greying man entered after her and slid past, motioning towards a table that had been dressed for meals, a small aluminium plaque reading "reserved" included.

"Couldn't build a secure environment without having a, err... slightly less covert reason to shield it from the outside." Mid step, Trev caught the Monroe inspired and burlesqsue clad blonde atop the central stairway in the corner of his eye and quickly waved her away.
"Come, sit. I'm starving..."

Hiding a shadow of a smile as it seemed a previous holodeck conquest, or programmed conquest, tried to grab Trev’s attention. “You definitely ensured all desired features are present in your program. She’s very… obvious.”
Looking around again, she could almost see certain crew members already relaxing in the setting, enjoying the company being provided, and the smile became more obvious.
“Don’t let the Captain in here, we may never see her again.”

Anya followed her party to the surprisingly elegantly set table, “Candlelight? Is there going to be dinner and a show involved in this business meeting?”

Marcus chuckled at that as they were sat down by the waiter. "No, commander, just the food." Not bothering with the menu, he ordered the chef's pasta and some garlic bread, then turned back to Jameson while she flipped through the available options.
"So, what would you like to know first?"

Keeping her eyes on the menu, she didn’t miss a beat with her first question. “How did they approach you?”
The professional question was immediately undermined by the noise of her stomach growling as she perused. She threw Marcus a sheepish grin. “And I’ll just have the same as you.”

Taking his cue, the waiter nodded and turned away. Sliding past the robotic bartender (a voice activated drinks mixing machine on a rail, basically), he disappeared into the back kitchen area.

"Right, well... Down on deck thirteen, during my combo routine, the day Hitch and I unexpectedly got cleared from suspension, a woman appeared. Vulcan, not very old, black uniform. Thought Sumner had put some cadet on me as a hound, but one holding a leash, onto me, you know...?" He blinked and poured water from the unmarked blue bottle into both their bell glasses. "Anyway... There she was, asking me out about the terror strike and the Federation, saying she had a hand in lifting those shooting-a-reporter accusations, telling me I've got potential and promising rewards if "they" would decide to use my... abilities in the future. And poof she went, up a tube and out of sight." Trev took a swig of ice cold water. "Back onto the base, I guess. Werid, all that."

Anya sipped from her glass as she listened, watching the man in front of her intently as he talked, looking for signs of deception. She returned her glass to the table when he finished.
“You saw her again, or has this been all?”

"Yeah, I saw her again alright..." He glanced off to the side for a moment; "You know, that Hitch fellow got approached, too. Messaged me about it the instant she'd left his room. And then the Captain, and then half the base, too. I kept it a little more under wraps, wanted to see what miss pointy's game was... Ah, food!"

On a dented silver serving tray, the waiter brought two steaming plates to the table. Broad cut fresh papardelle lathered with a sauce of roasted cherry tomatoes and artichoke hearts. Trevanion immediately dusted his dish with abundant Romano cheese and poured on a good glug of decent olive oil. All replicated ofcourse, but pretty well done nonetheless. Letting the fragrant combination settle for a minute, he continued talking to Anya.

"So, after mister science detective's stint with the overload bug thing, I messaged that agent, sort of. She turned up within the hour."

Leaving the topic of Hitch untouched, a vague feeling of dissatisfaction linked to his name though that could have just been linked to the fact that she had recently phasered him, Anya delicately twirled her now cheese covered pasta around a fork.
“You contacted her on your own instigation? Not involving Sar... the Captain?”
She took a mouthful of food, and rolled her eyes to show her enjoyment of the flavours, trying not to derail the verbal topic of conversation.

"That's... about right, yes."

A red wine was poured into both their faux crystal flute glasses, the bottle also left on the table.

"You see, at that point I wasn't at all convinced our lovely captain wasn't involved herself. She and that Bantree character... So miss Vulcan twenty-three-something pops up and ask me to run a trace on this little item here."
Reaching under his chair, Marcus pulled out a PADD and plopped it next to Jameson's plate on the table. Tapping it to life, Trev turned it around so she could read. "Real, this one. And not linked to the system."
His own fork plunged into the pasta.

“Eugh, Bantree. Sara told me about her at least. I almost regret taking a phaser blast for her now.” She put down her fork, and picked up the PADD, taking the wine with the other hand, smelling the richness as it neared her lips.

Marcus just looked down and ate, letting Anya concentrate on the text.

The wine never reached her lips as she read. They sat in silence until she had finished the whole thing. She coughed slightly, and finally brought the wine to her lips.
“And this is the document Sara wanted released? Pretty inflammatory.”
She sipped again. “And the Vulcan wanted to know the origins of the document? You suspect she knew that it came directly from the Bremen? And have you responded?”

Mouth full of food, Marcus mumbled "Aw you giddim? Ovcourfe nod!" and swallowed, also taking a glug of the wine himself. "See, I'm not a detective. I'm used to flying things, not hacking logs entries and stuff. Pointy is going to have to wait until I can serve her a result that's at least somewhat credible. Besides, we'd been out of Starbase sixteen since the amoeba thing popped up, and I believe she hadn't snuck onboard at Deep Space nine before we left there either. I even checked the pattern buffers and then purged 'em anyway," waving his fork in front of him the whole time "so I'm sort of laying low until Sumner decides what to do next. If that agent doesn't first pop up at DS nine when we get back, that is."

She choked a little on the pasta she had just placed in her mouth. “A tactical officer who isn’t into hacking and stuff…” She murmured to herself quietly as he continued.

Behind the bar, the tending robot loudly popped a bottle of faux Champagne, to mix into a faux Mimosa, to be enjoyed by a faux Brunette Jazz singer on her faux day off.

Marcus pricked up a piece of sauce covered veg and sighed. "Sara told me not to move forward on my own. Ofcourse, she also told me not to tell anyone about it, yet here we are..."

Anya waved her hand nonchalantly, as her fork was busy with the other. “She knows. Or at least suspects. We had a guarded conversation about it when I came back on board, and she knew my intention and gave me a green light to gather intel.”
Pausing before she continued eating, she looked Marcus directly in his eyes. “What are your feelings about this. I want it in your words, not through your head.

Trevanion sat immobile and stared for a second or two, then let go of the fork that had a good spinning of papardelle on it, resting it on the side of the plate before him.

"Feelings, eh. Well, I feel like kicking Bantree's ass all the way over to Twissel, and then have her look for planets around Delta Leonis, in a leaky space suit, with a loupe!" He turned the volume back down a little. "I am not a man of great ideals, Jameson. Really not at all, but this thing got me wound up, and I wasn't even there at Twissel myself."

He picked up the fork, only to put it down again and continue.

"See, I saw a chance at maybe, just maybe, getting my wings back. Maybe, doing that one insignificant little job for intel could wipe out the errors people have told me I had made. But this shit? Sheesh, it's larger, Anya. Larger then me, my ego, you or any of us."

Snapping up his utensil and downing its contents with barely any amount of chewing, Trevanion looked genuinely bothered by these events. Also emptying his glass of wine, and pouring another, he looked down at the swirly patterns the olive oil had painted in the leftover scraps of sauce on this white plate, passing over the analogy to the mess they could potentially be getting themselves into. Or have gotten into.

"I vote we go rogue."

"Against 31? It wouldn't be the first time I've done it, but I was a lot younger and way more foolhardy back then."

She chewed her last forkful of pasta and tomatoes slowly, thoughtfully.

"I know someone."
Marcus looked up in mild surprise.
"Not sure if they will reply, or even acknowledge me, but they used to be in deep with intel. They might know something. Hold fire on any action until I at least try."

She pulled the napkin from her lap and placed it over her mostly empty plate. She leant back in her chair with a contented sigh, and held her stomach in what felt like a now far too tight dress.

"It will give us another chance for dinner, and I can try something else off of your fabulous menu. And you can introduce me to your... friend." Anya gave Marcus a side eye and a sly grin, knowing that she was trying to distract, yet knowing that teasing wasn't going to solve Trevanion's situation.

His repliant smile was not much more than an unsuccessful facade to the growing feelings of unrest in his gut, and it must have shown quite obviously. Taking a deep breath, Marcus Trevanion knew they were fast losing balance at the edge of a very deep rabbit hole, one with not much of a chance of finding a ladder at its bottom. But it had to be done.
He let out a long and slow sigh, nodding in acknowledgment to his superior, confirming both his agreement to her plan and the order to sit on it for a while longer.

"Alright then. Desert, commander?"

Feeling full, but still tempted, she eyed a plate as a member of the waiting staff carried it to another table.

“Ask me again in 20 minutes…”

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

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TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion - 11611.10

Postby Gunther Vermeulen » Wed Nov 16, 2016 8:03 pm

.

Trev stepped out of the shower room in his quarters, throwing a large black towel round his waist, gazing around his living area while trying to wake from his lingering daze.

Yesterday, Staari had been a typical Vulcan in most areas, alright. Impeccably thorough, on many, many an interesting field. Stoic in her pose, difficult to read, that face. Very knowledgeable about a few rather unexpected subjects. Gemstones? Wouldn't have guessed.
The one thing that set her apart, for Marcus, was her abundence of well placed sarcasm, which (for a Vulcan) was leaning really close towards actual humour. And her no-brakes attitude, a complete lack of hesitation. And her apparently well developed, err... flight skills. OK, that's three, sorry.

Spotting the empty bottle sitting in the large plant pot next to his entry door, the greying man squinted in thought, shrugged, walked over to retrieve it and put it in the replicator alcove to recycle.

"Damn skilled," he mumbled. Staari's maneuvering about the far side of the wormhole couldn't be faulted, much to Marcus' dismay, surprise, appreciation even.
Not a chance of him getting anywhere near the helm with that one around, yet he respected those skills enough not to wish her away.
He'd read a notice of yet another flyman coming on this week, so, as a stand-in, Staari would find herself in much the same situation as Marcus himself. Great pilot being kept from the shiny stuff. That calls for a drink any day.

Trev couldn't resist throwing a glance back into his bedroom, at the ruffled sheet over the matress and the bunt-up insence in the stoneware dish on his headboard, the empty wine glass and the bump underneath the dark blue comforter, which might or might not... He blinked a few times and turned back towards his desk, rubbing his neck with that towel, wondering about the contents of his night's set of dreams.
Lieutenant, Junior Grade Marcus "Racer" Trevanion
Tactical Officer
USS Bremen
-
CW3 Andrew Harlan / SFI & Section 31 Admiral Cix Jordaïn, AWOL

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Re: TAC Ensign Marcus Trevanion

Postby Einar S » Wed Nov 16, 2016 8:20 pm

interesting!
Captain Jonathan Rome
Commanding Officer
USS Hyperion

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