Mreh K'hal

Should know better than to read one of your logs first thing in the morning, I almost covered my keyboard with coffee. Wonderful log!

Arr, mateys... I think we be out of rum.

Another thing to note is the tone of the sims in STSF. While all operate under the Star Trek™ umbrella, they each have their own distinct vibe. Some very serious, some very light, the rest somewhere in between. You probably have your own idea of where you fit in with that, and some players aren't compatible with one extreme or the other, you'll just have to search deep within yourself and come to that epiphany. Again I'll thumbs up the idea of watching sims before you apply, no better way to cover all the points discussed in this thread than to actually drop in and check things out.

 

Though, just because a sim is usually quite serious doesn't mean that it never has fun or wacky, either. For example, the Talon usually has very serious plots and very serious characters, but t'Rexan did jump out of a cake wearing only strategically placed whipped cream once. Okay, she nearly shredded the ship apart to find out who tampered with the holodeck, but you see what I mean. B) The same can be true the other way as well.

 

Good luck with your decision Aliana!

Okay, after careful thought and a few hearty laughs at the offerings...

 

Images is the winner. In the event that the new Mr. Caption Contest cannot fulfill his duties, Kansas Jones is the 1st runner up.

Well, since Huff hasn't put anything up yet I'll get this show back on the road, here you go!

 

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<div class="title">Up, Up and Away</div>

<div class="author">Lt. Mreh K'hal</div>

 

<div class="para">It had been a busy time for the Flight Control officers of the Excalibur as the ship and its crew progressed out of the ion storm and its universal instabilities. While complete manual control hadn't been required, every ripple from the ion storm had to be accounted for so constant vigiliance ruled that couple days. Due the strain of this type of flying, Mreh had cut up the piloting stints to limited three hour on cycles. The Caitian and his right hand woman Ensign Halloway had taken the first twelve hours this way, and then Ensigns Trylin and huWane took the second period, and then the leadoff artists took the last stint once again.</div>

<div class="para">Rarely did the furry lieutenant impose any rules than the obvious with his sub-department, but for this he had been more strict: not even any synthehol for the off-duty FCO's, no stimulants, a cap on simple carbs, and a rather lengthy "no-go" list for the replicator. He wanted each and every one of them to be sharp, non-jittery, and having no intestinal complications. The restrictions had paid off, and they had managed as a quartet to successfully pilot the ship out of the danger zone with only a few uncomfortable bumps over the long period. Since Mreh hadn't heard anything about Cdr JoNs with any more lacerations, the Caitian first officer had apparently managed to stay away from desks during those times.</div>

<div class="para">To pay back his flyers for their performance and their apparent following of his temporary No-Yum diet, he had provided each of them with one of his hoarded treats. Swiss chocolate for Halloway, a small Tarvokian pound cake for Trylin, and port-candied cherries for the Ktarian huWane. It had been the first time in his service on Excalibur that he'd done so, and the trio had been pleasantly suprised and much ameliorated for their prior abstinence; Mreh also hoped they were slightly awed by his ability to ferret out their favorite comfort foods and aquire them.</div>

<div class="para">So, now the helm was back to its normal status as they proceeded through open space toward the Satarimi. He could only hope that Corizon's unfortunate ability to suck trouble in took a few days off. Assuming they were able to get any leads out of the mysterious species concerning the Blood Cult and/or the Founders, they'd likely find themselves in trouble again when they started following up those leads. Mreh wasn't willing to put any money down on a short hiatus though; the new Excalibur was probably overdue for finding itself in a pitched battle against a determined foe.</div>

 

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There's a guy who trusts his karma quotient

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<div class="title">One Cat's Crush</div>

<div class="author">Lt. J.G. Mreh K'hal</div>

 

<div class="para">Shortly after waking up, Mreh wished he hadn't. His drinking binge had the expected consequence of a hangover, and as he stumbled out of bed with a paw plastered to the top of his head the wimpy part of his brain was whining about why the rest of his brain thought getting drunk was a good idea. Ordering the lights up to a mere five percent so that he could at least see shapes, he made his way into the bathroom and hacked up most of his stomach lining. With that out of the way, he was able to grope around and find his supply of analgesic and took a dose before returning to the toilet to sit on it and wait for the medicine to kick in.</div>

<div class="para">After a few minutes he felt at least Caitian again instead of some anonymous demon. He wasn't quite ready to do any dancing though, and ordered the lights up to twenty-five percent before stumbling into the sonic shower. He spent far longer in there than was perhaps wise, but since he couldn't work up any energy to assist the sound waves in their cleansing business he let the vibrations work unassisted a bit longer.</div>

<div class="para">He wearily slumped his way out into the main part of his quarters and sat naked at his small work desk. Crossing his arms on the desk, he laid his head atop them and contemplated things. He hardly ever drank alcohol, so he knew he didn't have much tolerance for it, nor did his body appreciate the overindulgence later, but he did it nonetheless. Usually his mind was reeling from some stress at the time, and he chose the binge as a cause of last resort; he'd shredded quite a few things over the last week, unfortunately some of them not holographic, and that still hadn't done the job.</div>

<div class="para">Part of it was the job: the discovered loss of the fighters in such a horrific manner coming right after the minefield incident; the incident with Segami on the bridge and the subsequent spat with JoNs. Mreh knew JoNs was not the cause but a precipitating stressor for his other issues as well. The poofy-tailed Caitian hadn't been that worked up over a female in his life prior to meeting her, though he had participated in a few dalliances beforehand, mostly with humans. JoNs however stirred up far more lust than he'd anticipated, or even believed possible. Chemistry was something he understood well as a doctor and biologist, but the reality of experiencing it couldn't quite connect with that intellectual abstraction.</div>

<div class="para">They'd had one very good night together, he and MVess, but duties and responsibilities had made another one impossible to this point. Anyone who says that sexual tension can't explode into other parts of their lives obviously is either a hermit or an asexual species, Mreh thought. His had, and it would take a while to put that particular Humpty Dumpty back together again. He hoped that he wouldn't have to wait for all the King's lackeys to help, otherwise he'd probably explode again. After all a guy could only do so much by himself, and he considered using holographic persona for that kind of release rather crude.</div>

<div class="para">He'd had an opportunity last night, as Betty wasn't shy about being available. It wasn't ethics that kept him from taking advantage of that; he had a tendency to throw the Starfleet rulebook out the airlock at the best of times anyway, so his position as her superior officer wasn't the issue. He was forced to admit now that though their relationship was far from mutual, in fact it was barely a relationship to begin with, he'd become stuck on her and didn't want anyone else.</div>

<div class="para">Mreh's conversations with MVess had led him to believe that there was potential between them as a couple and not just energetic lovers. Unfortunately, he wanted that energetic part quite a bit more than was probably healthy outside of an adolescent. Damned if he wasn't infatuated with a girl, something he'd managed to avoid successfully through his teen years. If only MVess would cooperate...</div>

<div class="para">"Grow up, kitten!" Mreh said to himself weakly.</div>

<div class="para">Rising to get dressed, he considered contacting Tia to ask how the Deltan celibacy thing worked. After chewing on that thought a moment, he gently shook his head.</div>

<div class="para">"No way in the nethermost regions of hell would I do that," he stated.</div>

 

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Caitians Rule! :: flicks tail playfully JoNs way ::

 

Besides being Kitty #2 on the Excalibur, I play a Romulan on Talon (of course). I've also had one Bajoran and one Vulcan character on sims I'm no longer on. Also, I've had human characters for guest roles and npcs. I generally find that npc characters are better human, since I don't have to really think about cultural/biological/etc. differences for the occasional line here and there.

As a rumor of NDak's return to hosting Academies and inflicting peril circulated ahead, the majority of the crowd looked on in disgust; the only man to seem excited about this news was obviously in a drug-induced haze.

If you don't regularly clear your cache in Safari, try that, you may have the old applet trying to run new protocols. I'm assuming you have OS X; there's a thread here that explains a java problem with OS X v10.3.9 if that's what you have that may apply. Otherwise, you may just have to wait for an updated version of Safari itself.

After landing and surveying the beach, the pilot was annoyed to discover that his "emergency" landing did not in fact put him on the nudist beach.

Recharging for the honeymoon

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<div class="title">Survey...</div>

<div class="title2">...Sanity?</div>

<div class="author">Lt. J.G. Mreh K'hal</div>

 

<div class="para">Mreh sat at the console in his quarters, his fang-filled mouth hanging open and his eyes as wide as they could manage while he looked over the survey that was sent from engineering. When tr'Lorin had mentioned the survey earlier, the helmsman thought it might be a joke; looking on it, he he couldn't help but think that it was an extremely funny one even when it wasn't funny at all.</div>

<div class="para">Knowing that Admiran had been on the away team that had been held captive while the Excalibur was off dealing with the minefield, Mreh wondered if the senior engineer had underwent psychological upheaval. Though, not really knowing the man well, he couldn't say if the survey and its tone was something unusual or not. Either way, it unsettled the Caitian's stomach a bit to know that the department head supposedly keeping the ship in one piece was certifiably nuts.</div>

<div class="para">With the survey CC'd to the entire crew, Mreh wasn't worried about reporting the issue, because everyone could see it. With an outspoken and blunt crew, especially the other department heads, he didn't doubt that someone would say something. He wouldn't even be surprised if MVess, after goggling at the survey for a few minutes, would do something.</div>

<div class="para">Mreh hoped that Admiran's psyche could be suitably repaired in short time, as all accounts pointed to the Trill being a very capable engineer. As often as Corizon liked to plunge the ship into danger, it seemed imperative to have a fully staffed department. Though having some experience with tr'Lorin, he knew they'd do fine in the interim.</div>

<div class="para">As for the survey, Mreh had intended to fill it out if it actually came. After looking at it, and the available answers, he decided that silence was demanded. Since there was no fill-in option on any of the questions, he couldn't be honest anyway. Saving the file in a miscellaneous slot in his account, Mreh then turned off the console, thinking. Would Admiran rather receive a technical manual in the loony bin, or something else? Maybe tr'Lorin would know.</div>

 

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The AP reports that Arthur C. Clarke, the legendary science-fiction author, has died today. He brought a lot of people into science fiction, including myself, and he will be missed.

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<div class="title">Excalibur Trading Block?</div>

<div class="author">Lt. J.G. Mreh K'hal</div>

 

<div class="para">Mreh lay sprawled over the bed in his quarters, contemplating the awful day they'd had collectively as a crew. Between losing a fighter squadron to unknown forces and having to rescue their away team on the planet, they'd suffered losses, trauma and psychological upheaval. Because they'd had to return to the planet, the exsanguinating enemies escaped, and it would take a great deal of effort to track them down again. That is if Corizon planned to do so, as the mission to find the Founders was still very much on the table.</div>

<div class="para">All of this coming on the heels of the conflicts with the Scorpiad, Hundred, Dominion, and anyone else who looked crosseyed at the Federation, it continued to be an awful experience for the good guys. It seemed that no matter their mission, their specific location, or the individual circumstances surrounding them, the Gamma Quadrant was far past being a pain in the tail and well on its way to being a cursed place.</div>

<div class="para">Most disturbing to the Caitian helmsman, however, was the way the fighter pilots were killed. Even the Al-Ucard's methodology was something physical, understandable. The almost mystical way those poor flyers died was quite unnerving, and it's impossible to create a defense to a weapon or technique that's unknown. Thankfully knowledge of it was limited to senior staff at the moment, because if the entire crew knew the morale decline would be horrendous. Unfortunately, Mreh doubted that blissed ignorance would last long though, and hoped that if Corizon wasn't planning on how to deal with it, that MVess was.</div>

<div class="para">Thinking of the delectable XO also made Mreh wonder what on Earth had happened when she followed Pilot into the turbolift. She'd come back with her claws flexing and extended; he hadn't seen any blood on them, so he assumed she hadn't used them as much as it looked like she wanted to. It certainly wouldn't be the first time the CMO had annoyed a senior officer, as Mreh had seen the fire flashing in Corizon's eyes at the doctor's behavior. Nor did the Klingon hybrid restrict his annoyances to the top, as Mreh himself had wanted to use his claws when he'd been suffering in sickbay. However good Pilot may be with medicine, his bedside manner, hell his anyside manner, left much to be desired.</div>

<div class="para">As he couldn't count himself an expert at keeping up with the JoNs, yet, he had come to know her well enough to know she certainly wouldn't have left the bridge under Yellow Alert unless the doctor had really put his foot in it, and that she'd certainly have taken at least some temporary measure. He could only hope that when she cooled down, and he imagined that even now she was still simmering, that she wouldn't just let it go. Something had to be done. Mreh himself was in favor of trading Pilot to a Klingon ship for a warrior.</div>

<div class="para">With Victria in security, they could certainly use someone capable of matching her intensity and physical prowess. Not to mention giving her someone to drink from that'd like the attention. Doubting that fantasy would come true, however, he fastened his hopes instead on a more realistic on-record condemnation. Anything that would settle down the medical department would be worthy of hurrahs. He could only thank whatever fates there may be that there's a little sanity in the medical department in Dr. Kas... Zier. Well, being pregnant, maybe a little hormonal sanity, anyway.</div>

<div class="para">Well, whatever happened then and might later, Mreh figured he'd be able to get her to tell him some of it, eventually. Smart enough to let her alone for the off shift hours right after work, he hoped he could wrangle her into breakfast in the morning. Of course, Pilot would only be an afterthought in that conversation. He hadn't been able to spend as much time with her recently, between their separate duties; he was eager to rectify that. Not only eager, but desperate. With the recent troubles on all counts, Mreh figured they both could use a bit of a distraction.</div>

 

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Duuude, this venom is awesome! :: giggle ::

Very nice, Cori... though I am curious. Has anyone bought an Excalithong yet?

I would first suggest that when you get into the chat rooms next time, right click where all of the chat comes up in the room and make sure that "Ignore IM's" is not checked. If it is, click on that and that should solve your problem.

Man causes Risan government to consider new admissions policy.

"I actually prefer tall, dark and handsome; I'm afraid you're just tall."

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<div class="title">Poor Timing</div>

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<div class="author">Lt. J.G. Mreh K'hal</div>

 

<div class="para">"Damn everything to hell twice and back again!" Mreh thought for the fiftieth time since the raiders had struck.</div>

<div class="para">It had been a hell of a time for the maximum seat time rule to bite him. Since most of his last shift at the helm had been doing anything but flying, he thought it shouldn't have applied, but the regulations didn't bend, and reprimands and notations of defying the regs could lose him his pilot's license much too quickly. So, while the Excalibur had faced its first combat scenario since launching, someone else had the luxury of flying the ship while he could do nothing but twiddle his thumbs.</div>

<div class="para">He'd gone to the science labs during the red alert, putting himself at his auxiliary duty station. Before he left, Mreh would have to put in a maintenance order, as he had put a few holes in the seat. It was really getting time to trim his claws.</div>

<div class="para">"Next time," he vowed, "I'll be in the seat."</div>

 

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The fashion police have been dispatched to arrest a man with a home-made disruptor. Chief Klein reports that wearing a magenta headband clashes with the yellow striped warning tape on the weapon. The suspect will likely be charged with use of an illegal accessory.

When he allowed his wife to build his float for the parade, he didn't expect her to use it as an expression of her true feelings.

The attempt to hide the smuggler plane failed miserably, FBI sources said.