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bangingonoutCosette glanced down at her PADD and began to speak, her voice too soft and too sweet, though matched the mission at hand. "So, as you've been briefed, according to biological scans, we should be able to find a handful of plants here that seem to have the same genetic makeup as the plants we'd otherwise find on Earth: Aloe vera, Centella asiatica, Paullinia cupana, and Hypericum perforatum. I've--"
"Calendula maritima, too." Bahorel cut in, startling Cosette, who blinked up at his interjection. In brief explanation, a little gruffly, "That particular species has been extinct on Earth for a handful of centuries now, so it won't be in the database, and there doesn't seem to be a lot of it around here as is."
Cosette nodded, though it was nearly more a disconcerted quiver in confusion than it was any inclination of the head. Bahorel continued, unperturbed, to the rest of the retrieval crew. "If anyone finds it, grab me or Fauchelevent. Don't fuck around with it; Joly'll find good use for it (so long as no one's allergic), and the last thing you want on this lost-in-space adventure is to upset your CMO." His gruffness gave way to a slightly sentimental touch, though, a slightly softer tone. "And even if he can't, at least we'll be able to take some home with us; if it's managed to last out here, maybe we'll be able to reintroduce the strain on Earth."
"Good to know that the lieutenant has his priorities in check!" Bossuet murmured to the person nearest him.
With a nod of approval to continue from Bahorel, Cosette picked up where she'd left off, eyes set on her team. "All of the aforementioned plants and what they should look and scan like have been uploaded to your tricorders. We shall disperse as discussed earlier, and meet back here in 0300 hours. Are there any questions?"
"Calendula maritima, too." Bahorel cut in, startling Cosette, who blinked up at his interjection. In brief explanation, a little gruffly, "That particular species has been extinct on Earth for a handful of centuries now, so it won't be in the database, and there doesn't seem to be a lot of it around here as is."
Cosette nodded, though it was nearly more a disconcerted quiver in confusion than it was any inclination of the head. Bahorel continued, unperturbed, to the rest of the retrieval crew. "If anyone finds it, grab me or Fauchelevent. Don't fuck around with it; Joly'll find good use for it (so long as no one's allergic), and the last thing you want on this lost-in-space adventure is to upset your CMO." His gruffness gave way to a slightly sentimental touch, though, a slightly softer tone. "And even if he can't, at least we'll be able to take some home with us; if it's managed to last out here, maybe we'll be able to reintroduce the strain on Earth."
"Good to know that the lieutenant has his priorities in check!" Bossuet murmured to the person nearest him.
With a nod of approval to continue from Bahorel, Cosette picked up where she'd left off, eyes set on her team. "All of the aforementioned plants and what they should look and scan like have been uploaded to your tricorders. We shall disperse as discussed earlier, and meet back here in 0300 hours. Are there any questions?"
captainmycaptainIt took the better part of a few hours before Enjolras was finally able to drop the ship to Yellow Alert, and a handful more before he could be convinced to take the time to rest. The barrage of log updates and status reports began to slow to a more manageable crawl, and he caught himself staring at the same lines of text without seeing them on more than one occasion before finally turning to the next highest ranking member of his bridge crew.
Combeferre? No, he was still down in Engineering. Enjolras scanned the bridge, absentmindedly seeking out faces he knew were not there before shaking his head of its fuzziness.
"Commence Emergency Shift Rotation Schedule Alpha." Then, grabbing the nearest Ensign by the elbow and steadying his gaze upon the other's. "Pontmercy, you have the conn."
By the time Enjolras had returned to his quarters and replicated himself a cup of tea, it took spilling half of the sugar packet upon the table before realizing that his hands were shaking violently. The expression on his face was unreadable, halfway between curious and perplexed; he took yet another beat to slowly set the sugar down at last.
Clenching his fists would not quell them, just as closing his eyes did not make it any easier to breathe. The silence was deafening, and the sound of rushing thoughts sought to overwhelm him; they were thoughts of nothing and everything all at once, and there was no calm to this storm. Questions, theories, suspicions -- as captain, Enjolras would be expected to be aware of all of them, and to be prepared in the case that any such concept decided to claim this last masterpiece as their own.
But first, a plan of action.
He reached for his PADD and halfheartedly brushed some of the sugar aside before setting the device before him and flicking through the status logs for the umpteenth time.
His cup of tea sat patiently nearby, waiting for him to breathe again.
Combeferre? No, he was still down in Engineering. Enjolras scanned the bridge, absentmindedly seeking out faces he knew were not there before shaking his head of its fuzziness.
"Commence Emergency Shift Rotation Schedule Alpha." Then, grabbing the nearest Ensign by the elbow and steadying his gaze upon the other's. "Pontmercy, you have the conn."
By the time Enjolras had returned to his quarters and replicated himself a cup of tea, it took spilling half of the sugar packet upon the table before realizing that his hands were shaking violently. The expression on his face was unreadable, halfway between curious and perplexed; he took yet another beat to slowly set the sugar down at last.
Clenching his fists would not quell them, just as closing his eyes did not make it any easier to breathe. The silence was deafening, and the sound of rushing thoughts sought to overwhelm him; they were thoughts of nothing and everything all at once, and there was no calm to this storm. Questions, theories, suspicions -- as captain, Enjolras would be expected to be aware of all of them, and to be prepared in the case that any such concept decided to claim this last masterpiece as their own.
But first, a plan of action.
He reached for his PADD and halfheartedly brushed some of the sugar aside before setting the device before him and flicking through the status logs for the umpteenth time.
His cup of tea sat patiently nearby, waiting for him to breathe again.
thingoneorthingtwo"Only one lion for you today, antelope. Rawr." Issac snapped his teeth with a put-on growl that curled his nose, putting up his hands in the manner of claws, bent at every finger...
Before snapping back into an easy, upright stance right there aside of Alex's locker and letting a smile melt back onto his face.
"Your protection detail is just me; bro's lost to a head cold. Kinda lame, if you ask me." It's what Tristan got for over-thinking too much, probably. Issac usually got sick to his stomach, when he did decide to get sick; that was more of a constitution issue, and as the one who was usually amending whatever constitution was laid out, made more sense.
Not that he was going to give that away. First, he'd have to see if Alex could guess which he was. A much easier game when there was someone else to compare him to. Here? A rare chance.
He couldn't give anything away.
"So, still five minutes before class; vending machine?"
Sugar. The best possible prevention method to any oncoming cold.
Before snapping back into an easy, upright stance right there aside of Alex's locker and letting a smile melt back onto his face.
"Your protection detail is just me; bro's lost to a head cold. Kinda lame, if you ask me." It's what Tristan got for over-thinking too much, probably. Issac usually got sick to his stomach, when he did decide to get sick; that was more of a constitution issue, and as the one who was usually amending whatever constitution was laid out, made more sense.
Not that he was going to give that away. First, he'd have to see if Alex could guess which he was. A much easier game when there was someone else to compare him to. Here? A rare chance.
He couldn't give anything away.
"So, still five minutes before class; vending machine?"
Sugar. The best possible prevention method to any oncoming cold.
holdmyflowerbabyIt had been ten hours since Marcel had last been awake.
Joly kept him under for longer when he realized he didn't have the supplies (nor did the ship have the power) to complete the full graft. Not yet, anyway. They'd searched for options. Without their navigator there, a harried Combeferre had stepped in and located a suitable M-Class Planet for restocking; one known to be safe, thanks to the equally unplanned Voyager mission.
They'd be there in a day and a half, and ready to go by the third day. Until then?
Courfeyrac wouldn't be in any pain. The burns had been largely dealt with, and individual nerve bundles soothed. His skin was shiny and mottled; like a burn that had fully healed... about 300 years ago. Back before grafting technology was really completed, and full faces could be more or less re-applied.
There had been other, more lethal injuries that Joly had had to focus his limited time and supplies on. Courfeyrac's face could still be fixed, to perfection even. But in the meantime?
The blistering over his forehead and cheeks had left angry craters, and there was a stripe of red over a good portion of his face, taut, with raised ridges across varied portions of skin, like a puckered wound from a cat's claw. It was... well.
Maybe it was ugly. What did it matter?
He was safe, he wasn't in pain. That was the most important. And he would make a full recovery. Just... not quite yet.
When Marcel stirred, Jehan put his book down, folding the marker back into it and setting it quickly aside. He was already holding his hand with one of his own, but now the other went to join it as he stood, massaging over his knuckles and staring down at him.
"Marcel...?" Yes, he was definitely waking up. Finally. "Marcel, how are you feeling?"
Joly had had him moved to his quarters. Both to save space and... to save face, so to speak. He was worried that Marcel would freak out, upon seeing that it was unfinished.
Jehan had unhooked the mirror from his closet and put it in a drawer. He'd left the one in the bathroom, because, well...
Seriously, what did it matter? He shouldn't freak out too badly, not after the initial shock.
He was still the same person, after all. Dandy or not, none of his loyalty, or his warmth, or his heart and soul had been scarred.
...He'd covered the one in the bathroom with a towel though. Just-- just in case. Just until he was ready.
Joly kept him under for longer when he realized he didn't have the supplies (nor did the ship have the power) to complete the full graft. Not yet, anyway. They'd searched for options. Without their navigator there, a harried Combeferre had stepped in and located a suitable M-Class Planet for restocking; one known to be safe, thanks to the equally unplanned Voyager mission.
They'd be there in a day and a half, and ready to go by the third day. Until then?
Courfeyrac wouldn't be in any pain. The burns had been largely dealt with, and individual nerve bundles soothed. His skin was shiny and mottled; like a burn that had fully healed... about 300 years ago. Back before grafting technology was really completed, and full faces could be more or less re-applied.
There had been other, more lethal injuries that Joly had had to focus his limited time and supplies on. Courfeyrac's face could still be fixed, to perfection even. But in the meantime?
The blistering over his forehead and cheeks had left angry craters, and there was a stripe of red over a good portion of his face, taut, with raised ridges across varied portions of skin, like a puckered wound from a cat's claw. It was... well.
Maybe it was ugly. What did it matter?
He was safe, he wasn't in pain. That was the most important. And he would make a full recovery. Just... not quite yet.
When Marcel stirred, Jehan put his book down, folding the marker back into it and setting it quickly aside. He was already holding his hand with one of his own, but now the other went to join it as he stood, massaging over his knuckles and staring down at him.
"Marcel...?" Yes, he was definitely waking up. Finally. "Marcel, how are you feeling?"
Joly had had him moved to his quarters. Both to save space and... to save face, so to speak. He was worried that Marcel would freak out, upon seeing that it was unfinished.
Jehan had unhooked the mirror from his closet and put it in a drawer. He'd left the one in the bathroom, because, well...
Seriously, what did it matter? He shouldn't freak out too badly, not after the initial shock.
He was still the same person, after all. Dandy or not, none of his loyalty, or his warmth, or his heart and soul had been scarred.
...He'd covered the one in the bathroom with a towel though. Just-- just in case. Just until he was ready.
mostillogicalWhen Enjolras gave the go ahead, Combeferre was into the turbolift without a moment's hesitation. He was running schematics through his head, some of the blueprints he'd actually been privy to, before he'd given up that mission for... this.
He still didn't regret. It was better that he was here, instead of on Earth, stomach roiling with worry at the news. Earth... he didn't want to think of it, now. How the note he'd left for his family, last minute, was too short.
It didn't matter. Well, it did. But it wouldn't. They'd get back-- of that, he knew Enjolras was at least tenacious enough to see to. It was dangerous, they were far, it would take a helluva lot of rigging... but they'd do that. He had to believe that.
As the Commander on board, prepared or not, he had to believe that.
When the turbolift opened, he hissed softly in surprise at the heat of the hallways down here. From the warp core overheating, from a few of the decks experiencing blows, from lower powering to life support systems. Winding his way quickly towards the main engineering room, at double time, he pressed his shoulder into the door and was inside a moment later. It took just a moment to adjust to the smoke in the room... squinting against it, he held a hand up to his forehead, and the contact made him realize he was sweating lightly.
It really did feel like hell down here. Not metaphorically.
"Feuilly? Feuilly!"
Hearing his name, Feuilly glanced up from his console briefly, nodded to the commanding officer.
"Sir."
"I know you're busy down here, but while the repairs are underway... I have a few modifications I'd like tested and possibly inserted into the systems."
Feuilly raised a brow. Now hardly seemed opportune. However...
"Yes, Sir." He assumed if they were being inserted now, they were intended improvements integral to the building phase, and useful, considering the fact that they were now very off course. By how much, he was not yet sure.
"The simulator is unaffected. I have my second-in-command doing signature outputs there right now. Ask him to show you how to work the system basics; the ship is older than what you may have practiced on. He can monitor the flows to your modifications. If there's an error, he may be able to suggest ways to compensate. Good luck, Commander."
As ever, Rene was grateful for Feuilly's straightforward manner, his to-the-point language, and his quick understanding. Giving a nod of thanks and letting him get back to his own gargantuan amount of work, Combeferre made his way to the simulator, still reciting experimental flow charts in his head.
When he reached the console, and it's worker, he greeted sharply, "Ensign, stand down; we're going to do something a little different than heat outputs. Can you show me how to get to the experimental simulations menu, for the warp core nacells?"
He still didn't regret. It was better that he was here, instead of on Earth, stomach roiling with worry at the news. Earth... he didn't want to think of it, now. How the note he'd left for his family, last minute, was too short.
It didn't matter. Well, it did. But it wouldn't. They'd get back-- of that, he knew Enjolras was at least tenacious enough to see to. It was dangerous, they were far, it would take a helluva lot of rigging... but they'd do that. He had to believe that.
As the Commander on board, prepared or not, he had to believe that.
When the turbolift opened, he hissed softly in surprise at the heat of the hallways down here. From the warp core overheating, from a few of the decks experiencing blows, from lower powering to life support systems. Winding his way quickly towards the main engineering room, at double time, he pressed his shoulder into the door and was inside a moment later. It took just a moment to adjust to the smoke in the room... squinting against it, he held a hand up to his forehead, and the contact made him realize he was sweating lightly.
It really did feel like hell down here. Not metaphorically.
"Feuilly? Feuilly!"
Hearing his name, Feuilly glanced up from his console briefly, nodded to the commanding officer.
"Sir."
"I know you're busy down here, but while the repairs are underway... I have a few modifications I'd like tested and possibly inserted into the systems."
Feuilly raised a brow. Now hardly seemed opportune. However...
"Yes, Sir." He assumed if they were being inserted now, they were intended improvements integral to the building phase, and useful, considering the fact that they were now very off course. By how much, he was not yet sure.
"The simulator is unaffected. I have my second-in-command doing signature outputs there right now. Ask him to show you how to work the system basics; the ship is older than what you may have practiced on. He can monitor the flows to your modifications. If there's an error, he may be able to suggest ways to compensate. Good luck, Commander."
As ever, Rene was grateful for Feuilly's straightforward manner, his to-the-point language, and his quick understanding. Giving a nod of thanks and letting him get back to his own gargantuan amount of work, Combeferre made his way to the simulator, still reciting experimental flow charts in his head.
When he reached the console, and it's worker, he greeted sharply, "Ensign, stand down; we're going to do something a little different than heat outputs. Can you show me how to get to the experimental simulations menu, for the warp core nacells?"
holdmyflowerbabyJehan turned in his chair, panic seeping into his tone and bewilderment in his eyes.
"Starfleet-- isn't responding, Captain."
He sounded calm, but he was on the edge of anxiety; weren't they all? The spacial anomaly had just... appeared, as if out of nowhere. Anyone's best guess was that it was a black hole... and that was a best-guest, best-situation scenario. Which wasn't saying much for their odds.
Jehan had called in to report their status, and to ask for aid the moment they'd discovered it, but the comm lines were dead. When he was ordered to compensate the frequency (he was already on it, the Captain barely had the words out of his mouth before his fingers were making music against his conn, dancing at speeds that showed he was intimate with the task at hand... but no amount of intimacy with the way it worked was making it work), he'd done his very best. He'd tried every trick he knew, even tried to patch in an echo-recording on a radio frequency, which... admittedly, probably wouldn't reach Starfleet until a week from now, at best.
...He was totally out of options.
"I put our bearings on the radio-echo, as... as a warning." He gave, tone faltering a little as he turned back to his conn. "For any other ships in the area." As it didn't seem they could do much for themselves, at this point, so citing their location for help would be a fruitless effort.
Well... maybe they could still help themselves, and Jehan wasn't giving up. But his part in this was over. There wasn't much more he could do.
"The distortion is messing with all lines of communication. Permission to tap all remaining power into ship-wide communication? So we don't risk fall-out with Engineering."
He passed a look at Courfeyrac, fretting, but nodded his head slightly, to show he had faith in him. Then looked at Enjolras, and waited for his okay.
"Starfleet-- isn't responding, Captain."
He sounded calm, but he was on the edge of anxiety; weren't they all? The spacial anomaly had just... appeared, as if out of nowhere. Anyone's best guess was that it was a black hole... and that was a best-guest, best-situation scenario. Which wasn't saying much for their odds.
Jehan had called in to report their status, and to ask for aid the moment they'd discovered it, but the comm lines were dead. When he was ordered to compensate the frequency (he was already on it, the Captain barely had the words out of his mouth before his fingers were making music against his conn, dancing at speeds that showed he was intimate with the task at hand... but no amount of intimacy with the way it worked was making it work), he'd done his very best. He'd tried every trick he knew, even tried to patch in an echo-recording on a radio frequency, which... admittedly, probably wouldn't reach Starfleet until a week from now, at best.
...He was totally out of options.
"I put our bearings on the radio-echo, as... as a warning." He gave, tone faltering a little as he turned back to his conn. "For any other ships in the area." As it didn't seem they could do much for themselves, at this point, so citing their location for help would be a fruitless effort.
Well... maybe they could still help themselves, and Jehan wasn't giving up. But his part in this was over. There wasn't much more he could do.
"The distortion is messing with all lines of communication. Permission to tap all remaining power into ship-wide communication? So we don't risk fall-out with Engineering."
He passed a look at Courfeyrac, fretting, but nodded his head slightly, to show he had faith in him. Then looked at Enjolras, and waited for his okay.
captainmycaptainThe unease that had been fluttering in his stomach these past few months was slowly beginning to ebb away and transform into a quivering excitement. They-- His crew was still in the process of preparation, and the nervous energy that crackled through the halls of the old Starship was electrifying. The sound of shrill voices and too-loud laughter, beeps and boops and computerized voices, the occasional clang-and-earthquake-shudder of supplies being deposited into the cargo bay; all of it brought the USS Corinth humming back into life.
Entering the captain's (his) quarters, Enjolras closed his eyes for a moment and grinned to himself. Everything was going smoothly, and nothing could be more thrilling than launch day of one's maiden voyage, test run or otherwise.
Their mission was to include a routine supply dropoff to an outer colony that had had trouble with crop yields the past season. As their harshest winter approached on their planet, Starfleet had offered double the supply of nonperishable foods as a precautionary measure, for the weather became extremely difficult to navigate transport ships through in those months; having lost one the previous year, Admiral Valjean had not wanted to make the same mistake again.
During the course of the exam, Bahorel and Feuilly would be evaluating their progress as the senior members of the crew, though any and all ship-wide authority would be yielded to Enjolras as captain so long as he was deemed capable by both supervisors and... Had he decided on his commander yet?
Enjolras had straightened minutely then, which he did again now as he remembered what he had said.
"My decision has not changed since I first submitted the roster to you, sir. However, in the unlikely event that my preferred candidate does not report to duty, I will choose a suitable replacement then."
The admiral had taken the cool and even-toned response with a bit of a frown, but had nodded his understanding otherwise. "Very well, then. Good luck on your journey; I look forward to your successful return."
As the hours slowly ticked past, Enjolras found himself standing and looking out the window with a PADD in his hands, off, and held almost as tightly as he held his jaw. Preparations were being completed at an almost alarming rate now, and every communication he received tightened the coil that had slithered back into his stomach without him noticing.
Alexis did not like to be wrong. But in this moment, he was more afraid of being alone.
Entering the captain's (his) quarters, Enjolras closed his eyes for a moment and grinned to himself. Everything was going smoothly, and nothing could be more thrilling than launch day of one's maiden voyage, test run or otherwise.
Their mission was to include a routine supply dropoff to an outer colony that had had trouble with crop yields the past season. As their harshest winter approached on their planet, Starfleet had offered double the supply of nonperishable foods as a precautionary measure, for the weather became extremely difficult to navigate transport ships through in those months; having lost one the previous year, Admiral Valjean had not wanted to make the same mistake again.
During the course of the exam, Bahorel and Feuilly would be evaluating their progress as the senior members of the crew, though any and all ship-wide authority would be yielded to Enjolras as captain so long as he was deemed capable by both supervisors and... Had he decided on his commander yet?
Enjolras had straightened minutely then, which he did again now as he remembered what he had said.
"My decision has not changed since I first submitted the roster to you, sir. However, in the unlikely event that my preferred candidate does not report to duty, I will choose a suitable replacement then."
The admiral had taken the cool and even-toned response with a bit of a frown, but had nodded his understanding otherwise. "Very well, then. Good luck on your journey; I look forward to your successful return."
As the hours slowly ticked past, Enjolras found himself standing and looking out the window with a PADD in his hands, off, and held almost as tightly as he held his jaw. Preparations were being completed at an almost alarming rate now, and every communication he received tightened the coil that had slithered back into his stomach without him noticing.
Alexis did not like to be wrong. But in this moment, he was more afraid of being alone.
notatailorCourfeyrac was certainly a very agreeable friend to have made!
It had taken a few vodka-cranberries (and very little convincing, thereafter), to have Joly agreeing quite merrily to meeting his friend, Félicien; and what a name was that! Good signs abound... though one might not know so, by actually meeting him. Alarmingly, Félicien had managed to bang his knee against the low table in the back corner of the bar multiple times since Joly had seated himself beside him, on the couch. (Not the least of which, when with a little prompting from Courfeyrac, he'd taken the bet to kiss him.)
The kissing part hadn't been so bad, really. No, not at all! He didn't even seem to fret when, after a few moments, Joly babbled something incoherent about disinfectant mints, and popped one into his mouth, before eagerly resuming. However, that was long since past, and much better now was leaning against the crook of his new friend's body, back-to-side, and laughing gaily at some joke Félicien had made, which Matthieu had already forgotten. The humor of it left its impression of good cheer, and that was all that mattered!
Sniggering, he glanced up at the other cadet.
"You've a sharp mind, you have! Sharper than the edges of our good table, which is doing your knees a great deal more good than your head."
Quipped, all warmth in the tease of it. He was quite handsome without the hair, after all, and Joly only meant to be good-natured. Besides, he was a good deal beyond drunk at this point, and could barely be held responsible for what came out of his mouth. All twinkling of the words, and lethargy of the limbs!
It had taken a few vodka-cranberries (and very little convincing, thereafter), to have Joly agreeing quite merrily to meeting his friend, Félicien; and what a name was that! Good signs abound... though one might not know so, by actually meeting him. Alarmingly, Félicien had managed to bang his knee against the low table in the back corner of the bar multiple times since Joly had seated himself beside him, on the couch. (Not the least of which, when with a little prompting from Courfeyrac, he'd taken the bet to kiss him.)
The kissing part hadn't been so bad, really. No, not at all! He didn't even seem to fret when, after a few moments, Joly babbled something incoherent about disinfectant mints, and popped one into his mouth, before eagerly resuming. However, that was long since past, and much better now was leaning against the crook of his new friend's body, back-to-side, and laughing gaily at some joke Félicien had made, which Matthieu had already forgotten. The humor of it left its impression of good cheer, and that was all that mattered!
Sniggering, he glanced up at the other cadet.
"You've a sharp mind, you have! Sharper than the edges of our good table, which is doing your knees a great deal more good than your head."
Quipped, all warmth in the tease of it. He was quite handsome without the hair, after all, and Joly only meant to be good-natured. Besides, he was a good deal beyond drunk at this point, and could barely be held responsible for what came out of his mouth. All twinkling of the words, and lethargy of the limbs!
ohmyyy[The first day back and already classes were a bore. Today had been Tactical Analysis with Enjolras and Advanced Subspace Geometry so far, and neither professor had been the most ... stimulating, as it were.
With Interspecies Ethics up next, Marcel looked forward to finally seeing Jehan in person again, as they hadn't spoken much since that last text exchange two weeks prior. It had left a bad taste in his mouth for the rest of the vacation that even Bossuet had made comment when they were at the beach, especially as he had spent more of the time forlornly eyeing his comm than the beautiful women who surrounded them uninvited, crooning at his brooding, lovestruck expressions.
Luckily, Félicien's puffed bravado had landed him just short of a black eye and a small cut to his calf as they'd sprinted as quickly away from the jealous boyfriends of the giggling countesses, and it was not for much longer that Courfeyrac needed dwell on the curious radio silence -- until he realized that his phone had not quite managed to escape fully unscathed.
His shop friend had been sad to admit that not much could be done about the SIM card and its stored text messages, but that she had at least been able to extract the photos for him. She'd winked at him then, and whispered that he looked good in rope -- and bright red, too, at that! with a laugh as he shoved the memory stick deep into his pocket with a stuttered attempt at thanks before rushing out the store.
Marcel had spent the subsequent evenings with his face buried in his pillow, trying to hard to ignore the memory of Jehan's soft smile as he flitted his soft hands across his sweat-soaked forehead, the sharp nip that he would put to his collarbone, those not-quite bony hips pushing into his own, and would collapse in a pile of guilt and fitful slumber from which he had trouble raising himself to greet the next day.
The verdict had been wrong. So very, very wrong.
Leaning against the wall just outside the door of the classroom, he held a brown paper parcel tied with a bit of twine close to his chest as he scanned the crowds. It was unusual of him to have arrived so early for the first day of class, but he had had his lunch period just before, and had lost his appetite after Félicien began to regale him with stories of his most recent encounter with sexually transmitted diseases in Ferengi preteens. The man simply did not know when to stop, at which point Marcel had made his exit, a little green.
He watched the crowd begin to thin out, as it got closer to the start of class, and checked his comm again.]
With Interspecies Ethics up next, Marcel looked forward to finally seeing Jehan in person again, as they hadn't spoken much since that last text exchange two weeks prior. It had left a bad taste in his mouth for the rest of the vacation that even Bossuet had made comment when they were at the beach, especially as he had spent more of the time forlornly eyeing his comm than the beautiful women who surrounded them uninvited, crooning at his brooding, lovestruck expressions.
Luckily, Félicien's puffed bravado had landed him just short of a black eye and a small cut to his calf as they'd sprinted as quickly away from the jealous boyfriends of the giggling countesses, and it was not for much longer that Courfeyrac needed dwell on the curious radio silence -- until he realized that his phone had not quite managed to escape fully unscathed.
His shop friend had been sad to admit that not much could be done about the SIM card and its stored text messages, but that she had at least been able to extract the photos for him. She'd winked at him then, and whispered that he looked good in rope -- and bright red, too, at that! with a laugh as he shoved the memory stick deep into his pocket with a stuttered attempt at thanks before rushing out the store.
Marcel had spent the subsequent evenings with his face buried in his pillow, trying to hard to ignore the memory of Jehan's soft smile as he flitted his soft hands across his sweat-soaked forehead, the sharp nip that he would put to his collarbone, those not-quite bony hips pushing into his own, and would collapse in a pile of guilt and fitful slumber from which he had trouble raising himself to greet the next day.
The verdict had been wrong. So very, very wrong.
Leaning against the wall just outside the door of the classroom, he held a brown paper parcel tied with a bit of twine close to his chest as he scanned the crowds. It was unusual of him to have arrived so early for the first day of class, but he had had his lunch period just before, and had lost his appetite after Félicien began to regale him with stories of his most recent encounter with sexually transmitted diseases in Ferengi preteens. The man simply did not know when to stop, at which point Marcel had made his exit, a little green.
He watched the crowd begin to thin out, as it got closer to the start of class, and checked his comm again.]
holdmyflowerbaby{DAY 32}
Hey, it's been a while, you. Summer's nearly over, huh? Any exciting last minute plans, feelings on how your summer's gone on the whole? Excited to return? (I bet not, LOL.)
Hey, it's been a while, you. Summer's nearly over, huh? Any exciting last minute plans, feelings on how your summer's gone on the whole? Excited to return? (I bet not, LOL.)
mostillogical[Despite the fact that they have a test tomorrow; basic phaser maintenance, it's no big deal, really; the books have long since been discarded. This is routine, anyway; a new test every time a new model comes out, and he and Enjolras have been fiddling with the new models since their issue last month. They both knew them inside out, upside down, and right side up, set to stun. All practical application was basic enough, and with his essay for Biological Computing Science nearly done (and due next week, anyway), there was really no reason not to move on to bigger and better topics.
Seated on the floor, he tugged one of Enjolras' curtains aside, squinting up at the night sky as he concluded,]
So that's how the Pycan evolved to be able to survive in the vacuum of space. I really can't think of any single trait more useful than that, for a species' survival. Imagine if we could just swim our way to the delta quadrant? Simple design, beautiful result. They really are amazing.
[He was going to convince Blargh to go to this exhibit with him, one way or another. They had a weekend off, and Paris wasn't too far to go for this kind of a natural history show.]
Seated on the floor, he tugged one of Enjolras' curtains aside, squinting up at the night sky as he concluded,]
So that's how the Pycan evolved to be able to survive in the vacuum of space. I really can't think of any single trait more useful than that, for a species' survival. Imagine if we could just swim our way to the delta quadrant? Simple design, beautiful result. They really are amazing.
[He was going to convince Blargh to go to this exhibit with him, one way or another. They had a weekend off, and Paris wasn't too far to go for this kind of a natural history show.]
