Post by Judith Eastman on Dec 27, 2020 15:45:19 GMT
As usual, it's time to cast our votes for POTM. We have 4 excellent submissions to choose from this month.
So these are our 4 excellent nominations. You have 47 hours, that is to say, until 7 AM Pacific Time on Dec. 29th, to vote for one. May the best post win[fn]Or the best two make the runoff[/fn]!
{Submission #1, by Phoebe Volante, is in the event, in the Adjur's Arena sub-thread}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
Phoebe tensed up for a moment as Sven changed stance, dropping his shoulder and then charging straight at her. It seemed he had got her message, either that or he has never been in a fight before. The later was the least likely due to his position, she reasoned. She hoped. She straightened her legs firing her forward and slightly off to the side of his charge, even if she missed this kick he wouldn't barrel through her.
Her adrenaline started to spike again, this may be a serious situation but maybe a little enjoyment isn't out of order. "Let's see what you can do big man!" Phoebe planted her foot in the ground, her momentum causing her to spin on the spot. Drawing her free leg in to gain speed, then throwing it out again as it came round to Sven. Her heel now moving as fast as she could make it, and hopefully as accurate as she needed. At the combined speeds of her foot and Sven's full frontal charge, if this missed either she'd knock out her superior or he'd take her foot off. 'Better not miss then!' She thought as a wide grin crossed her lips, the danger only enhancing the adrenaline and dopamine rush.
The rush helped slightly as the perception of time slowed just enough for her to adjust last instant to hit the collar. It was a good job Sven didn't have a beard or, well, he wouldn't any more. As her foot hit the ground she bent her knee and pushed off, reversing her inertia and leaping towards the man's back. Hopefully she could land and they could speak proper in the ensuing 'struggle'.
You can read the post in context here.
Xian did a wonderful job describing Phoebes action-packed kick. It was clear, but descriptive and, well action packed.
Here's the post itself:
[Ens. Phoebe Volante - The Pits, Adjur's Arena]
Phoebe tensed up for a moment as Sven changed stance, dropping his shoulder and then charging straight at her. It seemed he had got her message, either that or he has never been in a fight before. The later was the least likely due to his position, she reasoned. She hoped. She straightened her legs firing her forward and slightly off to the side of his charge, even if she missed this kick he wouldn't barrel through her.
Her adrenaline started to spike again, this may be a serious situation but maybe a little enjoyment isn't out of order. "Let's see what you can do big man!" Phoebe planted her foot in the ground, her momentum causing her to spin on the spot. Drawing her free leg in to gain speed, then throwing it out again as it came round to Sven. Her heel now moving as fast as she could make it, and hopefully as accurate as she needed. At the combined speeds of her foot and Sven's full frontal charge, if this missed either she'd knock out her superior or he'd take her foot off. 'Better not miss then!' She thought as a wide grin crossed her lips, the danger only enhancing the adrenaline and dopamine rush.
The rush helped slightly as the perception of time slowed just enough for her to adjust last instant to hit the collar. It was a good job Sven didn't have a beard or, well, he wouldn't any more. As her foot hit the ground she bent her knee and pushed off, reversing her inertia and leaping towards the man's back. Hopefully she could land and they could speak proper in the ensuing 'struggle'.
You can read the post in context here.
{Submission #2, by Jovireh Velal, is in the mission}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
Hearing a different voice on the other side of the curtain, Paawin was about to get sharp when he heard the man saying he had been sent by Commander Eastman. That was understandable... And he'd allow it. So for the moment he resumed prepping his own patient, successfully removing the clothing that covered the burns and disinfecting the incision sites, when he heard yet another voice directly behind him - informing him that his patient needed surgery. "Thank you for your keen observation!" he snapped, glaring over his shoulder to find the Vulcan Ensign awaiting orders. Ah... The help he requested. With a sigh and apologetic nod, he straightened and turned to face Neme directly.
"You're in charge of Sickbay, Ensign. Take over the Lieutenant's treatment, and don't let anyone enter this room unless they're a patient, Commander Eastman, or sent directly by her for a specific purpose. Call for more help or activate the EMH if you can't handle something on your own." Normally he'd be a lot more gentle with assigning tasks that might be beyond an officer's realm of experience, but right now his focus needed to be on saving the Commodore's life.
"Tania, grab some saline and start a central line. We need to bring his temperature down before the damage gets any worse. Then get to work treating his burns as best you can. I need to drain the subdurel hematoma to relieve pressure on his brain before I open him up." It had been a rather long time since he had treated injuries this severe... Paawin could only hope what knowledge and experience he had would work.
Without waiting for a response from either, he moved to the Commodore's head. "Computer, dim main lights and increase the headlamp of biobed one to 200 lumens." He needed to focus, entirely, and the best way for him to do that was to go back to his roots. The room around the curtain darkened, the light above his patient brightened, and for a moment he was 18 again - covered in dirt and the blood of his people, fighting just as hard to save them, as they had fought to free him. Pulling the tray of instruments closer, he began.
You can read the post in context here.
I just loved the reaction to Neme before the serious side of the moment took over and the surgery began.
Here's the post itself:
[Lt. Paawin Riyo - USS Mac - Sick bay
Hearing a different voice on the other side of the curtain, Paawin was about to get sharp when he heard the man saying he had been sent by Commander Eastman. That was understandable... And he'd allow it. So for the moment he resumed prepping his own patient, successfully removing the clothing that covered the burns and disinfecting the incision sites, when he heard yet another voice directly behind him - informing him that his patient needed surgery. "Thank you for your keen observation!" he snapped, glaring over his shoulder to find the Vulcan Ensign awaiting orders. Ah... The help he requested. With a sigh and apologetic nod, he straightened and turned to face Neme directly.
"You're in charge of Sickbay, Ensign. Take over the Lieutenant's treatment, and don't let anyone enter this room unless they're a patient, Commander Eastman, or sent directly by her for a specific purpose. Call for more help or activate the EMH if you can't handle something on your own." Normally he'd be a lot more gentle with assigning tasks that might be beyond an officer's realm of experience, but right now his focus needed to be on saving the Commodore's life.
"Tania, grab some saline and start a central line. We need to bring his temperature down before the damage gets any worse. Then get to work treating his burns as best you can. I need to drain the subdurel hematoma to relieve pressure on his brain before I open him up." It had been a rather long time since he had treated injuries this severe... Paawin could only hope what knowledge and experience he had would work.
Without waiting for a response from either, he moved to the Commodore's head. "Computer, dim main lights and increase the headlamp of biobed one to 200 lumens." He needed to focus, entirely, and the best way for him to do that was to go back to his roots. The room around the curtain darkened, the light above his patient brightened, and for a moment he was 18 again - covered in dirt and the blood of his people, fighting just as hard to save them, as they had fought to free him. Pulling the tray of instruments closer, he began.
You can read the post in context here.
{Submission #3, by Matthew Harmon, is in the mission}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
Harmon wasn't at all in the mood to indulge Avi's recalcitrance. "I don't have time for your bullshit, Moz. It is your problem because the Nyberrite Alliance is a mercenary corporation with a state, and as such they will attempt to leverage diplomatic protocol to have you extradited back to them on whatever charges they see fit to try and nail you on. The Commander is none to pleased about having to pull you out, it has complicated what she is trying to do and so if you don't watch yourself she may very well see fit to oblige their requests at which point I won't have the means or desire to get you out of there for a second time," his tone was certainly absent of his usual stoicism. As he finished his tirade, his PADD made a notification noise as he received a message from the Commander. "I've just received a message from the Commander confirming as such. Vasser has requested your extradition, and is being uncooperative until her request is granted. So if you have nothing of use to me then so be it, Crewman Dak will escort you back to the Transporter Room and you will be given into the hands of Major Chromar." He wasn't exactly lying but he was certainly stretching the truth.
You can read the post in context here.
Matt Harmon doing what he does best.
Here's the post itself:
[Matthew Harmon - Intelligence Office]
Harmon wasn't at all in the mood to indulge Avi's recalcitrance. "I don't have time for your bullshit, Moz. It is your problem because the Nyberrite Alliance is a mercenary corporation with a state, and as such they will attempt to leverage diplomatic protocol to have you extradited back to them on whatever charges they see fit to try and nail you on. The Commander is none to pleased about having to pull you out, it has complicated what she is trying to do and so if you don't watch yourself she may very well see fit to oblige their requests at which point I won't have the means or desire to get you out of there for a second time," his tone was certainly absent of his usual stoicism. As he finished his tirade, his PADD made a notification noise as he received a message from the Commander. "I've just received a message from the Commander confirming as such. Vasser has requested your extradition, and is being uncooperative until her request is granted. So if you have nothing of use to me then so be it, Crewman Dak will escort you back to the Transporter Room and you will be given into the hands of Major Chromar." He wasn't exactly lying but he was certainly stretching the truth.
You can read the post in context here.
{Submission #4, by Joshua Niles, is in the event, in the Gallo sub-thread}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
When a cup was presented to him, reflexively the Lieutenant reached for it even before knowing what it was. But as he reached out, his prosthetic left hand started spasming violently, and when he pulled that arm away as to use but his hand of flesh and blood, the one made of alloys and polymers connected with the bedframe with a thoroughly inorganic sound.
What the hell was wrong with his arm now?
The water, which he accepted gratefully, was cool and, well, water. No overly mineral taste, no carbonation, just good old clean water. And, it felt like the very nectar of the gods going down his tortured throat.
Once he had drained the liquid and set down the mug, he looked at his host, while slipping his right thumb into a slit in the covering of his prosthetic, seeking out the switch that would initiate a reboot of the device. "Well, that was largely why I was here," he replied as he found the simple controls and cycled them.
His left hand then went limp, and when he withdrew his thumb, all of his fingers went impossibly straight and steady before going through their full range of motion. First in isolation and with unnatural steadiness, then in concert, and then the wrist became involved while every permutation of movement was taking place entirely independent of his control... and then, he winced, hard. That pain through his artificial forearm, through his elbow and upper arm of flesh and blood was like a series of heated wires searing at his flesh from the inside. That was an old friend, but it felt... different.
"What was in that drink?" That was a question he should have asked earlier, but given how his entire body was also swimming in a cocktail to help manage his chronic phantom and neuropathic pain and the interface between the prosthetic and his body, there well might have been a drug interaction...
You can read the post in context here.
It's always cool to see missing limbs and things like that integrated into plots in the same way they'd be a daily part of life.
Here's the post itself:
[ LT Joshua Niles - Niva's Flat, Gallo, Celladore City ]
When a cup was presented to him, reflexively the Lieutenant reached for it even before knowing what it was. But as he reached out, his prosthetic left hand started spasming violently, and when he pulled that arm away as to use but his hand of flesh and blood, the one made of alloys and polymers connected with the bedframe with a thoroughly inorganic sound.
What the hell was wrong with his arm now?
The water, which he accepted gratefully, was cool and, well, water. No overly mineral taste, no carbonation, just good old clean water. And, it felt like the very nectar of the gods going down his tortured throat.
Once he had drained the liquid and set down the mug, he looked at his host, while slipping his right thumb into a slit in the covering of his prosthetic, seeking out the switch that would initiate a reboot of the device. "Well, that was largely why I was here," he replied as he found the simple controls and cycled them.
His left hand then went limp, and when he withdrew his thumb, all of his fingers went impossibly straight and steady before going through their full range of motion. First in isolation and with unnatural steadiness, then in concert, and then the wrist became involved while every permutation of movement was taking place entirely independent of his control... and then, he winced, hard. That pain through his artificial forearm, through his elbow and upper arm of flesh and blood was like a series of heated wires searing at his flesh from the inside. That was an old friend, but it felt... different.
"What was in that drink?" That was a question he should have asked earlier, but given how his entire body was also swimming in a cocktail to help manage his chronic phantom and neuropathic pain and the interface between the prosthetic and his body, there well might have been a drug interaction...
You can read the post in context here.
So these are our 4 excellent nominations. You have 47 hours, that is to say, until 7 AM Pacific Time on Dec. 29th, to vote for one. May the best post win[fn]Or the best two make the runoff[/fn]!