Post by Judith Eastman on Feb 27, 2021 0:02:21 GMT
This month, POTM has to go to a runoff. Here are the remaining contenders.
You have until 4 PM Pacific time on Sunday, Feb. 28th, to vote.
{Submission #2, by Charlie Fox, is in the mission's Excursion to the Mountains sub-thread}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
[Charlie Fox - Dalab Mountains]
Charlie stepped around and beyond everyone, ignoring Harmon and Arav, the latter of whom seemingly equally as disinterested in her. Olsen hovered behind her for a few moments, before she sent the drone to get some aerial shots of the impressive wall with the desolate background of desert sands, which seemed to move with a life of its own every time a breeze stirred the top layer of fine particles. She pulled protective eyewear from a pocket inside her jacket and fixed them over her eyes. The glass had a purple, mirrored tint, meaning that nobody would be able to see were her gaze rested. Just as she liked it.
"They call them krik-rav-tukk, tukk for short," she said of the unusual beasts of burden to the group at large. "The direct translation is 'roundy-two-legs'." The corners of her mouth pulled downward as she tried, and almost succeeded, in hiding her amusement. She'd learned a lot about this planet and the Kurjarians in particular during her preparation for this trip, but the language was probably her favourite part. It was direct, and it had a simple, obvious honesty without much by way of flourish. Charlie could dig that.
The presentation of the weapons and sidearms threatened to spoil her mood some. She studied what the Kurjarian tribesman was offering her, her eyes narrowed behind the purple shades. Eventually deciding that she'd require something to defend herself with, if for no other reason than not wanting to put her teammates in a position to have to do it for her, she picked up a small handgun. She checked it over once, shrugged, and tucked it into the waist of her combat pants. It pressed against the warm skin of her lower back, cooling her. She zipped up her jacket, pulled a scarf across her mouth and approached one of the tukks herself, behind O'Connell.
"Fair play," she said to the pilot who was first to brave the unusual, almost precarious looking animals. "I can't decide if they remind me more of dinosaurs, or a Pac-Man with legs." Charlie took the offer of a Kurjarian hand and flung her leg over. She tried not to squirm in an effort to find a comfortable position, not wanting to disturb her tukk.
You can read the post in context here.
It takes a lot of skill to use the name "Roundy Two-Legs" in a post and make it make sense. Hats off!
Here's the post itself:
Charlie stepped around and beyond everyone, ignoring Harmon and Arav, the latter of whom seemingly equally as disinterested in her. Olsen hovered behind her for a few moments, before she sent the drone to get some aerial shots of the impressive wall with the desolate background of desert sands, which seemed to move with a life of its own every time a breeze stirred the top layer of fine particles. She pulled protective eyewear from a pocket inside her jacket and fixed them over her eyes. The glass had a purple, mirrored tint, meaning that nobody would be able to see were her gaze rested. Just as she liked it.
"They call them krik-rav-tukk, tukk for short," she said of the unusual beasts of burden to the group at large. "The direct translation is 'roundy-two-legs'." The corners of her mouth pulled downward as she tried, and almost succeeded, in hiding her amusement. She'd learned a lot about this planet and the Kurjarians in particular during her preparation for this trip, but the language was probably her favourite part. It was direct, and it had a simple, obvious honesty without much by way of flourish. Charlie could dig that.
The presentation of the weapons and sidearms threatened to spoil her mood some. She studied what the Kurjarian tribesman was offering her, her eyes narrowed behind the purple shades. Eventually deciding that she'd require something to defend herself with, if for no other reason than not wanting to put her teammates in a position to have to do it for her, she picked up a small handgun. She checked it over once, shrugged, and tucked it into the waist of her combat pants. It pressed against the warm skin of her lower back, cooling her. She zipped up her jacket, pulled a scarf across her mouth and approached one of the tukks herself, behind O'Connell.
"Fair play," she said to the pilot who was first to brave the unusual, almost precarious looking animals. "I can't decide if they remind me more of dinosaurs, or a Pac-Man with legs." Charlie took the offer of a Kurjarian hand and flung her leg over. She tried not to squirm in an effort to find a comfortable position, not wanting to disturb her tukk.
You can read the post in context here.
{Submission #4, by Kaya Som, is in the Down-Time thread In Which Kaya Finds What She's Not Looking For}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
[ CPO Kaya Som | Frontier Station | The day the Mac arries back; 2381.01.07 ]
It was as if Kaya Som had been planning it for weeks, as if she'd made up her mind and was following through after weighing her options, as if she knew where she was going. But it just happened. As soon as the Mac began to approach Frontier for docking, she packed a bag, changed out of her uniform and stuck her comm badge under the mattress. Once, aboard the station, she went to the arrivals and departures boards, found a spot on a merchant freighter taking passengers, [fn]An Alpha Centauri company that runs wine, spices, and other things like that.[/fn] and within a few hours she was gone.
It was a two-day journey to Cait. One more ship and another two days and she was on Qo'nos. Never a word to anyone.
[ Trill on the loose Kaya Som | a drinking hall, veng wa'DIch (First City, Qo'nos capitol city) | 10 days later. 2381.01.12 | 3 hours past sundown ]
In the coming week, Kaya dramatically over-estimated her ability to keep up with Klingons and spent as much time under a table as sitting at one. It was all about the oblivion, a clawing drive to forget, a spiteful swipe at the anger of betrayal. Starfleet had let her down, thrown her away, and made her feel like she was crazy for cracking. When she was lucid, she knew she was tanking her career, burning every bridge she'd built. She knew she'd be considered missing soon (if not already) and suspected court martial welcome home party would be waiting for her when they finally tracked her down. She hadn't contacted her friends or family and certainly no one in Starfleet. She was sick and tired and nothing mattered, hooray.
"Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam,"[fn]'It is a good day to die,' roughly.[/fn] she'd shouted in slurred, accented Klingon and was roundly chastised. She was a small Trill who had endeared herself among sturdy Klingons as gregarious and amusing like a pet, yet it was still not her place to claim Klingon battle-cries as a party anthem.
"I'd rather go out laughing," she insisted. "Rather - rather - Starfleet can cozy up in a black hole!"
This proclamation earned her some esteem; her brand new friends banged on the table, clapped her on the back, nearly sending her off the bench.
Kaya had made no attempt to cover her tracks in her hasty exodus. Her name was on passenger manifests and in Qo'nos customs as well as on the guest registry at a nearby hostel. Maybe Starfleet would kick her out, maybe then she could do what Charlie had suggested and 'start her own thing'. [fn]Pieces of Me[/fn] Maybe she wouldn't have to worry about dying a disposable death every other shift.
"That's what I'm going do to," she declared without context, her inner dialog sliding into speaking aloud. "I'm going to get my own ship and I'm just going to go, right?. I'm just going to go! Tired of getting almost murdered."
"You lack a warrior's spirit! A warrior welcomes danger and fights to the bitter end!"
"That's exactly my point. Exactly my point. I didn't sign up for that. I'm not a warrior, S'kor. I'm not warrior, I'm Kaya. Yaya. Kaya'ggi [fn]'ggi' diminutive, little Kaya[/fn]. I'm a child of the stars…" she said wistfully as her head lolled down to the table again and her vision went wobbly and dark. There was that, but a festering shame of having utterly failed, and that felt impossible to face.
You can read the post in context here.
Space is hard. Dealing with the things that happen to you while you're serving can also be really hard. Kaya Som reminds us that in reality, it's a struggle, and we may not all be able to react to pain and trauma in ways that are expected of us.
Here's the post itself:
It was as if Kaya Som had been planning it for weeks, as if she'd made up her mind and was following through after weighing her options, as if she knew where she was going. But it just happened. As soon as the Mac began to approach Frontier for docking, she packed a bag, changed out of her uniform and stuck her comm badge under the mattress. Once, aboard the station, she went to the arrivals and departures boards, found a spot on a merchant freighter taking passengers, [fn]An Alpha Centauri company that runs wine, spices, and other things like that.[/fn] and within a few hours she was gone.
It was a two-day journey to Cait. One more ship and another two days and she was on Qo'nos. Never a word to anyone.
[ Trill on the loose Kaya Som | a drinking hall, veng wa'DIch (First City, Qo'nos capitol city) | 10 days later. 2381.01.12 | 3 hours past sundown ]
In the coming week, Kaya dramatically over-estimated her ability to keep up with Klingons and spent as much time under a table as sitting at one. It was all about the oblivion, a clawing drive to forget, a spiteful swipe at the anger of betrayal. Starfleet had let her down, thrown her away, and made her feel like she was crazy for cracking. When she was lucid, she knew she was tanking her career, burning every bridge she'd built. She knew she'd be considered missing soon (if not already) and suspected court martial welcome home party would be waiting for her when they finally tracked her down. She hadn't contacted her friends or family and certainly no one in Starfleet. She was sick and tired and nothing mattered, hooray.
"Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam,"[fn]'It is a good day to die,' roughly.[/fn] she'd shouted in slurred, accented Klingon and was roundly chastised. She was a small Trill who had endeared herself among sturdy Klingons as gregarious and amusing like a pet, yet it was still not her place to claim Klingon battle-cries as a party anthem.
"I'd rather go out laughing," she insisted. "Rather - rather - Starfleet can cozy up in a black hole!"
This proclamation earned her some esteem; her brand new friends banged on the table, clapped her on the back, nearly sending her off the bench.
Kaya had made no attempt to cover her tracks in her hasty exodus. Her name was on passenger manifests and in Qo'nos customs as well as on the guest registry at a nearby hostel. Maybe Starfleet would kick her out, maybe then she could do what Charlie had suggested and 'start her own thing'. [fn]Pieces of Me[/fn] Maybe she wouldn't have to worry about dying a disposable death every other shift.
"That's what I'm going do to," she declared without context, her inner dialog sliding into speaking aloud. "I'm going to get my own ship and I'm just going to go, right?. I'm just going to go! Tired of getting almost murdered."
"You lack a warrior's spirit! A warrior welcomes danger and fights to the bitter end!"
"That's exactly my point. Exactly my point. I didn't sign up for that. I'm not a warrior, S'kor. I'm not warrior, I'm Kaya. Yaya. Kaya'ggi [fn]'ggi' diminutive, little Kaya[/fn]. I'm a child of the stars…" she said wistfully as her head lolled down to the table again and her vision went wobbly and dark. There was that, but a festering shame of having utterly failed, and that felt impossible to face.
You can read the post in context here.
You have until 4 PM Pacific time on Sunday, Feb. 28th, to vote.
