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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Nov 16, 2018 6:10:28 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95828.25: Computer, start, append.. oh .. damn it... New day new personal log, Record: Hmm... That; was stupid. -- The camera picks up Dr. Delancey dressing quickly in her bedroom, a little disheveled, her color high and wearing black lace undergarments, a sapphire necklace, and a grin. She pulls her tapered leg trousers on by putting both legs in and rolling back on the bed to pull them over her bottom in one quick tug. She is putting on her high heeled boots when she addresses the log recorder again.Computer; time? -- The Computer reports 0750 --Blessed be for a 30-meter commute. Computer, Play Mistake, from the most recent play list, 90 decebels -- Dahlia rushes around, putting the lid back on a bottle of Scotch, which she puts back into an old looking wooden box beside the bed then into a trunk in the corner next to a much new looking bottle. She pulls on her boots one a time, jumping in to sing along with the lyrics, rolling her eyes and smiling in turns. --And when the day is done, and I look back and the fact is I had fun, fumbling around All the advice I shunned and I ran Where they told me not to run, but I sure had fun -- Dahlia grabs a silver-handled hairbrush and brushes out her hair looking in the mirror, still singing along. -- So'oh'ohwa I'm gonna fuck it up again, I'm gonna do another detour Unpave my path-- She looks around rushing to the other room, grabbing a tricorder from the table and putting it back in a charging station on the desk and starts out the door. Then quickly back to the bedroom. --And if you wanna make sense Whatcha looking at me for? I'm not good at ma'ah'ath-thah-- She pulls a teal sweater from the closet and pulls it over her head covering her black lingerie, and white gold and sapphire pendant. She pulls her hair from her collar with both hands, then grabs out a uniform jacket from the back of a chair. -- A'hnd when I find my wa'ay back! the fact is I just may stay, or I may not
I've acquired quite a taste for a well-made mistake I wanna mistake why can't I make a mistake?-- She checks her badge and hums along, looking at herself in the mirror. She glances around the room then back to the video pick up. -- Oh yeah, that's right... why I did this... Yeah, so.. um.. this is a thing... mistake? probably.. but I can't seem to stop it. So I am going to run with it... no.. I'm going to try to walk with it. Keep it professional and handled well... Who the hell am I kidding... I'm gonna fuck it up because I won't be able to keep the horses reined. And should I? Maybe this one time let things just .. run their course and hope for the best? Do I wanna do right?, of Course but do i really wanna feel I'm forced? to Answer you, Hell no-- She heads for the door, stopping to pick up a glass off the floor. --I wanna make a mistake, why can't I make a mistake? -- She looks around, setting a few things right again that were knocked over, picking up towels and putting them in the recycler. -- I'I'I'm always doing what I think I should almost always doing everybody good...
Why? ----------?Computer; time? -- The Computer reports 0755 --Woah, shit... -- Dahlia steps to the door, does a literal pat down to check hair, clothes, and badge before taking a deep breath. The rose in her cheeks, and the smile on her face never having faded the entire log. --Computer; end log. -- The log ends with her exiting the quarters, the music coming to an end. --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Nov 20, 2018 6:52:38 GMT -5
Personal Log: Supplemental 95828.78Computer; personal log -- Dahlia is standing by her table arranging a blue glass setting for two, with wine glasses and cloth napkins of a cobalt color. She fetches some dishes from the replicator. --I am hoping Marcus enjoys this. It's not roman but greek, ish. I had it in Athens. Chicken & Spinach Skillet Pasta with Lemon & Parmesan, hmm, smells like garlic, I love that but I wonder if it will be too much. A greek salad with feta, and for an appetizer tomato and basil chevre spread with toasted slices of koulouria. -- She arranges the dishes and starts when the door chimes. -- Computer, end log.
Personal Log: Stardate 95829.25:Computer; Open a personal log -- Dahlia is standing by her door to the hall. She is dressed in her black robe with peonies and butterflies. She is holding it closed and has a smile on her face as she sighs wistfully and walks to the replicator. --Chai.. hot with milk, sweet. -- She scrubs her face with her hands. --Goddess what am I doing. This can only end in pain. -- She takes the tea and sits at the table, crossing her bare legs the video pick up catches enough to show she is wearing nothing under the robe. She sighs and sits back on the chair. -- Maybe he will be satisfied, now that I've let him have me. I'll be disappointed if he walks away, but relieved. At least he won't be hurt. He's charming and sincere, but if he is smart he will run, not walk away. -- She sits sipping the tea in silence mostly for several minutes. -- Computer; time? -- The Computer reports 0555 --Damn. Computer; end log. -- The log ends with her walking into her bedchamber apparently to get dressed, she doesn't both holding the robe closed. --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Nov 20, 2018 16:55:20 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95829.90:
Computer; Open a personal log
-- Dahlia is standing at the holographic lab terminal in her quarters. She is dressed in a white silk robe, barely closed. She is smiling and entering something on the terminal. --
Chance has it... my personal project and research intended for my synthetic friend is receiving aid from Marcus. My intent had been to give the massage therapist an upgrade in the means of fully functional physical interaction and instruct it in the arts and means of lovemaking. So as it turns out, Marcus is more than willing to assist me in creating a full suite of recordings to aid in the programming rather than allow me to commit to trial and error with the hologram.
-- She smirks with a wry grin. --
How sweet of him, to give up his time and energy to this project. Such a sacrifice.
-- She enters more information. --
Maybe he will get bored with me after we have tried everything he can be inspired to do with me. But maybe he won't. Either way, I'm going to enjoy it as much as he does I think. I just have to be careful to filter the data.
-- She enters another line, filtering the scan to exclude chroniton radiation readings out of its recording. --
Computer; confirm recording programmed sensor data?
-- The Computer confirms; all physiological data from subject 1) Delancey, subject 2) Aquila for 200 hrs while in location Quarters; D. Delancey, exclude periods while outside of this location. --
Computer; end log.
-- The log ends with her walking into her bedchamber, the robe dropping to the floor as she turns toward the bed and walked out of frame. --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Nov 23, 2018 11:31:28 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95845.17:
Computer; Open a personal log
-- Dahlia is sitting at her desk. Her face a mask of professionalism. --
We are waiting for word from command on if action is to be taken or if we stand down. My position is that we should stand down. It is not that I believe we should do nothing for the Captain or the Lieutenant. Only that I believe the diplomats should step in at this point. Errors were made, or we would not be at this point. If lives are lost, those errors will be compounded perhaps beyond any ability to return.
On a personal note; I have the paperwork filled out forms 600-35 to correctly report fraternization. How long should I wait? I do not want to brand myself as the officer who will make a mistake with a crewmember or shipmate. The forms do not mention the time frame of how long the situation has been ongoing, only an intent to continue. But that is the point, isn't it? I never intended for this to happen in the first place. I have chosen to let it happen, and see where it takes me, but do I intend to continue?
Having the word out is not such an issue, as, with a Klingon XO and a Vulcan Captain, they likely smelled my perfume upon him for the last week. And Marcus... will inform before I can, So I will hold onto this. I will file this if I intend to continue.
Computer; end log.
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Nov 27, 2018 21:00:13 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95845.25: SupplimentalComputer; personal log... -- Dahlia striding into her quarters, walking to and fro in an obvious frustration. --What a clusterfuck... -- She casts off her clothing onto the chair and walks into the fresher to pull out the tub and activate the filling of it. Steam rises about her as she manually calls upon music from her personal database. --We are waiting for word from command... meanwhile... Telemachus makes plans to perform some daring rescue... is it me? Do I drive everyone mad? -- Dahlia pours a drink from the small bar in the main room, still standing in her underclothes. She sips at it, looks at a few of the artifacts that made up her life, then downs the remainder of her glass. --I don't love... that's a rule... I don't love, they don't have to die. Simple... I explained the rule. Does he listen... no, of course not. -- She screams in frustration and with a quick angered throw, smashes the glass on the far wall. She begins to tear. She hangs her head, and her shoulders move as if she is sobbing though no sound can be heard. Then Dahlia straightens herself and turns walking into the fresher. Shrouded in steam she removes her bra and panties before sliding into the tub. The sound of her relaxing can be heard on the recording. --This is on record... I want this one to live... if you have the power. Please. -- Her plea is the last thing to be heard before the recording auto pauses. ---- Time Elapsed:148 minutes; Pause released --
Computer; lights, 800 lumens -- The sound of sloshing water can be heard. A slow-moving Dahlia rises from the tub and reaches for her blue fuzzy robe. She walks out into the main room, looks at the mess and gets out a small broom and butler. She looks at her bare feet, scoffs, then walks back into the bedroom. --Computer; Increase volume 20% -- Dahlia can be seen getting dressed in a fresh uniform. After about 10 minutes, she is putting on makeup. --Computer; any messages? -- Computer Chimes negative. Dahlia then goes to clean up the broken glass. She whispers scolding words to herself for her outburst. As she is standing again, she looks and sees her ankh on the floor behind some of the equipment that had been moved in. She hangs it again, polishing the silver surface on her leg before placing it back on the wall. --I might have to find a better place for this... maybe get the rest out of the trunk. Of course, might get all of us blown up and then I don't have to finish unpacking. And.. with all this equipment in here, I might have to make some choices... -- She puts the broken glass into the recycler and sits momentarily. --What do I do if Telemachus wants to move in? ... ... ... ... ... ... No.. no. I don't care if he sleeps here every night... or, not sleep... or if he comes and goes as he pleases, but I need to not have this be his space... it's not a lot, but it is what I can control. I sound like a selfish bitch.. but I'm thinking about sanity. There has to be a place where you can close the door, not opening when needed. And I need to stop breaking things. Computer; music and lights off... -- Dahlia walks out of her quarters, the room becoming quiet and dark. After 60 seconds, the recording pauses. ----
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Nov 30, 2018 18:27:27 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95846.70: Automatic Pause Released-- Dahlia returns to her quarters, looking a little disheveled, talking to herself low and humming. Her mood much improved but she still is taking off her uniform with a little bit of annoyance based on body language. --I told him to be careful with the wine... I hope this comes out... Computer; music... 20th century, Daniel Dax, and lights 50 percent -- Dahlia walks to the recycler and punches in instructions, then places her uniform jacket into the cleaner. She peels off her teal top and puts it in as well for cleaning. As she waits, she sings along to the music and dances. --The Politician says
There's a new way coming to town
But I ain't seen nothing
Nothing to stop this frown
'cause it's guns to the left
Dollars to the right
Down the barrel of an armalite
I-cry-they-lie
Blood-red-all-dead
Oh oh that's the way
Pushin' and a-shovin'
In the Id Parade
Got a finger in the Dope pie
And a bomb to blow you sky high
A tricky old
Sticky old
Fickle old war
Dust that leaves a half lie
'cause it's guns to the left
Dollars to the right
Down the barrel of an armalite
I-cry-they-lie
Blood-red-all-dead
Oh oh that's the way
Pushin' and a-shovin'
In the Id Parade
I-cry-they-lie
Blood-red-all-dead
Oh oh that's the way
Pushin' and a-shovin'
In the Id ParadeDamn, I didn't realize just how messed up the world was in her view. Id parade... sounds like the High Pontif... such a jerk. -- Dahlia responds to the computer chiming completion of the cleaning cycle. She retrieves her clothing and proceeds to dress. Her dance changing to the beat and flow of the second song. She only whispers along with one line of the song. --"I'd like to turn the whole world on just for a moment.. just for a moment... that first rush.. wow." -- She smiles and grabs her brush to brush out her hair, then puts it up into a more managed style. --Well, Protector should be here any moment... Computer; end all programs and secure my quarters when I exit. -- The computer chimes an affirmative, she nods to herself, putting the brush down she exits the room and the log recording ends. --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Dec 6, 2018 12:25:15 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95847.50:Computer; Personal log, -- Dahlia returns to her quarters, carrying her uniform jacket. She lays it over the back of a chair upon entry, then goes to the replicator. --Water, 5* Computer; play music, a classical violin concerto... Mendelssohn. -- Dahlia walks to the bedroom. Clothing drops into a pile near the doorway and she returns to collect her water wearing a black robe with an oriental style cut and decorations. She returns to the bedroom sitting in front of the monitor there that doubles as a mirror. She takes a drink of the water, then begins to brush out her hair. --"This was a tense day. This could have gone very badly. Any point, it could have all gone to hell, a lot of people, a lot more people, could have died." "I stayed on the bridge, considering the situation with the captain off the ship. I got to see everyone work while I did my small part. Commander Valkriss won a good deal of my respect this day. She is good at listening, evaluating and then acting." -- She rises, going to the fresher, pulling out the tub she starts it filling. --We are on our way back to the Citadel, leaving the Enigma to supply support for the cleanup. I'm set to relax, a moment of peace and quiet. Marcus is carousing with the Deltas, letting off his own steam. Computer; end log -- The log ends with Dahlia opening her robe as she turns to get into the bath. --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Dec 11, 2018 18:33:38 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95849.50:Computer; Personal log, -- Dahlia sits at her desk, a black silk robe barely closed is her attire. She is smiling, and apparently fresh from bathing as her hair is moist but combed out. A cup of lightly colored liquid steams just to her left. Beethoven's Silence is playing as she begins. --I did not understand how much I needed a day off, until the Commander ordered us to take one. Marcus was a lovely distraction and a constant one. We finally got to watch another movie, though we had to do so in two parts. History of the World Part 1, by Mel Brooks. He howled, Marcus was more entertaining than the movie. He got a little lost when the story got to the inquisition and the French revolution. I kind of expected that, but it is a confirmation, he is not versed in Earth history any more than I am the history of his world. Our common understanding ends with the Roman empire and begins again only a hundred years or so ago. I hope that does not throw too much of a ... wrench into the works. Or maybe I do. I'm still undecided. This is fun, it all feels so damn good, and I feel myself being drawn to him much more than I ever thought I would another. But it's dangerous. He lives a dangerous life, and I might be adding that extra bit that gets him killed. I don't know if I could stand the guilt. I suppose I would just have to resolve to keep him alive anyway I know how. Anyway... I should dress so we can go to dinner. Or maybe another meal in would be better. Damn this all feels like it's moving too fast but for the life of me, I can't and don't want to slow it down. -- Dahlia sighs and looks off camera. --I should let him.. no, send him, just... find a way to let him be with another instead of me. But damn it... I'm starting to want this. I should at least make him go back to his quarters. Somehow, it seems he has moved in, in all but name. I need some space, so I can think... I can't think with him here. I feel like a teenager with a horrible crush. My body is screaming at me so loud my mind can't think or voice opinions while he is here. What is wrong with me? Or is it just that right? -- Dahlia sighs again and looks back at the lens. --Is it? or is the chemistry just so damn good that I want it to be? Tempus narrabo Computer; end log -- The log ends with Dahlia turning casually from the chair to walk away. --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Dec 28, 2018 7:03:05 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 95929.35 - U.S.S. PilgrimComputer; open a personal log, and .. play some music... classic rock.. um, Jethro Tull. Dahlia walks about the room, taking items, and putting them down again. She goes to the closet and takes out clothing and laying them out on the bed. Singing along with the music, she walks to the mirror with each, putting together outfits and laying them out... she looks at the growing pile and looks a little dismayed.Damn it... a week there, a week back... I'll have to take some singles that can be mixed and matched better. He said I won't have to worry about what to wear while there, will be going shopping. Dahlia requisitions a new travel case, a mere third the size of the ones she had when she arrived. She begins packing, careful to include a vacuum sealed dress and standard uniform, complete with separate heeled boots. A selection of tops, skirts and two jackets, then adds a pair of rather well used looking pair of blue jeans. She looks at the near dozen pairs of shoes and decides on a single pair of black boots to compliment her attire, deciding to wear them out, and puts her running shoes, strappy sandal heels and flats into the case. With a sigh, she sits at the terminal in her bedroom and begins to speak in earnest.I don't know what the hell I think I am doing. Every synapse in my brain tells me I am making a mistake, and should just send Marcus home on his own. I told him I don't love, that it's not something I allow myself, everyone, I love dies. Everyone, parents, cousins, friends, lovers, all dead. Even those I came to regard as mentors, dead. Why I am allowing myself to become attached to this young man? That's the other thing, he's so young. Twelve years is a long time. Twelve years ago I was still in school, didn't have my MD yet. Though, even though it is only twelve years by the calendar, it feels as if I am a lifetime spent before even meeting him. It has been. But why then does he make me feel like a maiden debutante dancing with a handsome boy for the first time? I swear I don't remember ever having such an instant reaction to a man. I don't feel 35 when I'm with him. I feel like I'm barely old enough to know the touch of a man, and worse. He makes me feel each time as I am as yet untouched each time he reaches for me. It can't be healthy to be this much twitterpated over a man. He will cause me to make bad decisions, I'm sure I have already. My good sense told me not to let myself get involved even casually with someone on my own crew. I told him as much, I said no, and was going to give him back that lovely gift. But he, his words and his tone, disarmed me and I melted to his charms. Just try on the necklace, how much harm could it be to let him see it on since it meant that much to him, I couldn't deny him it. His words were like honey, and worse his touch... Oh, my goddess... here I am getting all worked up just thinking about it. I really should break this off. My brain says it's not too late. But goddess, my body disagrees. Perhaps it was too late the moment he came on board. It is as if we are drawn together like magnets of opposite poles. Shit, his father was nice, formal in a way that seemed both alien and familiar. I am actually a little frightened of meeting his mother, and the rest of his family. I'm going screw this up. Goddess help me, I don't want to make a mistake that hurts him. I can't help but think I might make a mistake subconsciously knowing it will cause this to end. Just so I can be set free of this spell I seem to be under. No, I will do as I have always done. I will put my best foot forward, and if this is to end, it will be not by a convenient misstep or poorly chosen word, it will be with purpose and determination to set myself back upon a proper and productive course. Dahlia begins packing a small number of cosmetics and jewelry for her trip, her favorite pieces that she believes go best with the Roman styles. The gold cosmetic applicants and the bright eye paints, her lapis, and onyx, silver and gold beads, as well as her Egyptian themed bracelets and cuffs, head chain and belt, rings for fingers and toes, as well as an assortment of ear dangles. They are some her most prized and favorite pieces, most of them from the mid-1800s, not authentic Egyptian pieces but convincing replicas sold at the time worth much less. This did not matter to her, as 600-year-old art was still beautiful and valuable, as it held much history in its own rights. She touched the necklace and pendant that started this whole affair. She froze, deep in thought, then sighed and continued packing with a smile. She decided to pack her wrist PADD, and several additional research notes on PADDs as well.Ah yes, that reminds me. Computer, please sync up with my PADD, and download historical texts on Magna Roma, as well as Roman histories dating from earliest to the diaspora when Magna Roma would be split off. Be sure to concentrate on any mentions of Marcus Antonius, I want to see why it seems that some find it predictable to be so taken with me. -- End Log -- -
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Jan 2, 2019 3:41:00 GMT -5
Personal Log: Supplimental - Ambassadorial Quarters USS Mjolnir Dahlia sits at a terminal, triggers the log and changes the screen to mirror mode. She talks with Marcus as she applies and touches up makeup. She is dressed in a long red silk dress, Mediterranean style of which was new fashion four years prior. Her makeup is earth-toned, for medium light with a cat's eye flourish, enhanced by a touch of cobalt and silver, and she wears several silver and gold pieces of jewelry, a necklace in very old roman style, rings and bracelets of Egyptian style and an arm cuff of Norse style. Her feet are not visible. Marcus dresses in the center of the room in what appears as a ceremonial armor. She speaks softly so her voice won't carry.
Marcus tells me that I have nothing to worry about, *sigh* I'm still a bit worried about going to his homeworld. Not so much his father or this trip. Nothing else, there are a lot of... *smile* interesting people. And there are the holodecks made available to us for entertainment. When you meet the family, there are always so many questions, where do you come from, who are your people, and I'm not ready for that. It's almost fourteen years, and I'm still not ready to talk about all of that. I'm hoping that telling him, will help that not to be something I have to tell over and over. -- She touches the Norse arm cuff with the Yggdrasil and Valkyrie wings in gold and silver. --I think Sif, this has your hand playing here, but it doesn't seem like something you would have access to... thank you, it is lovely. -- She looks back at Marcus then turns back to the camera smiling --I believe he thinks I didn't recognize our programmer. But her voice was heard clearly, I knew her before I saw her. -- Marcus, finished, calls over holding his helmet-- "This is optional, but I will wear it for the moment" -- He walks over to stand behind her.--Going to muss your hair, but I suppose. -- Her hand goes to the button to end the log as she turns to face him and examine his attire. -- -- End Log --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Jan 16, 2019 6:04:01 GMT -5
Personal Log: Hypershuttle MissouriDahlia sits in front of the video pick up in the main living space of the runabout sized transport. She is wearing a blue silk mini dress with her hair down and minimal jewelry and makeup. She appears quite comfortable...
Marcus tells me that we have I have another day yet till we will be arriving at Earth Space Dock. I just arranged for a flight for us down to Philly, and a carriage to the Conservatory. If things are on time, we can get in and up to the apartments before the concert ends. The Twelfth-night Conservatory concert should be pretty good. The wonderful Miss Scheps is supposed to be performing Frédéric Chopin: Piano Concerto No. 1 e-minor on the D-274, she will be accompanied by a Chamber Orchestra. I hope they got the holographic projectors realigned, always looks great when you are projecting the stage, from the piano seat. But when you look at it from the far side of the gallery, it loses resolution. It will be nice, everything should still be decorated for Christmas, with the large tree and the holly-decked halls, and the white lights everywhere. Hopefully, Philadelphia will have a light coating of snow for our carriage ride in. I think we might have two days at most, I'm only counting on a day, and I will need to take part of that day to meet with someone at Starfleet Medical about the new EMH. Mick says he will take care of everything, as always. He said they will have a delivery of fresh foods waiting so my kitchen will be of some use. I look forward to actually making some scrambled eggs and pancakes in my own kitchen again. How odd, to miss something as basic as cooking. I've also asked him to ensure the replicator is fully functioning so Marcus can get some appropriately warm clothing if he needs it. Wow... I thought I knew what to expect of the Antonia family. I was challenged a bit at times to keep an open mind, but all in all, it was a wonderful experience. I am not considered religious but am spiritual in my life and beliefs. If they choose to honor their gods and goddesses of their ancient beliefs, I am accepting even if I am not believing. Saturnalia, -- she smiles and seems distracted -- was fun. Janus celebration was inspiring. But I think there are a few things that have a larger impact. One, that young man can play the Violin, I was surprised and pleased. He was so antisocial, it was nice to see, and hear him sharing something of himself. -- Dahlia laughs -- I did a lot of sharing myself this trip. But I think meeting and getting to know the family was worth all of it. Marcus Maximus seems very straight forward. He is obviously proud of his sons and proud of his family in whole, and in love with his wife for more than two decades. -- Grinning, she continues -- Julia has a singular wit and is a statuesque beauty. I'm not surprised that she kept his attention and heart. I expected the inspection and the loud assessment. So I did my best french curtsey to show her respect as the matriarch. -- She raises herself up full in the seat, imitating the stately demeanor -- "Ample bosom, wide hips, fair face, kind eyes. Yes, she will bring many sons." -- Dahlia loses her composure as she laughs out the last part -- "Or Bed them." -- She breaks down giggling for several moments then sighs, getting herself back under control -- Telemachus jumps to my defense, as much as any loving son could, by calling for her in that tone of shock. Goddess... everyone was so shocked, I can't help but wonder 'how did she get that out without laughing?', she was so serious looking. But I couldn't out her, not yet, she wasn't through with the joke yet... so what do I say? "A pleasure to meet you as well" and rise up to look her in the eye. She goes on to ask "So has my son planted seed yet, or is there yet still time for choice?" and my initial impression was right, I could see the smile in her eyes. Everyone was deathly silent but for the elder Marcus, I could hear his breath draw in as he meant to bellow.. so I blurted out the first thing I could think of, which of course was a smart ass answer. "Not for lack of trying, but I would suggest we have not decided on that course... YET." The elder Marcus shouts to his wife, to bring her to heel. "JULIA", but by then I'm smirking and she breaks out into a laugh. She explained she had been waiting for years for her turn to give the treatment his mother had given her when she, was first introduced to the family. If this, whatever, if this becomes something long term, I have to remember this one, line by line.. so I am making sure I keep this record. Julia and I got along pretty well after that. She asked the serious questions though in private. I almost felt like my prom date when he met my father. When he said 'Son, what are your intentions toward my daughter?', I remember I wanted to crawl into a cupboard and hide. I'm glad that my Marcus was spared that embarrassment. The truth is, as I had to tell her, and which I wasn't even sure of until I heard it myself... "In honesty, I cannot say. I never had intentions with him. This is something that has taken me as a small ship in a tempest.... I have not yet discovered a course. Sanity would have us return to friendship and respect, at the very least for I have a great deal of affection for him. I know that Telemachus would have our hearts in tempest for eternity if he could... and he may win that yet."She took my hand and told me that the men of her husband's family do nothing without full heart and dedication, that it was a blessing and their curse. I've seen it already... it's hard to deny when you are the target, and hard to miss when you see it. Speaking of seeing things hard to miss. Sif, she isn't just a program, she's come farther. I had thought that her affection for the elder Marcus to have been more than that of a crewman, or software, and that was my thinking of her proof to be sentient. But her little bits of asserted personality, like a touch of defiance, while still following orders was more a personality than software. But I also saw the pain, and guilt felt from the losses experienced in battles, especially the battle prior to the Iconian war. She painted a mural, filled with metaphor, a thing of beauty playing into the theme of which the ship was named. She had other murals, also done by her... is not artwork, original artwork proof of self-awareness? Then there is the one part which I find the most disturbing. She's in love with him. The elder Marcus is the focus of her unrequited love. It is as plain as any smitten smile, any sad sigh when a woman who is not feeling the return of their affection, has ever been to me. What is more, I think she has altered herself to be more like Julia, to try to win that affection, in mannerism and appearance. I didn't see it till I met Julia, and wasn't thinking it possible until in conversation she mentioned she had traveled on board to go visit Earth. The last evidence I think I saw to prove her to be sentient, she is afraid. Not afraid of death as a warship, but as a person. She wants to be loved, but she fears that she is going to die without ever feeling the warmth of returned love. And she thinks that going to Earth is her last journey, and will not return with the Mjolnir, as she put it, her 9th step, upon which she will die as Thor died on his 9th step. We are on our way to Earth to meet back up with the Mjolnir which is at Sol, where they said Sif is going to be repaired, not destroyed. I really... -- A computer notification of incoming communications from Starfleet Headquarters is overriding her comms access -- Computer, End Log, I'll alert Captain Aquila. -- End Log --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Jan 25, 2019 20:03:01 GMT -5
Personal Log: SpaceDock One, Earth-- Dahlia stands at a terminal booth amidst the busy station. Marcus mills behind her. She is not in uniform but instead dressed in worn blue jeans and a wrap around brown sweater holding what appears to be a full sheepskin. Her long auburn hair hangs loose and her make up is light as if to appear not applied but to be natural. She smiles, but her face shows some gravity belying the smile. --
This is the personal log of Dr. Dahlia DeLancey. I have secured the storage module, with the upgraded memory capacity as requested. It will be delivered to the Mjolnir with a fresh updated copy of the fleet standard EMH. With this available, I will be able to offer Dr. McCoy options. I'll take it back to the Pilgrim next week when we arrive. -- She looks back at Marcus --I am taking him to Philly, my home. I'm little worried, not sure if I am prepared for the questions this might bring up. I want him to see it though, to understand me better. Just not maybe everything. Computer, End Log -- End Log --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Apr 8, 2019 2:58:20 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 96165.55 - USS Pilgrim-- Dahlia stands, her back to her door in her quarters, her face is screwed up in pain. She runs her hand through her hair and whimper. --
Computer: Lock the door, and begin personal log. I haven't been making log entries, I should have. They help when things are bad. I've been drinking way too much. -- As if to punctuate, Dahlia opens the globe and accesses the bar inside. She pours herself a portion of scotch and drinks a swallow before continuing. She unbuttons her uniform top as she walks toward the desk. --
San survived, her friend Galla... sure, they survived, with a handful of others. I was wrecked by what happened to her people. Admitting it should make me feel better, fuck if it does. I think the only time I really laughed in the past few weeks was on leave at the Citadel. That stupid magical world in which everyone played make-believe. Holodecks, I never really had the time for them. Experiencing history, or training, these things are how they should be used. I met the man Kaden I think he said his name was. A fan of 20th-century rock music. I laughed and played Meatloaf, and we sang. Upset our hosts because we broke character. As if there weren't dozens of character breaks before then. At least we were entertaining. -- She takes off her jacket and sits down, continuing to drink. --This is fucked... I'm avoiding the thing that's causing me pain. The real pain. Sif. -- She scrubs her face with her hand and sobs as the tears begin in earnest. --
I can't talk to anyone about this. I can't look at Marcus without feeling like I'm about to throw up my food... when I can eat. I can't look at him without seeing her. I wanted to stay, so she wouldn't be alone, in .. that place. But am a coward. I read the files, maybe not all of them, but enough to tell time was running out. It wasn't a suicide mission just to change things, but the last chance to matter before it was all over. To face this truth, it hurts, but not as much as thinking of her. I can't get her face, her smell or the pained look she gave when she knew thought I would not remember her, out of my head. Maybe I don't want to, maybe I shouldn't. She should be remembered... everyone should. They still live if they are remembered, still matter. Computer: Start a bath, and play something... something pretty reckless... -- The computer chimes and the response: -- "Multiple music files match search. Individual pieces, collections, or a full concert? "What? -- She says a little confused sounding. -- I don't care... play a concert, sure. -- She undresses and gets into the tub after walking back to pour more scotch. The music is loud and heavy with electric guitar, she doesn't seem to pay much attention for a few minutes. There is a pause as the band finishes their first song, then the lead singer announces they will play the next song, their first single 'Make me wanna die'. She sits up after the first line, listening a little more intently. She has a confused look on her face. As they begin the third song Dahlia turns toward the main room, looking from the tub through the door. --Computer: Who is this? -- The computer chimes and the response: -- "The Pretty Reckless, a musical group of early 21st century consisting of Taylor Momsen, Ben Phillips, Mark Damon and Jamie Perkins. Your collection contains recordings of public appearances and studio work from 2010 to 2025."-- She lets out an ironic laugh. --Could you be more literal? Ok, computer: play more that band... studio recordings only.. increase volume 50 percent. -- The computer begins playing the entire studio collection in chronological order, loudly. Part way through the first song, Dahlia who has settled down into the tub in which she continued to hold her drink, turned her tear-stained face to the ceiling and called out. --Computer: if you are still recording, end log. -- End Log --Since leaving the celebration for those who were promoted, Dahlia had been rather quickly pushing people to arm's length. Becoming withdrawn, speaking only when necessary. She showed up for shifts, spending them in her office and only coming out when seeing patients. She maintained professional demeanor and detachment, but lost all of her normal congenial nature. Now, just two days later, she has taken to having meals in her quarters and avoiding mess hall entirely. Her open door policy canceled in favor of seclusion.
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Apr 10, 2019 2:50:12 GMT -5
A scene a bit more than a week later, just after docking at the Citadel: Stardate 96181.05 - USS Pilgrim in Dahlia Delancey's Quarters
-- Marcus paced outside Anne's quarters. The Azreyane, No Luminaire ship motivating him to see her. Despite the fact she might not wish it. He chimed the locked door. --
-- Dahlia opens her eyes, the tears not yet dry on her face, her head pounding as it was when she got into the tub. The medicine has worn off, the only relief in sight was a swallow of scotch in her glass beside the tub glinting the candlelight like daggers to her oversensitive eyes. -- "Computer: who is at my door?"
-- [Computer] -- "Lieutenant Aquila"
-- Dahlia sloshes in the now lukewarm water as she dunks herself below it. She leaves him waiting at the door as she lays under the water, looking up through the water she slowly exhales watching the bubbles rise to the surface. She must come up for air, however, so as she sits back up to breath. She sighs and catches herself as her stomach heaves. --
"Computer: admit visitor."
-- Marcus enters the room, he looks around for her, not seeing her slouched in the tub behind the beaded curtains of both the bedroom doorway and the fresher doorway beyond.--
"Anne, We must speak."
-- Without turning toward him, or leaving the water, she reaches out to the little shelf and takes her almost empty tumbler. -- "I agree, we need to speak. Go ahead, say what you need to say."
-- Marcus's beard hides his frown. -- "Anne. I have yielded to your own manner of grieving. But my heart yet yearns to return to comfort of lover’s bed. Why is it the door remains locked and you sequestered from longing sight?"
-- Marcus waits for her answer. -- "Though perhaps the sight of me has turned to distaste?"
-- She clears her throat and speaks with a little pain. -- "Affection has not waned, but brings pain, yes. I need some time Marcus. This brings up feelings too difficult to deal with in your presence. I'm sorry."
-- She wipes the back of her hand under her eyes and then finishes her drink. -- "I do not mean to hurt. But I can't be with you right now."
-- Marcus speaks as he approaches her secluded in her bath. -- "Anne, Do you not think it pains me, to look upon you I see her visage in yours. Yet also in that I do not find pain. But reassurance. We have been struck grievous wound by time and our enemy. Vaylith, Vaylith broke news that death was inevitable for all those on the planet. in doing this we have spared her that."
-- She winces and puts her hand to her mouth. -- "I read that in the files before I left the med tent. Not everyone's, but enough to understand. I knew this. But I don't know that ... that timeline may still exist Marcus. Not for us, but for a version of us. It's complicated. I really don't understand." -- She sniffs. -- "Just give me some time, please."
"I will try. My love." -- He places a hand on her shoulder then leaves her. --
-- She breaths deep as the door closes behind him and starts to sob in earnest. Several minutes go by, then she draws a shaky breath and speaks. -- "Computer: resume security on my door. Play previous playlist same volume, and dim lights to 10%." -- She sits back into the tub again, slipping under the water and listening to the loud rock music through the water, holding her breath as long as she can before coming up again. Once again, gasping for breath. --
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Post by Dr. Dahlia Anne Delancey on Apr 17, 2019 4:32:05 GMT -5
Personal Log: Stardate 96203 - USS Pilgrim-- Dahlia enters her quarters, wearing the same green suede jacket and black slacks as when she left her quarters nearly 5 days earlier. She closes the door and leans, her back to her door. She looks at the broken bottle and the light brown stain on the carpet and wall. --Computer: Secure the door, and begin a personal log. -- She picks up the old fashioned rubbish bin from beside her desk and squats by the mess picking up pieces of the glass. --Computer: Override fire safety protocol and replicate 'Delancey-Glennturret-Whiskey2260', full bottle with markings. I know it's not real... but it will still do the job. -- Finishing, she picks up a small device that collects the smallest debris into a collection cup and the stains disappear with the sweeping of the device. She empties the collection cup and the bin into the recycler. Sighing, she unbuttons her green suede jacket. She is topless underneath, which she laughs at ironically. --My head was spinning when I left quarters. Put myself on sick call and went to the Citadel. I just wanted to be somewhere without memories... so I could think. Sara found me and put me to bed. Not sure where I left my bra, I'll have to replace that. I liked that one; comfortable. -- She takes the bottle, opens it and pours herself a glass, full. Then puts the bottle into an empty position inside her globe shaped bar and closes the lid she had left open when she left. She sits at her desk and takes off her boots, swallowing some of her drink between them. --Sara put me to bed, took care of me while my ....mind? was needing peace. She gave me a safe place. She wasn't unkind with her questions. Damn if she wasn't on point though. My head still hurts. I am still seeing double ocassionally, but at least it's not near constant. It started with Marcus. I look at him, and I see him, but then i see him different, and .. again, like he is shifting, a double exposure. But there is also another face... I can almost see. It is Marcus, but it's not, like...something wearing his face. It is so disturbing. Then the room shifts and starts to spin, it's all I can do to keep from throwing up my last meals. Bath, drink, sleep... I had McCoy scan me, he found nothing wrong but an elevated blood pressure. I took the medicine, but when the visions started, it was too much. I couldn't take it. I just wanted to curl up and die. I found a dark spot in the Citadel, played my music to try to center myself. Lousy choices... made the visions turn into dreams. Oh, damn the dreams. I went to sleep safe with Sara, but when I sleep it was like the ghosts of the past came back as a revenant to haunt my mind. -- Dahlia drinks half her glass full of whiskey then wipes her face with her hand. She walks through the beaded curtains and starts a bath. She strips down. The video pick up only catches her siloette through the beads. Eventually, she starts talking again as she climbs into the steaming water. --Thankfully, I think the worst of it is over. I was able to walk all the way back here without wanting to throw up. The headaches are better, but not gone. I need... peace. Solitude. I'm sorry Marcus. I need to not think of you. -- She starts to cry softly and ends whimpering. --I'm sorry Marcus, I think I really did, no.. do love you. But I can't stand the sight of you. It's not the double vision only. I see her when I see you. The little girl who will never be, but is still going to die horribly living in fear in an alternate future. Timelines will split, run their course then rejoin at a point unmovable. That's what ...I think, my father? said when i was younger. There can be many fractures to the timeline, but only in the most severe do they stay separate. They will eventually slip back together like streams forming the river of time. Joining back in time to flow through an immovable, fixed point in time. I remember hearing about small fractures that happen in our own lives, when we take the path untaken and our own memory differs from that of everyone else because spacetime healed quickly and the perceived history is that which the most of us agree was the truth. Everyone will tell me, she is in the future. That we will have a little girl, she will be the same, just have to be patient. They don't understand, the future is like ...quantum particles. You cannot observe without changing. Just looking at the future changes things in a small way. Being there, traveling would break chains enough to make such impossible. Sif will never live in this timeline. We could have a thousand children, and none of them will be her. Isis, your compassionate tears filled the world with life giving waters. They wash clean our souls, and our bodies so that we might be agents of life. I ask of you, no beg of you, to give me peace. Help me to accept that which I cannot change, so I can work on the things I can. -- She drinks from her glass, then slips back into the water disappearing from view. Several minutes later she comes up from under the water gasping for breath. --Goddess! ... Computer: Play something... instrumental to match my mood. -- The Computer chimes negative: "Additional input requred" --Something dark, black... hat's it. Black Aria, if you don't find it, check my files, I think it was Danzig from early twenty first.. no.. late twentieth century. -- The Computer begins playing through the speaker: www.youtube.com/watch?v=y08RFEWYpPA --... ... Now, what do I do about him? ... retorical question. Computer: end log -- End Log --Dahlia rests the tub for hours, the water long cold when she gets out and goes to bed. She sleeps relatively peacefully, the dreams not plaguing her for once in the last fortnight.
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