RP Log: It involves power sockets, I think
| Roleplay Log | |
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| Participants: | |
Location(s):
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Stardate:
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| 2024-09-25 08:17 | |
- Cockpit <USS Didessa NCC-95324>
- Long and slim, the cockpit extends into the nose of the Gryphon-class vessel. Large viewports, separated by a vertical bulkhead, afford a good view forward. The pilot and co-pilot stations are side by side at the front of the cockpit, with additional stations to each side behind them. Along the left side is Engineering and Science, and on the right is Operations and an auxiliary console. Centered in the cockpit is a single stand-up console.
- Two smaller viewscreens are to the sides, built into the engineering and operations stations.
Crass asks, "Are we in a hurry sir? This ship has slipstream, but I can't switch to it. Which means you have more access than me, and yet I need to be here to get you to Deep Space 9, its a little backwards, sir." She looks at all the displays, "It will be about 30 minutes at the speed we're at now."
"I'm not in too much of a hurry, but if you'd like we can" LePage nods.
Crass shrugs, "If we take longer it will give me more time to remember how to land, sir."
"See, I know you're joking" LePage says
Crass asks, "Will there be someone available with expertise in the Cardassian wiring, sir?"
"The ghosts of Operations Chiefs past" LePage chuckles. "And the guy currently there, but he'll be largely busy so I hear"
"That doesn't sound very helpful." Crass grunts. "Should we have brought more people with us?"
"No, but we'll draw on who we need when we get there" LePage says. "But honestly? I'm looking forward to it"
Crass asks, "The challenge of the wiring, or something else about it?" She snorts, "Or something at Antares?"
[Copilot's Console: USS Didessa NCC-95324 (Starfleet): This is the Didesa from Antares, we're approaching Deep Space 9 and need landing clearance please.]
"The challenge in general. I'm looking forward to having an honest to goodness project under my hands again. I'm almost looking forward to being frustrated" LePage laughs
The vessel drops out of warp.
[Copilot's Console: Deep Space 9 (Starfleet): Clearance granted, Didessa.]
[Copilot's Console: USS Didessa NCC-95324 (Starfleet): Should we use the landing bay or one of the landing pads, Deep Space 9?]
[Copilot's Console: Deep Space 9 (Starfleet): The main landing bay, Didessa.]
Crass grunts, "The armor problem wasn't enough of a project sir?"
There is a slight bump as the vessel lands.
LePage shrugs. "I dunno, something else about this one"
"Maybe you'll get lucky and have a Cardassian vole eat some of your wiring." Crass snorts.
"Okay well I'm not wanting that level of shennanigans" LePage says. "Gonna shut her down"
Lieutenant Commander LePage taps a control on Copilot's Console.
Copilot's Console beeps and deactivates.
Crass grunts. "We're on external power." She asks, "Do you want me to wait for you, or should I come back?"
Lieutenant (jg) Crass taps a control on Pilot's Console.
Pilot's Console beeps and deactivates.
LePage blinks and looks a bit guilty. "I didn't phrase it well I guess... Captain meant for you to be here with me while I work on this. Which, I would recommend enjoying Deep Space Nine while you're here"
"O", Crass grunts, "Enjoying it?" She considers, "I could try." She asks, "How long are we here for, sir?"
"As long as it takes me to get this thing installed" LePage says. "I promise not to take more time than I have to"
"I could maybe do a study of the variety of alien species that frequent the station." Crass grunts, "Unless you need me, sir?"
"I always welcome your company, and It's a good opportunity to see what it takes to adapt design to reality" LePage says
Crass grunts, "Verywell sir. I will follow you until you get bored of me, or well I'll just leave it at that sir."
"Right well..." LePage looks at a PADD. "Hmm, seems like Captain T'Shaav isn't available for the moment... You want to hit a place where you can observe the local populace?"
Crass asks, "Is there such a place?"
LePage smiles. "Oh yes there is" he says, getting up. "Off we go"
- Quark's Bar & Gaming Establishment <Deep Space 9>
- Often bustling with activity, some would say Quark's is the heart of the station. Travelers and station personnel alike frequent this establishment often for rest and relaxation.
- Just inside the main entry, there is a bar with several stools. Beyond that tucked under the upper level and behind the spiral staircase is a dart board. Several tables fill the central part of the bar, with a few more tucked under the upper level as well. But the main source of activity for the bar is often the games on the left side. The Dabo tables are very popular.
Lieutenant (jg) Crass arrives from Main Floor North.
LePage gestures around the bustling heart of the station, home to travelers of many walks. "Quarks" he announces
Crass is tempted to get out her tricorder and begin scanning, but that might be rude. "A bar?" she asks.
"A bar" LePage nods, heading for said bar. "The best place to people watch"
Crass follows along and climbs up onto a bar stool. "Do you ever play the games?" She points at the dabo tables.
"Not if you're smart. But that's a good place to look" LePage chuckles, putting in his order
Crass spins her stool around for a better view, "I've never gambled before, it could be fun. I have no idea how to play though, so a real gamble for me." She asks, "Are there always so many people?"
"Yeah. People make pilgrimage to come here" LePage notes. "Quarks is a famous place round these parts, plus the wormhole traffic"
Crass points up to the upper level, "What's up there?"
"More tables, quieter and the entrance to the holosuites I think" LePage says, taking his drink
Crass asks, "What are the science facilities like aboard, do you know?"
"I'm not sure, but possibly limited. This station is more about management of travellers" LePage says
"A variety of them too." Crass grunts.
Hawthorn arrives from Quark's Upper Level.
LePage nods and takes a sip from his mug with a happy sigh. He's sitting at the bar next to a standing Crass
Crass has ignored the bartender so far, not on purpose, she is too busy people watching.
Atlanta comes stalking down the stairs from the upper level, an empty glass in her hand. She goes over to the bar as if she may plow right over, (or maybe through), anyone who dares to get in her way. She's so small and the bar so tall that only her head shows over the edge as she glares at the bar tender. "Another one," she growls at him as she deposits her empty glass on the bar with enough force that it slides across the surface. The quick-handed bar tender catches it before it goes over the inside edge. He opens his mouth to say something to her, but she cuts him off. "And tell your lazy, no good servers upstairs that I shouldn't have to come down here to the bar to order my own freaking drink. That's their job."
LePage's eyes draw over lazily as he takes a sip, wondering about the commotion. As soon as his brain identifies the short Scientist, it's only a second before the beer is coming through his nose as he stares in shock, not expecting her to be there
Crass asks LePage, "You know her, sir?"
As the Ferengi bar tender begins to protest, Atlanta points a finger at his face with such a venomous glare that he stops about half way through his second or third word. "Drink. Now," she grinds through clenched teeth. He looks uncertain, then reluctantly turns and starts fixing her a new drink, muttering to himself all the while. A flash of self-satisfaction crosses Atlanta's face, but is almost immediately replaced by her usual scowl.
LePage coughs, looking at Crass. He nods, though his eyes are watering from beer going where it wasn't supposed to.
Crass gets a napkin and tries to help LePage, "Are you ok sir?"
Atlanta's attention is drawn by the sound of the coughing. She glances over, sees a couple of faceless Starfleet uniforms, then looks back at the bar tender less than a second later. She taps one high-heel booted foot as she impatiently waits for her drink.
LePage clears out the blockage. "Okay, all good. Yes, I've met her before" he chuckles
"She looks familiar, but I can't place her sir." Crass says. "I think I'm going to go upstairs and see if its a better place to people watch."
Atlanta finally gets her drink, growls something at the bar tender, then turns and starts heading back toward the stairs to the upper level.
Lieutenant (jg) Crass goes up.
LePage thinks for a second and then swivels around. "You drinking alone?" He calls after Hawthorn
Atlanta looks over her shoulder at the sound of the voice. When she sees the uniform, the face attached to it, as usual, becomes a shapeless and unrecognizable blur. "Always, Flyboy," she says, then keeps walking.
Against his better judgement, LePage sighs, feeling alone himself. He gets up to follow. "You have no idea who I am do you?" He says, calmly. "You've yelled at me enough"
"Pfft. As if I could possibly keep track of all the Starfleet uniforms I've yelled at," she says, but she does stop and face the man. Her scowl deepens and her eyes squint, almost as if trying to bring her vision into focus. After a moment, her expression softens... barely, and she takes a sip of her drink. "It's you," she says in a flat tone that could mean anything.
"Are you bluffing or have you got it?" LePage chuckles. "I still owe you a drink. Or five"
"For what?" asks the scientist, her walls beginning to be reinforced.
"Helping me out with..." LePage snaps his fingers. "Well shit, something or other. It has been a while"
Atlanta's eyes narrow dangerously. "As I recall," she says quietly. "I tried to help you and failed. You want to buy me drinks for failing you? What is it, some kind of consolation prize?"
LePage sighs. "Don't matter, you helped at all. Preciated it" LePage drawls.
Atlanta stares hard fore a few more seconds, then says. "Fine. Let's sit down. But I buy my own drinks." She turns and heads not for the stairs as before, but for an empty table near the base of the stairs instead.
LePage nods and follows along quietly. He takes a seat across from her
Atlanta turns her chair sideways to the table, then sits and props her tiny booted feet on the seat of the chair next to hers. She crosses her ankles, takes a sip of her drink and asks, "So they have you working in this hell hole now, do they? That Vulcan Commander of yours is... a piece of work."
"Still making friends I see" LePage chuckles. "I'm on loan, installing some equipment. Captain T'Shaav isn't my boss.. but she's just... well you know. Logical"
Atlanta snorts. "Pfft, logical. She's a pain in the ass, is what she is. Thinks she some kind of freaking psychologist or something. Trying to tell me how I should feel about things." She eyes the engineer. "Can you imagine that? A Vulcan trying to tell other people how to feel? She fucking ridiculous."
LePage nods. "If it's any consolation..." LePage looks around a bit. "At least she's not the bullshit bravado type to run us into danger for no good reason"
Atlanta shrugs. "If you say so. That's more than I know." She eyes LePage's uniform openly before adding, "In my opinion, there's enough bullshit in Starfleet to go around." She peers at him over the top of her glass as she sips, almost challenging, but just barely, barely falling short of it.
LePage laughs out loud before taking a drink. "And have you ever known me to be full tilt into the uniform?" He says, maybe a bit loudly, sighing. "I agree with you, wholeheartedly"
The look in Atlanta's eyes becomes more suspicious than anything else as she regards the man a bit longer, but the she looks away back toward the bar. "So, you're on loan, huh?" she asks, changing the subject.
LePage nods. "Station upgrades. Getting rid of some of the last parts of the original station's Cardassian design"
"Hmm. Interesting," says the tiny scientist in a tone that sounds distinctly disinterested.
"Not really" LePage chuckles. "But you can say so, won't hurt my feelings"
Atlanta looks back at LePage. "You don't find your own work interesting?"
"No, I do" LePage shrugs. "But I won't sit here and pretend like you'll find it interesting, and it don't hurt me none that you don't. But it's routine to me anyhow I guess"
Atlanta sighs, gathers what few interpersonal skills she has, and makes a painful attempt to appear interested. "Station upgrades. What's that? Updating power sockets, computer terminals, that sort of thing?"
LePage smirks. "I'm serious you don't need to..." He sighs and nods. "Mostly the installation of industrial replication facilities. Nothing special at all"
"So you're installing industrial replicators," Hawthorn says.
LePage nods. "That's all"
Atlanta blinks slowly, trying to think. "Wouldn't that... involve... power sockets?" she asks feebly.
"Well.. Okay, yes" LePage nods. "But that's not really the primary focus" He argues
"Mmhm. And what /is/ the primary focus?" Atlanta asks next, grabbing onto the opening to move the conversation forward.
"Honestly? Dealing with the still Cardassian core of this station's infrastructure" LePage offers
"Like... power... sockets?" asks the scientist.
LePage blinks and takes a long drag from his mug, finishing it off. "Yes. Power sockets"
"I mean, power sockets /are/ part of the infrastructure, aren't they?" Hawthorn asks. Oddly, her interest seems a little less forced and a touch more genuine.
LePage lightens up a little. "Well yes, but this is more of a direct wire into the station grid. I'm converting the entire space into the replicator itself so... not really sockets for mainline use"
Atlanta krinkles her nose in a thoughtful expression. "You're converting... the space?" she asks. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"So.." LePage puts his hands on the table, visualizing the space. "This station used to be for processing of raw ore mined from Bajor during the occupation. I'm going to be working to make the ore processing center an industrial replication center"
"Oh!," the tiny Terran says with sudden understanding. "You're remodeling? No, wait. That sounds diminutive, and I don't mean it that way." She pauses to come up with a new word. "You're repurposing an area that was designed for one thing, to serve as another?"
"Yeah. Remodeling" LePage chuckles. He flags down a bartender and gets another drink ordered for himself.
"How long are you going to be here on the station?" Hawthorn asks, her interest now pretty intense. In fact, she doesn't seem to even notice the waiter trying to get her attention to ask if she also wants another drink.
"Long as it takes" LePage says. "But trying not to have that too long, I had to drag another officer out to get me here"
Atlanta nods sharply. "If you know about that sort of thing, I know someone who might be interested in talking to you... What the hell are you doing?!" This last is directed at the waiter who is still standing at the table, waving his hand closer and closer to Hawthorn's face as he tries to get her attention.
LePage chuckles and leans back, letting this scene unfold, crossing his arms
"I've been trying to get your attention," says the waiter.
Atlanta gives the Ferengi one of her deepest scowls. "Well congratu-freaking-lations. You have it. Now, what the hell do you want?"
The waiter blinks and tries to put a patient face on. "Would you like another drink?" he asks.
"I know where the bar is," Atlanta snaps back. "Do you think I'm some kind of invalid? If I want another drink, I'll get it myself." She glares.
The waiter blinks, clearly confused. He glances at the bar tender, then back to Hawthorn. "But, Trok said that you said that..."
"Well you tell Trok, whoever the hell that is," Atlanta growls. "To mind his own god damned business. Now, get the hell away from me, and go get another drink for my friend here," she says indicating LePage with a jerk of her head.
"But..." the Ferengi tries.
"GO!" Atlanta shouts, pointing her finger at the bar as if to show him where to go.
The waiter hurries away, clearly still very confused.
Atlanta watches him go, then turns back to LePage. "Now, where were we?"
LePage watches him scurry off. "People interested in talking to me?"
"Right," Atlanta replies. "A friend of mine... yes, I have friends... has a ship, and old Klingon battle-whatever, that has been converted into a freighter. She told me recently that she eventually wants to turn some of the spaces that were designed for Klingon war things into something more useful to her." She shrugs. "I don't know the details. But if you know about doing that kind of thing, I thought she might want to talk to you."
"Space design and conversion is something I've done a fair bit of" LePage nods. "I could speak with her if she'd like"
Atlanta drops her eyes to the engineer's commbadge, then back up to his face. "How do I get in touch with you?" she asks. "I used to just ask the computer for the Chief Engineer back on the Phoenix. I don't actually know your name."
"Didn't even bother to pick it up from the systems? Or when it was printed on my office door?" LePage chuckles. He puts out a hand. "Gordon LePage. I'll have my contact info sent to you"
Atlanta seems to take the hand a little reluctantly to shake it. "Yeah well, giving a shit about the names of Starfleeters isn't a skill I'm particularly practiced at," she says bluntly, though her dark cheeks do go a little darker as if she might be at least somewhat embarrassed. She picks up her glass and drains the remaining contents, then scowls at the empty. "The service in this place really sucks," she grumbles. "I guess no one ever told them that they should never let a customer's drink get too low."
"Hmm, yeah" LePage nods. He stands up. "I think I'm good for now, but if you wanna take me up on those drinks later, find me eh?"
Atlanta also stands. "Yeah, sure," she says, then gives a quick wave with one hand. She stalks over toward the bar, passing the waiter along the way. She shoots him an exasperated look, then steps up to the bar and starts berating the bar tender about everything and nothing all at once.