|
|
Browse All Blog Posts
|
|
Daydream {MCRP}
|
10/20/2011 12: PM
|
Det.. Lucas McCain
Name: Lucas McCain
Alias(s): None
Sex: MaleRace/Species: Human
Age: 29
Birthday: April 5th
Sign: Ares
Family: Father(deceased), mother(committed to mental hospital), brother(incarcerated), sister(lawyer), foster familyBirthplace: New York City, New YorkOccupation: Detective
Height: 5'10"
Weight:174lbs
Eye Color: Light brown
Hair: Black
Weapons/Equipment: Beretta 92, notebook, handcuffs
Attributes: Expert detective, genius intellect, marksman, interrogation expert, hand to hand combatant
Bio: Lucas McCain came from a
very poor background. His father was a drinker and abused his mother and
older brother and sister. His elder siblings did there best to keep
their little brother out their father's reach, but every so often, Lucas
took a beating he didn't deserve. His older sister, Alexandra, couldn't
bear to live under the same roof as her father. She left for law school the
day she turned eighteen and never came back. His brother, Micheal, no longer
able to stand for the abuse, killed his father and was sent to prison.
The loss of most of her family was too much for his mother and she
suffered a mental breakdown and had to be committed to a mental facility,
leaving Lucas alone. He was soon placed into a foster family and had undergone psychiatric evaluation. Lucas had detached himself
from the world and had become angry and aggressive after living such a
horrible life. His foster father, a veteran cop, suggested he find an outlet
for his aggression and enrolled him in the police academy. Lucas passed
with flying colors and reached the rank of detective in three short
years. His colleagues may find him cold and unpleasant to be around, but
Lucas has the highest case closure rate as well as the highest criminal
body count.Theme Song~ So Cold by Breaking Benjamin
|
|
|
|
𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕤|
|
10/19/2011 11: PM
|
Rules
Dear Fellow RPers, If you have a brain, these rules will be easy to follow, you might even have a few of these yourself. I don't think I should be having to do this, but it seems to be necessary...because well...if I didn't have them up, I can't really complain when someone does something wrong now can I?On that note, let us begin.1. I am a Novella writer. That means I like some sort of substance in my comments. I do prefer quality over quantity however, so don't bore me with paragraph upon paragraph of nonsense. 2. My headline says 18+, which means my comments will contain mature themes. I think this is self explanatory. 3. Please refrain from copying things from my page, my storyline and anything concerning how my vampires conduct themselves. Especially information concerning their blood attractions and their legends/ fairy tales. These are things I have developed and changed over time myself, mixing Vampire folklore and my own imagination, so I would appreciate it if that was respected. 4. I'm not in the mood to hear your f***ing complaining. That being said, I also would love it greatly if I was left out of your drama. I keep drama off my plate as much as possible. I don't need anyone forcing it upon me. 5. I am multi-storyline. Every universe is different with me, don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. 6. You don't have to be afraid to speak to me. I like to think that I am extremely creative and will work with you to create something good. However, if you add me, have something in mind, especially if you send a random starter without discussion in messages first. I am not a psychic, so make something happen and I will add to it and continue in the proper manner, but don't expect me to have a magic plan for you when I wasn't even the one who initiated something.7. For the most part, I believe that if you've added me you should send the starter. Sometimes I may break this rule if I'm feeling creative and truly long to write with someone and I may write the starter. I have a tendency to write a lot (which ranges at about 8-20 paragraphs, but I have done much more.) If you can not handle that, don't bother. I'm definitely not here to one-line, or talk in text speech. 8. Do try to speak English. I am not perfect and I will make mistakes, but I at least attempt to be coherent. Use spell check, it is readily available on just about every writing program. Re-read before sending comments to me and edit them. It is greatly appreciated. -Now I understand that for some people, English may be their second language, and for cases like this I will not complain so long as I know that what they've sent is the absolute best they could do. In short, don't half ass what you send to me and all will be fine.9. Don't God-mode my character. In other words, don't say I've done something I didn't express to have done. I can move my character just fine on my own, thanks. I will try to provide you to the best of my ability with enough details to get things moving. If there's something you absolutely need to do, message me and ask. I'm sure I'll be reasonable. Also if it's something small, it shouldn't bother me too much. Just don't over do it, and respect my boundaries, because I will respect yours. 10. I post a lot of bulletins, but they're not necessarily for everyone. I understand that bulletins are much more public than messages or comments, so as long as I don't address anyone specifically they are free game. However if I express that a bulletin is for someone else, please keep from throwing in your two cents. If it is written that I am speaking in the privacy of my own room with another character, there's no way you could ever see the conversation even if it is in bulletins. So move on, and don't respond unless you're called upon, no matter how the journal may make you feel. 11. Did I mention I hate people who complain? That includes people who rush me for replies. I answer people as quickly as possible, but I do have a life outside of RP. I also like to take my time, because I refuse to send people crap. If I am taking longer than usual, I will message you and tell you why. Don't rush me, don't post statuses saying sh*t like, "Comments people!" "I'm bored!" "Pay attention to me!" "No one's talking!" It is annoying, and I will f***ing delete you. I can not stand attention whores. 12. I am on this site because I long to role play, so don't ask me If I want to. I will delete you. This is a role playing site, what the bloody hell do you think I want to do? Catch my interest, send me a storyline idea and I will add to it. Send me an interesting starter and I will reply. That is what I'm here for. I don't think there is much else I have to address, if there are any questions feel free to message me. I'm a lot more polite than I seem. You don't have to sign the rules if you've read them (most people fake it anyway.) Just respect them and all will be well. -Gabriel Eric Ozarks
|
Rules
|
|
|
Daydream {MCRP}
|
10/18/2011 02: PM
|
Malice
Name: MaliceAlias(s): The Demon Lord of RockSex: MaleRace/Species: Greater DemonAge: UnknownBirthday: UnknownSign: UnknownFamily: NoneBirthplace: HellOccupation: TormentorHeight: 6'Weight: 179lbs.Eye Color: WhiteHair: GreyWeapons/Equipment: Siren GuitarAttributes: Siren guitar that allows him to control the elements, summon demons, and control his victimsBio: A powerful demon spawned from the pits of Hell, Malice once ruled over the Maleboge. Some time during his reign, he traveled to mortal world to collect a soul for his lord and master, Lucifer. While there, he discovered heavy metal and rock music and instantly became enamored with sound it made. The angry notes, the hard lyrics, the destructive nature of it reminded him so much of himself. He had to make it his. Thus he found a siren, slayed her, and ripped out her spine to fashion into a guitar. Imbuing the hellish instrument with all his power, he left his post at the Malebolge, went to rule over Anger and used his new love of music to torture the damned that were sentenced to his Circle. Theme Song~ Nothing Left by As I Lay Dying
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/17/2011 12: PM
|
Personal Log Stardate 63644.7
I recently returned from a meeting with the Command personnel in charge
of Starfleet Medical at Starbase 23 with less than glorious news.
Apparently my staff and I are still under close review with the Medical
Council, with potentially disastrous results for all involved. The
Medical board seems intent on making us pay some penance for our most
recent actions, and though I have tried to explain to them countless
times the extraordinary conditions that existed not only on that planet
but also on Starbase 231, my words seem to continually fall on deaf
ears."Ben's words sounded hollow even to himself as he recorded
this newest personal log, the duty performed by every commanding officer
of every ship, base, and facility throughout Starfleet. It was a way of
recording history through the eyes of those that lived it, a way to see
how past events were shaped by those that made those decisions, and a
way to provide deeper analysis of each situation by later historians.
Ben Thrace understood this, and there had once been a time when he was
as eager to record his thoughts and goals and accomplishments for
posterity as any invigorated commander. But now, as he realized that
this could be one of the few remaining entries he did on Starbase 231,
as he did as a Commander, he knew that this task no longer held that
joy. Placing the recording on pause, he moved away from his
desk. Something about being there in such an official capacity seemed
wrong, that his words were lacking in meaning only because he no longer
felt them. Much of what he had said came from the position of a man too
tired to do any more, and that was not the message he wanted to send to
the future. Deciding he needed a break from all of it, he left his
office and headed for the station's gym.There were few things
about combat training that Benjamin loved. In fact, he found the whole
notion archaic and insipid in the worst way. He was a scientist, not a
pugilist. But at the same time, he knew it was an area that all officers
needed in order to at least attempt to handle themselves in potentially
deadly situations. A necessary evil Edwin had called it during
their last sparring match, and then he had thoroughly trounced Ben four
times, sending him to the mat on his back with much humiliation. Once
in the gym, Ben decided that he would at least attempt to practice the
techniques Edwin had shown him, hoping to best his partner in their next
match. Though in the back of his mind he knew the hope was in vain, it
gave him something else to focus on for the time being.Changing
his clothes quickly, he donned the traditional recreational wear, a slim
gray set of fatigues with a dark green ribbon crossing his chest and
down his sides. He then stepped up to the large heavy bag hanging in the
corner of gym. Strapping on the gloves, he started the warm up punches
on the designated targets as he moved about. The entire process was
simple: His mind regulated it down to a coordinated equation, a
mathematical formula for hitting the targets, inducing the desired
motion, and applying the proper force to illuminate each target. Simple
calculations of distance and time and force flowed through his mind
then, elementary physics and alegbra flowed in and about him with each
movement as he thought of the most efficient ways of achieving the
desired results. His medical mind soon turned to correlating the strikes
to various body parts and positions, noting the damage he was doing his
"enemy" and how much time would be required for one to recover from the
injuries he inflicted. He became completely engrossed in the whole
process, slowly letting his mind go, relishing the opportunity to focus
on something so simple. He was so engrossed in fact that he
didn't hear the doors to the gym open, and didn't see his father
approach. But suddenly the visage of Thace Senior filled his view, and
stopping suddenly upon seeing his father's smiling face, Ben took off
his gloves and stared at James."Glad to see you are not moping in your office," James stated quickly while Ben attempted to catch his breath."I
am not....moping," Ben replied just as quickly, though his words were
slightly taxed by his breathing. He stood back and watched as his father
meandered around the bag, striking out at it a few times himself. He
didn't seem particularly interested in anything but was instead merely
plotting around."How did the meeting go?" He asked as he
finally rounded to face Ben. For a moment, Ben considered giving his
father the brush off, not wanting to dive into the whole issue once
again and rehashing the disastrous meeting. But things had changed
greatly between the two men over the past month of them living together,
and while they were not as close as the traditional Father and Son
pair, they had made great progress. Knowing this, Ben was not about to
back track."I am just not sure how much more I can take Father,"
Ben said in a rush. He nearly collapsed from the sudden revelation, his
fatigue having more to do with his emotional state than anything
physical. "I spent three hours locked in that bloody meeting,
attempting to explain to Richter more than anyone the extraordinary
circumstances surrounding everything that I have done, that has occurred
on this base and beyond it, and yet nothing. The man used to be my
favorite professor, but today....today I met a man I had never known. He
was oppressive and intolerant, and cruel, and throughout the entire
ordeal he seemed to derive pleasure from sapping any victory I achieved
from me. At first I thought that he was doing me a favor being hard on
me, but the longer it went on and the more I thought about it the more I
was certain it was anything but."Ben swung at the bag again,
but his effort was half-hearted and the bag barely moved. "I am just so
tired. This is not what I wanted, not what I envisioned for myself. I
never wanted a command, never sought it. I just wanted to do my work, do
my research, and instead they pushed this upon me. Now that I have
settled in, that I have an exceptional staff of brilliant officers, they
want to remove me from it! I tried and tried to explain, to fight for
myself and my people, but my explanations were just not up to par
apparently." Ben finished his statement, his eyes down cast. He didn't
want to see his father then, see the judgment that he knew was in his
eyes. He heard his father moving about the gym, and finally looking up
he was treated to a strange sight: His father had changed his shirt and
was wearing one of the workout fatigue tops, and was also sporting some
boxing gloves."I thought you could do with a live target," he
said with a grin as he secured his mouth guard. Ben gaped at his father,
not sure to really believe what he was seeing."You shouldn't be
doing this, not in your condition," He said softly. He and his father
rarely talked about the fact that the Elder Thrace had Irumodic
Syndrome, but this was one time that Ben would have to break the
moratorium."I'll go easy on you," James said with a wink, and
moved closer to his son. The two men squared off, and Ben decided then
that it would be he that took it easy. It would do no good to inflict a
brain injury on his father. Ben paused briefly to consider the fact that
just a few years ago he would have given anything to punch his father.
In that instant of hesitation, his father acted. The first blow was as
strong as it was surprising. He struck Ben first in the chest, then his
second swing clipped his jaw. Ben barely reacted, pulling his head back
just in time to only receive a glancing blow. Dodging left, he brought
up his own fist and aimed a quick but light jab for his father's face.
The punch had a solid connection, but there was little emphasis behind
it. Frowning, James rounded on his son and caught him in his abdomen.
The punch was even stronger than the first, and it very nearly knocked
the air from him. Ben danced back, and two quick punches ( a jab
followed by a right cross) generated distance from his Dad. He eyed
James suspiciously, wondering why his father was acting so strangely,
challenging him in this manner, but he never had the time to truly
finish the thought before his father set upon him again.The two
men continued to box, their circling movements almost in sync the entire
time despite each man's fatigue. Ben continued to pull his punches,
not wanting to hurt his father, but James didn't have the same concern.
He seemed intent on inflicting as much damage as he could. Finally
exhausted, Ben dropped his guard just long enough for his Father to land
one last punch and send his son to the ground. There Ben stayed."Get
up!" Came the gruff command from James. He stood over his son, glaring
at him with an intensity that Ben had never seen before. He stared at
him for a moment, and then finally complied."What? You won
alright? I'm tired, and I am done with this." Ben tossed his gloves to
the wall and watched as they smacked against it and fell to the ground.
He heard his father growl and he turned to face him. "Why did I win?" James demanded."What?""WHY DID I WIN?" James bellowed. His voice rang through the gym, and Ben's eyes widened."What
the hell is wrong with you? Why? I don't know, you just did, I pulled
my punches--" Ben started, but that was all he got to say before he was
interrupted by his father."Precisely! You pulled your punches!
That's why you lose. Always. You think that if you just reason with
people, if you just stay calm and explain everything rationally, you
will be just fine and everything will turn out OK. But Son, I am here to
tell you, and I have been teach you this all your life, that sometimes
no amount of explaining will do the trick. Sometimes, you just have to
haul back and punch them square in the mouth." James was grinning now,
sweat gleaming on his forehead as he worked himself up once again. Now
it was he that was panting.James finally removed the gloves he
was wearing and tossed them to the floor. Then sitting down next to Ben,
he leaned against his son's shoulder. "You hold back so much, you reign
so much in, and it is a wonder you don't explode. I have always worried
about you in that regard, that your ability to handle certain pressures
would be too much. The way you reacted to me about Rebecca all those
years ago was a clear indicator to me, and I have watched you over the
years and I know you are no better at processing. And now with all that
is happening to you--the base, me, Kathryn-- I wonder how you will
manage any of it. But I do know one thing: You won't get anywhere
holding back. Let go Son, let it out. Fight for what you want. Otherwise
you will lose everything."Ben looked over at his father. They
had never really talked like this, and even growing up it had never been
the easiest thing for them to do. Again he was struck by how much they
had changed, and how their relationship had grown in such a short time.
He was suddenly stuck with a new and very profound sadness at the
thought of losing him."I am not saying you will win every time
Son, in fact I know you won't. But at least if you fight, you will have
done all you can, and that is all anyone can ask. Besides, Thrace men
never give up." James stood up then and grabbed his other shirt. Ben
continued to stare, and finally he stood as well."Don't worry
Father, I'll be sure to bring pride to our line in true family fashion,"
Ben said lightly. James moved to the door as he prepared to exit."You
have always done our family proud Son," He said as the doors parted.
"And me," He added softly, and once again Ben was left in surprise as
his father quickly disappeared down the corridor and the doors closed
behind him.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/17/2011 12: PM
|
Personal Log Stardate 63565.1
Today I came home to find my father unpacking a large
container that had recently been sent from Earth. Containing his
personal affects, Father was taking great care to unpack and place the
various objects around our quarters, and when I happened upon him he
seemed taken aback by my sudden presence."Don't mind me, just
make yourself at home," I told him with a smile as I moved to my
bedroom. Our living arrangement had become quite comfortable these past
few weeks, and though he and I didn't see eye to eye on a host of
issues, there wasn't the same strained tension that I had felt during
the initial days of the move. And I could tell that he was actually
warming to the idea as well.Since Uncle Alexander's visit three
weeks ago, Father seemed much more relaxed around me, and though I was
hesitant I didn't see much point in remaining standoffish toward him.
Last week I had taken him to Lairis Prime for the graduation of several
new students from the Starfleet Medical Training Facility there, and
afterward we ended up spending the majority of the day enjoying the
local culture and fanfare associated with the graduation. Apparently the
Lairissians value medical knowledge and expertise more than anything
else, and to be accepted into something as prestigious as Starfleet
Medical Community was a high honor indeed. And as an officiator of
ceremony, I enjoyed a bit of elevated status there as well. Treated as
honored guests everywhere we went, my father and I really got to enjoy
the culture of Lairis Prime, the people there temperate and friendly,
much like their climate.
Now back aboard the station, my father seemed intent on maintaining that attitude.It
had been an incredibly long day, a long week really, and I had been
looking forward to an easy night, some time to read and just take my
mind off of my current research ventures into a cure for Kathryn. It
seemed that Starfleet was piling work onto the station, especially me,
and in light of the recent activities of myself and the senior staff
involving that Ringleader madman, I really felt we had no choice but to
grin and bear it. Changing out of my uniform and into more casual
attire, I returned to the living room and fixed myself a drink."What's
in the box?" I asked my father. He hesitated for a moment, staring down
at something still inside the sleek metal container, before finally
reaching inside and gently pulling out a large model ship. It was a
perfect wooden replica of an old sailing vessel, something that would
have been found on Earth during 16th to the middle 18th centuries. It
had three main masts, their sails opened and posed as though proudly
catching wind. It was the sleek design of a frigate complete with crow's
nest and rigging and even a partially visible below deck area where the
cannons were ominously protruding from its respective bows. I stared at
it for a moment, slowly putting my drink down and moving closer to it
to examine it further. There were no markings to denote a name, and yet
somehow I felt I knew it."The Astral Queen," I whispered
more to myself than my father. His eyebrow arched at the name, and with a
smile and a nod he confirmed that I was right. He held it out to me and
gingerly I accepted the ship. The moment I touched it, momentary
visions flashed in my mind of me at a much younger age, how happy I had
been to receive this as a gift on my tenth birthday. I remembered hours
of simply staring at it and imagining vast adventures upon it, me as the
Captain and ordering my men about as I marched from bow to stern. I
could even remember one bright winter morning on which I, tired of land
locked life, had boldly declared to my mother that I was forever
departing home and striking out for the sea. Despite hearing all about
Starfleet and space from my father, my love of the ocean had been deeply
instilled and nurtured thanks to my mother who saw fit to take me to
the shore whenever we had a spare moment. She loved the Cliff side, and I
longed to dive into the water."I am surprised you kept this. I
had forgotten it when I..." I found myself suddenly unable to speak as
the memory of that particular day when I had left home came back to me. I
had only been fourteen years old, the death of my mother still fresh in
my mind, and I had angrily stormed out of our home in New Berlin
determined to never return. Now I here I sat with him going over old
personal artifacts."I kept everything after you left. I knew
that one day, I'd have the opportunity to give these back to you. Your
mother would have wanted you to have them, despite what our relationship
is or may have been." I couldn't look at him then, the way he was
suddenly going on about my mother and her wishes for the both of us. I
felt a brief pang of guilt quickly shrouded by anger as I considered his
words. My mother had always been a mediator between me and my father,
our relationship having never been too solid and her always having to
broker peace between us. I could still remember the many times that she
told me how much he and I were alike, and that it was likely the reason
we fought so much. "Stubborn Thrace Pride," she used to say. I noticed
then that my father was watching me, as if he could read my mind and
knew the thoughts that I was having.I placed the ship on the
coffee table next to my glass and stood. Feeling slightly manipulated I
crossed the room and stared out the large window that dominated the
wall. I listened to the sounds of my father still shuffling about the
various items from the box. I heard him close the box finally and then
move away from the couch."Yes, you left so suddenly, there
wasn't really time for you to take any of your stuff were there? You
just....declared you'd had enough and took off." James said quietly as
he moved next to me."Not like you gave me much choice did you? I
mean, it was a simple thing really..." I replied with a slight ring of
anger in my voice."What is so simple about someone dying Son?
It's not like it was an old friend of colleague or something like that.
It was my wife." Father stated plaintively."My mother," I
countered quickly. My old anger was returning, slipping about me like an
old sweater. I crossed my arms as I continued to glare out the window."Besides,
it wasn't the death that I was bothered by, not really. It was the not
knowing. I tried to talk to you, wanted to, and yet you simply wouldn't
answer any of my questions. I knew you were involved--" I started but I
suddenly caught the surprised look on my father's face in his reflection
in the glass, and I stopped and turned to face him."You thought I
was involved in her death? How? In what way? What could I have possibly
done?" James's questions stammered out at me, and I was taken aback by
how flustered he seemed. It was so unlike my father to be uncertain
about anything, especially something regarding my mother, particularly
about her death."Oh come on Dad, I know you were there. I mean, I
woke up at home to find you gone, returning a short time later and
telling me that she was dead. You wouldn't answer any of my questions,
and people just hushed it all up or told me to ask you rather than tell
me themselves. I just knew that somehow you had manipulated the
situation. I was sure that somehow, you and that bloody institution she
worked for had done it, covered it all up and made up something about an
accident." My words poured from me, and again I was stricken by how
similar it all sounded in my mind, how they were nearly the exact same
thoughts I had had when I had woken up in my bed twenty-seven years ago.But
this time my anger was not met with quiet acceptance from my father,
but his own anger. "What do you think; that we concocted some grand
conspiracy just to keep you from knowing what happened? Did you ever
think that maybe, her death had affected a lot of people in such a way
that they were uncomfortable talking about it? I know that is how it was
for a lot of her friends, and I was no exception. Do you have any idea
what it is like, to come home and find your wife and son missing, and
receiving a frantic summons from one of her coworkers demanding I report
there at once? You have no idea...." Dad turned and walked away from me
then, shaking his head and continuing to mutter under his breath that I
had no idea. I turned and watched his father pour his own drink and
then down it in one."Hang on," I said as I turned back to the
room. I had just latched onto one thing Father had just said, something I
knew as false. "What'd you mean 'Wife and son missing? I wasn't
missing; I was in bed at home. I must've....fallen asleep after school
or something, but I was home." The look on my father's face as he stared
back at me told me that we clearly disagreed on this point."What
do you remember, about that day precisely?" James asked questioningly.
He was peering at me carefully, as though seeing me differently for the
first time. But I wasn't paying him any attention. Though Dad had just
asked, I attempted to relive those days in my head, attempting to call
up the images of that day I had tried so hard to keep it at bay, to cope
with it and move on from it. I remembered coming home; looking for
mother and discovering she wasn't there...no, that wasn't right. She was
never there when I got home. She was always at the institute, and I had
gone to meet her...Wait. That wasn't right either. I hadn't
gone there had I? I had several memories of the institute where my
mother taught, the people that used to smile at me and the teachers that
were overjoyed to see the "Young Thrace Lad" as I was often called as I
gamboled down the corridors in search of my mother. How many times had I
often found her either in her lab or in the school garden, tending to
some new plant or new compound she had created for her botany class
experiments?But that had not been the case that day...had it?
Surely not. I knew I had been home. I had woken up to find my father
home, despondent, and finally coaxing the news from him that my mother
would never be coming home....And it was this thought that I
latched onto now. I looked back at Father, anger alight in my eyes and
playing across my face as I stared at him. "I remember being home,
alone, and suddenly finding you there with that terrible news! I
remember asking you, begging you to tell me what happened, and yet you
said nothing! I went to the institute, found that giant gaping hole in
the back end of it, and no one there to tell me anything but how sorry
they were. No one gave me a straight answer, but instead referred me
back to you. After I few days of trying I gave up, convinced you would
never tell me anything and that I would have to find out from another
source. But then the more I looked the more I kept hearing about this
'accident,' some student experiment gone wrong, and that was it. But if
it was so simple, why couldn't you tell me? Why did you just sit there,
or just wave me off and say, "Maybe later," or "some other time?" I
wasn't looking for anything other than the truth about what happened to
my mother, and you of all people kept snowing me. Why?" I was more
pleading with Dad now, anger seeping away as another feeling welled up
inside me. Watching my father now as he sank into his chair at my words,
realizing that he had never moved passed her death, which neither of us
had, made me feel...Shame. I had carried this around for so long,
deciding long ago that I would rather be mad at my father than continue
to feel hurt and helpless at the loss of my mother. The anger had driven
out everything else, and had eventually driven me from home."I
never realized how much you didn't know, how much you had forgotten. I
always imagined, hoped, that as you aged and came to grips with her
death, you would remember." Dad said from his seat. He poured another
drink but this time he held it without taking a sip."What's to remember?" I yelled suddenly. "I don't have any information to remember!""You
know a lot more than you think Son. Sit down. I suppose it is time we
both shed our delusions about our memories then, about our hopes. It
seems that I will have to force you to remember." At these words Dad
took a drink from his glass finally, and then set the unfinished
contents down on the coffee table. I finally crossed the room and took a
seat in the cushy armchair next to the sofa, and waited for Father to
speak.He did not look at me. Instead he stared down at the
few things he had placed on the table earlier, a small pocketknife, the
old picture of my mother that had once been in his office. His eyes
flickered over each of these, and finally settling on the old ship, he
began his story:"I had been at work all day at Starfleet's
Intelligence office in downtown New Berlin. It was ridiculously hot that
day, hotter than any on record. I had been rushing, wanting to finish
my rounds early so that I could meet you before you headed home from
school. Your mother didn't like it when one of us wasn't there to meet
you after school you see, and while neither of us worked too far away,
almost always we were caught up doing something for work. You didn't
seem to mind though, and I suspected that you liked getting home before
us and carousing about with Meredith. You two were thick as thieves
then." James smiled wide at me, but very little of the mirth reached his
eyes. I just waited for him to continue."Sometimes you came to
my office to wait, sometimes you went to hers, but more often than not
you went straight home. So, when I went to the school to pick you up, I
assumed that you were home. So that was where I went. I thought that I
would swing by and pick you up, and then we would snag your mother.
Maybe, we would have us a night on the town, I don't know. But either
way I knew that she would be rather upset if I turned up at her office
without you. I got home only to find it empty. The front door was still
locked, the computer told me no one had entered since we all had left
that morning, and that you had certainly not called ahead. I was just
about to call your mother to see if you were with her, when the computer
notified me of an urgent communiqu� from the institute for me. Thinking
it was your mother, I readied myself for a tenuous albeit loving
lecture about our rebellious son and his penchant for being
unpredictable." Again Dad smiled at me, but I sat on the edge of his
seat, eager for more."Imagine my surprise when Professor
Tabrez's face was peering at me from the monitor. I remember thinking
how horrible he looked, his normally speckled brown appearance now
replaced by this pinkish blotched one. Even for a Caldaran, he looked
ill. I didn't even get the chance to ask a question. He told me that
there had been an accident, and that I was urgently needed. He said that
there had been an explosion and half the building had collapsed, and
you and Cynthia were among the missing. He didn't even need to finish
the statement, for I was already out the door and on my way." Now Dad
reached for his glass and finished it, and not taking a chance on
looking at me, he plowed on with the story."When I arrived, both
you and your mother had already been found, but she was in rough shape.
Apparently she had been aiding in the rescue of the other students, and
when she had been alerted to the fact that you had not been found, she
had rushed in to find you. And find you she did. She had just handed
you, unconscious but otherwise unharmed, over to another professor there
when a support beam had caved in and dropped another portion of the
ceiling on her. It took some time, but they were later able to free her.
Unfortunately she had sustained incredibly severe injuries, and died
before she could be taken to the hospital." Dad stopped talking finally,
indicating that he was finished. He leaned back on the sofa and closed
his eyes."Hang on," I said. I felt stricken with this new
information, my mind pouring over each newly revealed detail as I
concentrated on the story. "Why didn't they use transporters? She could
have been in a hospital in seconds. They could have gotten her out with
no problem.""I told you it was hot Ben. You should know...Oh
wait, you might not remember that either. Heat on New Berlin is
extremely rare, it being a lunar colony and all, and bloody difficult
for the atmospheric condensers to process. More often than not it
happens because of a solar flare or ion storm passing through the
atmosphere. In that case it was an ion storm, and when that happens it's
near impossible for the atmospheric condensers to function, and the
ionizing radiation wreaks havoc with the transporters. Starfleet had
declared that all transporters be shut down in all lunar colonies during
such storms, and ours had been completely shut down for hours before
the storm. There simply wasn't time to activate one, and even if there
had they probably wouldn't have used it due to the possibility of
molecular damage." Dad once again finished and I was left to wonder. It
was true, I did know that. While Federation technology had advanced
considerably in the past thirty years, once still tried not to use the
transporter during an ion storm if it could be avoided.."So, my
mother died saving my life. And I somehow escaped without a scratch." I
suddenly felt quite tired and I sank back into my chair."I don't
know about that 'without a scratch bit,' but essentially yes. The
emergency medics cleared you, and I was allowed to take you home. You
slept for three days. In fact, I was worried that the doctors had missed
something and I called another doctor to take a look at you. But again
they cleared you, and said that you would more likely than not wake up
on your own. And sure enough you did, but you were confused and angry,
and nothing I did calmed you." Dad continued to sit with his eyes
closed, but I felt suddenly clear, awake.Not once during his
entire story did my father falter. He spoke clearly and openly, never
once holding something back. And Father never lied to me. He may avoid
or dodge a direct question, but once he spoke it had always been the
truth. It was something that many relatives said I inherited from him.
Now it was my turn to look at my father as though seeing him for the
first time. My thoughts slowly turned inward as I realized that all this
time I had been angry with him nearly to the point of hating him, but I
was the one who had been impatient, had demanded answers from him and
had behaved in such a belligerent and irascible manner.I thought
about all our past dealings since her death, the way I had been cold to
him and shut him out of my life. I thought about how Meredith had
pleaded with me to talk to him, and even how Rebecca had done the same.
Through my mind's eye I saw my bitterness and resentment taking root in
him, turning him callous as he dealt with me during the few interactions
we had over the years. So much time wasted, all because I had been
unable to remember, and unwilling to forgive him.It was entirely
my fault. Every bit of it. I had run away, and he had labored under the
opinion that I would soon see reason. He had held out hope that one day
I would remember, but I buried the memories, the pain of her death,
under a dark mound of anger, shame, and later guilt at the rapid
deterioration of my relationship with my one surviving parent. I had
conjured up many reasons for no longer talking to him, spouting to
anyone who would listen that our differences were too vast for either of
us to cross, and yet here sat a man who had held onto a hope that one
day, I really would wake up.My father stood suddenly and began
to leave the room. Obviously the conversation had worn him down, taking
more out of him than either of us initially realized. Staring after him,
again it struck me how much time had wasted between us, both so
stubborn to really talk about this. He had counted on my memory
returning, I had counted on him finally telling me. It seemed that in a
way, we both got what we wanted. I wanted to call out to him, to stop
him and say something, but for the moment, all I could do was watch as
he walked away. The silent hiss of the door to his bedroom opening and
closing truly signaled the end of our conversation, and for the first
time in a long time I really wanted to talk to my father all over again.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/17/2011 12: PM
|
Personal Log Stardate 63525.9
This past weekend my father's brother and my favorite Uncle, Alexander,
came for a visit. Alexander Thrace is the epitome of a Renaissance Man,
traveling about and experiencing the various cultures of the Federation
without the real aid of Starfleet. As a young man he never really saw
the appeal that it had for so many, particularly men like my father, and
he always brushed it off whenever people asked him why he never joined.
To me, he always said he would join as soon as they changed their
uniforms. For some reason, he liked the garish and shocking fashions of
the Bolians and Andorrians, and wore their clothing more than any other.
An anthropologist by trade, it was no wonder that he and I got along so
well, for he was a bit more scientifically inclined than my otherwise
militaristic father. When I received the communique that he was coming I
was delighted. My father on the other hand seemed a bit reluctant.The
day of his arrival was rather uneventful. He spent the majority of the
trip in true Thrace fashion, hitting on the young female pilot that he
had traveled with on the Samarian freighter G'thyk. The young
woman had been less than interested, but that had not stopped my aging
uncle. Despite the reassurance of a healthy libido in old age, I was
pleased to see him in good spirits. He greeted me with a great big bear
hug, clapping me on the back several times while he laughed and made a
few jokes about my long hair. His hair had thinned somewhat, but he was
now sporting a bit of facial growth that was a tad gray. The younger
brother, it was strange to see him looking so much older than my own
father. But he had been "out in the wilderness" as he laughingly called
the rest of the Alpha Quadrant, and I was sure that some stresses had
been placed on him that may have accounted for his haggard look.I
took him to my quarters to meet Father, and to watch the interaction of
the brothers. At first I wasn't sure how my father was going to recieve
him. Since his diagnosis he had refused to see anyone from our family,
even my cousin Meredith when she had offered to come to the station with
her husband and children. I had tried to explain all this to Alexander
but he had waved me off: He said he was family and he wasn't about to
turn tail because his big brother had the flu. Again I tried to explain
the overall complexity of the situation, but he would hear none of it.
So now here we stood in my living room, three prongs of a precarious
tripod that threatened to tip at any moment. Thankfully I was called
away to a situation in the CIC, and I had to leave the dueling brothers
for my duties.I returned several hours later to a messy but
empty set of quarters. Apparently they had ate their way through several
conversations, and the various plates and cups were everywhere. I
arduously began the task of clean up, but was interrupted when I was
summoned by security to The Bucket. My father and uncle were there, and
were causing quite a scene. Not wanting to hear the full extent of it
over the comms, I hastened to The Bucket to discover what was the
matter. When I arrived, I found my father seated at the piano playing
some ancient British and Irish drinking songs, while my uncle wailed
away at their respective lyrics. Other than being incredibly loud and
incredibly drunk, they were none the worse for wear and the people
seemed to be enjoying them. Thanking whatever deities that looked out
for my family, I quickly escorted the men back to my quarters where they
fell asleep in a heap in the living room. Exhausted myself, I showered
and went to bed. For some reason, I could not sleep. I
tossed and turned much of the night, and finally at 0230 hours I found
myself awake and listening to the slightly muffled conversation going on
in the other room. My father and uncle had awakened some time earlier
and were now discussing something that seemed to be of great importance
to them. At first I thought of joining them, but when I heard my name I
stopped. I was suddenly very interested in what was being said."Don't you think it is time you told him?" Alexander asked. His voice was a little raspy, most likely from his earlier singing."No.
We have done this well all this time, and there is no reason to upset
the past. Let's just leave it alone." My father, also sounding quite
ragged."You have done well? Your relationship has been
strained with him for what, the past thirty years? You call that well?
And didn't you two go almost ten years without speaking to one another? I
think you do both of you a disservice by not being honest with him. He
is your son, and he can handle it." Alexander again. He placed something
down on the table, and then I heard him stand."James, I
know all about Irumodic Syndrome. We have seen it happen before. You
need to tell him before you are too far gone, before these precious
moments you have left are all used up. I know you, and I know that is
not something you want weighing you down. Tell him now while you can.""Have
you seen how he is now?" My father began. "He is great, whole. It has
taken a lot for him to get to be that way, and I certainly did nothing
to help. In fact, I was the reason for a lot of that damage. But he is
his own man now, a strong, intelligent, and capable officer. And our
relationship is getting better. We may never have that father/son
relationship that I want, that I had always hoped for or that we had
with our father, but we have something now. And I am not going to risk
losing that." My father's voice wavered for a moment, and I found myself
feeling some shame for listening. It was odd to listen to this
outpouring from him. And I was even more surprised by the fact that it
was about me. But what in blue blazes were they talking about? As much
as I didn't want to listen, I couldn't walk away."James that
is proof enough that he loves you and that he can handle it. Like you
said, he is a strong, intelligent officer. He is a good man, or else he
wouldn't be where he is today. And despite all that has happened between
you two, he still brought you here to live with him. To spend time with
you. You want that father/son relationship? Fine, start by telling your
son the truth. The whole truth. He can handle it, and you will feel
better for it." My uncle's words were followed by a long silence as my
father took them in."Since when did you become so wise on parenting? Last I checked you had no children." My father finally asked with a chuckle."Auch,
the life of a consummate bachelor, yes that is me. But hey, I learn a
lot in my travels. Besides, I don't travel to Andorr just for the
fashion." Alexander replied."Could have fooled me," my father retorted. "You look like a giant purple bruise.""I
am glad your candid nature only extends to your son," Alexander snapped
back. I heard them both laugh, and then the room settled again."Seriously,
the Andorrians believe in complete honestly, and the clearing of the
conscience that full disclosure brings. Well, with everything other than
their military secrets. But I wasn't interested in those. Anthropology
has no use for weapons." Alexander grew quiet again, and I knew he was
waiting on my father to respond. Presently he did."Perhaps
you're right. Perhaps I can finally tell Ben all of it, and get it out
there. Clear the air, and maybe finally get rid of this bad blood
between us. I suppose it was a long time coming." James stated. I heard
him rise, and I wondered where he was going."Yeah, only took
thirty years," Alexander added quietly, but I heard something break
shortly thereafter. I could only guess, but I thought my father must
have thrown something at him. Realizing the conversation was over, I
returned to my bed. Alexander would be leaving in the morning, and I
hoped that I would at least receive a hint as to what their conversation
was about.The morning came loud, and early. I had
overslept, and so I was being treated to a rendition of "God Save the
Queen" by my Uncle as a result of my late emergence from my room. The
Samarian freighter was back, and he would be departing the station in
twenty minutes. I was a bit saddened by this, for I had planned to make
subtle inquiries over breakfast. Instead, my father and I escorted my
uncle to the hangar bay to wait on the ship. Upon its arrival we said
our good byes in much the same way we had said hello. He gripped me
tightly in another hug, and told me to keep my nose clean. It was
something he had always said to me at the end of his visits when I was
little, and I couldn't help but laugh just like I had done all those
years ago. I then watched him hug his brother, and I had the distinct
impression that during their prolonged embrace Alexander was once again
giving him some truth affirming advice. I could do nothing more than
wait, and hope that my father took the advice. We watched the freighter
depart, and once they were gone from our sight my father and I left the
hangar bay.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/17/2011 12: PM
|
Personal Log Stardate 63491.2
Today my father decided that we would do something together as father
and son. Surprised, I immediately agreed and I asked him if he had any
ideas for an activity. He said he wanted to go fishing. Once again I was
surprised, for in all my life he had never expressed such an interest.
So, we packed some things and headed to the holodeck for our fishing
trip. Only a few hours into it, and I don't think this was quite the
excursion my father had in mind...."This is boring." James muttered."Hmm?"
Ben asked, looking up from his fishing rod. They had been sitting out
on the lake for quite some time now, the serene calm only intermittently
interrupted by the sound of a frog or other lake wild life in the area."Oh
nothing, nothing," James said, taking his eyes from the skies and
dismally returning them to the water. Two hours. They had been out on
the water for nearly two hours and not one fish caught. Their boat was
empty, their skin tender from the intense rays of the sun."BOOOORING!" James cried aloud, startling Ben from his perch in the boat."What do you mean 'boring'? This is what you wanted! You asked to fish." Ben replied."Yeah, but I didn't think it was going to be like this! Nothing's happening!" James stated."And what did you expect?"I
don't know, fish! Where are they? We have been out her for a while now
and not a peep! Why don't you make something happen. Cause a storm, give
us some waves...make it fun!" James declared."Well, this is
what you asked for. The computer created the simulation based on your
specifications. You have no one to blame but yourself. Besides, we are
on a lake and not the grand Pacific. You are not going to get hurricane
forces here. It's not in the program." Ben explained."It is if you re-write it!" James chided with a grin."I
am not about to re-write programs just so you can get your kicks. This
is fishing, this is what you suggested. So I suggest you sit down, shut
up, and cast your damned line in the water and be happy." Ben said. He
then sat down and re-cast his own line. There was a new-found silence
in the boat, and just as the calm was about to settle once again over
them, James stood up and tossed his fishing pole into the water."There are NO fish! We have been sitting out here for four hours----""Two," Ben interrupted."QUITE
some time, and neither of us has managed to catch a single fish! How is
that possible? How did you manage to program the ONE lake in all
creation with no fish? I mean, what did you do, specifically ask for the
one lake that has no chance to bring any joy to anyone who came out
here? Has this lake ever had fish? Did they all die in some catastrophic
event?" James ranted."From what I understand, you have to be patient when fishing," Ben replied airily, closing his eyes to his upset father."Patient?
How the hell can you be patient? We are sitting in the middle of a lake
with the sun beating down on us from above and reflecting up from the
water burning our skin like a baked ham, and drying us to the bone. I'm
hot, thirsty, and there are no fish!""There is water all around you," Ben said with a gesture of his hand. "Lean over and take a drink." "You suggesting I stick my head in that filth?" James demanded."Yes
Dad, that is exactly what I am suggesting! Stick your head under, hold
it there for twenty-five minutes, and I guarantee you won't be thirsty
any more. Blimey, you may even finally catch a fish!" Ben said as he
waved his hands about."You're about to catch something right now..." James muttered."What?" Ben asked."Nothing.
I'm leaving. Computer Exit!" James stood up suddenly in the boat,
preparing to walk out the doors now present on the shore."You're
leaving? You can't just leave, this was your idea!" Ben called after
him, holding onto the edge of the boat. The flustered movements of his
father were upsetting the small craft, and it was beginning to rock
violently."Watch me," James replied, and he gathered up his
few belongings and attempted to push off the side of the boat.
Unfortunately, his motion was charged with anger, and he pushed with too
much force. The boat swerved suddenly to the left, was buffeted by the
newly created wave, and both men were sent careening into the water. Ben
yelled, and with a great splash landed flat on his back in the water.
His father was soaked through, sitting on his pride not too far from his
son."Well, this is just perfect," Ben said as he sat up. "Now I am all wet.""It's holographic water Son, you'll be dry as soon as you step out the door." James said with a chuckle."That is not the point--" Ben started, but James interrupted."I wonder why we didn't sink? We are in the middle of the lake." James mused."It's a holodeck Dad, it adjusts to us." Ben explained."And
yet, it couldn't adjust and put some damned fish in the water." James
looked at his son, and he smiled. Then he began to laugh. He stayed
sitting in the water staring at his son, and both men were soon laughing
at their ridiculous situation. Finally standing, Ben offered his Dad a
hand to pull him up and out of the water."Come on Dad, time for Lunch. We can talk about some other activity we can do together.""How
about shuttle racing? That could be fun for us. I know you have a few
shuttles here that would be perfect." James asked as they neared the
holodeck doors.Patting his Dad on his wet shoulder, Ben laughed. "Not on your life Old Man." The doors parted and they left together.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 11: PM
|
Personal Log Stardate 63442.1
My father and I have now returned from Earth, and are beginning the
process of living together. I have decided against establishing some
quarters for him and instead have moved him into my personal quarters.
My living space is large enough for two, though he is not the roommate I
had in mind. I have the deck chief drawing up plans to extend a room
onto my quarters, giving him a modicum of privacy, but until that
happens I shall resign myself to sleeping on my sofa until his personal
room is ready. I can already tell this is not going to be an easy
adjustment. My father has already expressed his reluctance with the
whole matter, complaining the entire flight from Hull to the station
that he would have rather been left to his own devices on Earth. While I
am sure that he would have got along fine, the fact is that my family
members should not be asked to do something that is my obligation. He is
my father after all. Meredith politely offered to take my father into
her home, but the fact is that she has her own family to look after, her
son and daughters and her husband. There is no need to add to her
family situation. Besides, I have the room so it only makes sense that
he come be with me.Of course, it also gives me the unique
opportunity to get to know the man. So much of his history has been
clouded over, things that neither of us are willing to talk about. My
mother being one of those things. How many times I wished that we had
the opportunity to sit down and talk about it, to gain some sort of
perspective on the whole incident surrounding her death, but neither of
us has been willing or able to make that attempt to talk about it, to
communicate our thoughts on the subject. I know it was never explained
to me to any sort of satisfaction. And that is something that has
haunted me for much of my life. But, even now as I watch my father move
about the room, placing our family photos all about my living room, I
cannot help but recognize the possibility being presented to me now.
Hopefully before his condition worsens, he and I will have the
opportunity for a long awaited conversation.Perhaps my
largest concern is with my father interacting with my officers. His
longstanding friendship with Edwin Sutherland is something that is sure
to be quite interesting to watch as they renew their interactions, and I
am sure that the other officers will soon find themselves in the
company of the man. I am not sure how much interaction he will be up
for, considering his condition. But I want him to be comfortable here,
and that means putting up with his attempts to get to know the men and
women that live and work here. I only hope he can contain himself, and
give others time to adapt to him before he reveals the true "James
Thrace" that I know.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 11: PM
|
Personal Log, Stardate 63431.1
I brought my father home today after being in New Berlin for the past
four days. I took an extended leave of absence from Starfleet after I
received a cryptic message from my cousin Meredith that my father had
taken ill. upon my arrival, I was made to wait for several hours before
being allowed to see him, only to finally be allowed access and finding
him just as he always was; irascible in the extreme. He told me it was
nothing, that Meredith was simply overreacting to just a few lapses in
memory, something any man his age would be experiencing. And he was
right about that, at least in my opinion. My father is nearly
seventy-one years old, and the occasional lapse is to be expected.
Feeling a bit put out, I returned to waiting only to have a doctor tell
me that there were some other outward concerns and that they wanted to
keep him a while longer to run a few more tests. More tests. I know
those words so well. I have used them countless times in my career,
having to inform both patients and their families that a few more tests
were necessary in order to "rule things out." Of course it was a
stalling statement, something we doctors used when we knew something was
wrong, but weren't sure what. And I could see by the expression on the
doctor's face that this was the case. So, more waiting for me.Let
me tell you, pacing about the lobby of a hospital is not the best way
to spend your time or make friends. I am sure there are countless people
in that lobby that now hate me, the neurotic Brit that wouldn't sit
down. But how could I? Even the normally calming countenance of Kathryn
couldn't completely soothe the angst I felt every time those doors
opened and another doctor entered or left. How I wanted to burst back
there and completely take over, dominate the scene and find out what
precisely was wrong with my father. I would have been well within my
right to do so, as a Starfleet Doctor my authority superceedes theirs.
But my father wouldn't hear of it, and I am sure that the nursing staff
would have been anything but supportive had I overruled their attending
physician. So I was regulated to the task of more pacing, all the while
blaming myself for not taking a keener interest into my father's health.I
know it is not my fault. As he will openly admit, he is aging, though
to hear him tell it you would think gracefully. But I know how much it
pains him, how much he longs to be vital once again and not constantly
depending on the support of our family. Not that he was ever really a
burden, but just constantly having someone look over your shoulder can
make anyone feel like that. It was something none of us wanted to
consider, getting older and now relying on loved ones to watch our every
move. My father had always been a protector and provider, a vibrant
force in our family. Whatever else he had been, whatever kind of man, he
had always put his lineage above all else. That included me. Now to
watch that vibrancy slip away, it was disheartening.Finally,
after two days of traipsing about the hospital, and keeping my father's
hands from wandering along the hem lines of a few nurses skirts, we
were given a diagnosis: Advanced Irumodic Syndrome. It explained why the
testing had taken so long, as synaptic pathway degradation can be
caused by a multitude of things. They wanted to be sure. And now we had
it. A disease that ravaged the brain, stripping away the ability to
control even the most basic function, until the person finally died of
autonomic failure. There was no cure, nothing we could do but offer the
person a modicum of comfortability until they finally passed. With the
diagnosis confirmed twice (once by me), I gathered my father and his
things and transported him home.So here I sit in my
father's study recording this log. He is upstairs resting, the trip from
New Berlin taking more out of him than either of us realized. I thought
that I would begin my own research, look at the palliative treatment
for the disease and see if there was not some way to improve upon it,
maybe even understand where the medical research stood at this point
when it came to a cure. But I just can't bring myself to do that. I am
sitting here, staring at a picture of my father and I at the last family
reunion, a picture that I had forgotten about until now. I didn't even
know that he kept it, but I suppose I should have. The house is a
veritable collage of the family through the centuries. But this picture
stands out. It is almost proudly displayed on his desk, larger than the
others that dominate its large surface. A simple photo of he and I,
with "Father and Son" scrawled down one side. A telltale picture taken
by my second cousin Ashland. The boy really had done an excellent job. I
didn't realize he had such a talent.Sitting here, looking
at the picture of us, the various pictures of other family members, a
few pictures of my mother scattered about the office, I realize just how
important my family line is to my father. Don't get me wrong, I had
always known, but only now sitting here where he normally sits,
surrounded by these photos, do I begin to comprehend the effort and care
that went into researching and cataloging all these pictures and
preserving them. It took a dedication that I didn't know my father had,
or maybe didn't want to believe he had. My father. James Augustus
Thrace. What else do I not know about the man? Will I have the
opportunity to learn before it's too late?
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 11: PM
|
Rules for RP with me!
I know I know, this was a looong time coming! I probably should have
done these a long time ago, and it would have saved me a lot of
heartache. But live and learn, and now I know what I need to say so that
people won't get all all upset (Like some have) when I tell them I
cannot rp with them. So, I hope these help clear things up, and this
way I can avoid confrontations! So here they are!Rules:1.
I am a non-canon character. That means I am a true blue, 100%
original. I can do what I want, and not worry about wondering if it is
"In Character." So, don't criticize how I act or what I say, because
that is the sure fire way to find yourself deleted!2. I
will not rp with you in which we continue to introduce your character
over and over. Once, the very first time we rp together, is enough.
Please establish yourself.3. I will not rp with someone
who tries to play multiple characters at once. This means that if you
make a comment post as one character, but in that post you act as four
or five other characters, I will not respond. Pick one, make it your
main, and then we can rp.4. At no point will I sacrifice
myself, or "kill off" a character at any time. While it may seem
pivotal to the storyline, I simply will not do it, so don't expect it
or request it.5. Keep God Moding slim to nil. There are
some people with whom this is an exception, for I have rped with them
long enough that they would know how I respond. And even they know my
limits. So, don't do it. I control me, you control you. Easy right?6.
I don't like "magic," so don't try it. It gets on my nerves when people
use obvious plot holes in order to solve their problems, so don't even
think about it. Q's are an exception, because of who they are and their
overall intent. But even that is a bit extreme, so it would be best to
just ask before proceeding. I will not be entranced, spellbound, or any
other such nonsense so don't try.7. I am a doctor,
nothing else. While I do have knowledge of a lot of different fields and
areas, medicine is first. So that being said, don't ask me to take over
in Engineering or some other craziness. And with that, don't step into
my house either. If you're a Transwarp Theorist, I would be more than
happy to talk to you about it, but that is it. I'm not building warp
engine with you or any other kind of strange thing. I'm a doctor, so
leave it at that.8. I don't do one liners. Don't ask,
don't try, just don't do it. I like to read as well as write, and when
things are short and choppy it aggravates me. Para and multi-para are
great, so get it together and go with that. Just don't go crazy.9.
SPELL CHECK SPELL CHECK SPELL CHECK! Holy crap, I HATE reading a bunch
of misspelled words! One or two is fine, but a whole paragraph dominated
by them? Not on my page! There are tons of websites that offer quick
and easy spelling and grammar checks, so USE THEM! Stop being lazy! I
know I use them, so don't be prideful! Grammar, punctuation, and
correct spelling make good stories great. DO IT!10. And
Last but certainly not least....I AM CURRENTLY IN A RELATIONSHIP!!
That's right, I'M TAKEN! So you women get those licentious eyes off me!
It's not happening, no way, no how. I am not a cheat, no matter how
much you beg or whine. THE ANSWER IS NO! I am still willing to carry
on friendships with you, but that is as far as it goes. You want
something more? Tough. Read my profile, its all there. Hell, you should
read the profile anyhow just so that you know who I am! Again, see
rule 1!!!Now then, these rules are of course subject to
change as my character develops and it becomes necessary to add
things or subtract or modify, whatever the need is. I posted these to
clear things up a bit, and to stop all the angry messages because I
don't rp with people (You know who you are!!!) Now we are all on the
same page, and I hope we can do some really great rps together. Should
you have any questions about any of these rules, do not hesitate to send
me a message and I will discuss them. Doesn't mean they will change,
but I am willing to discuss them.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 10: PM
|
When She Shall Die...
"When she shall die, take her and cut
her out in little stars and she will make the face of heaven so fine
that the entire world will be in love with night and pay no worship to
the garish sun."Ben
awoke suddenly in his bed, and listened to the silence around him. The
only sound to be heard was that of the wind whipping about the windows
of his room, the third winter storm of the season in full go. He slowly
sat up, pulled the blankets off, and slipped out of bed. The moment his
feet touched the cold wooden floor, he cringed and slipped them into his
dark green slippers. He always did that, missed them by inches, and
always received a cold reminder. He grabbed his matching house robe from
the bedpost, put it on, and made his way downstairs.The
entire house seemed frozen. It was as if his own personal winter had
sprung up inside his new home, the winter wind finding its way through
the walls and chilling the entire house to a point of morose emptiness.
Surely no life could ever exist in such a dreary place, and even Ben
seemed to think of himself as an odd sort of innkeeper of a long
forgotten English Manor. The heavy robe he wore could not protect him
from the house winds, but he still vainly attempted to wrap the dense
material about him to generate some warmth. He could not understand how
the cold had become so trenchant, since he had made sure to turn on the
heating unit before going to bed. The blasted thing is probably on the blink again,
he thought, but when he approached the monitor he saw that it had
automatically turned off. He considered turning it back on, but decided
instead that he wanted a fire, so he turned away from it and headed for
his library.The
library was smaller than he would have liked, but it certainly served
its purpose well. He had painstakingly placed all the books on the
shelves just a few days previous, but had yet to place the pictures and
paintings on the wall of the room. He smiled at the notion of how much
work remained to do in this new house before it would become a home to
him, but cringed inwardly at the thought of it. If only Rebecca were
here, she would have this place already stocked full of our things, and
feeling like a right proper place to call home. He shuddered at the
thought of her, trying to drive her from his mind. It was no use, as
this time of year often did that to him. How she had loved the winter,
had loved the holidays. The only thing she had ever asked of him was to
get the necessary decorations, whatever she requested no matter how
outlandish, and she would take care of the rest. And take care of it she
did. In a day's time, their home in France transformed from a seemingly
simple flat in the city of LaBarre into a shrine for the holiday
season. The house would exude the pungent fragrance of cloves and
cinnamon spice as she cooked and baked and overwhelmed herself with
seasonal foodstuffs. His favorite scent had been the fresh peppermint,
which she would put in the water for the tea on the first day of her
cooking. The living room would absorb the aroma, and it would linger for
days, and it would welcome him home each time he sat in his favorite
chair near the bay window. Now that smell and all the others were gone,
this new place still reeking of moth balls, and wood, and totally
grounded him in the very real sense that he was alone.He
walked to the fireplace and began the process of starting it up. It
didn't take long, since he had placed treated wood in the hearth the
other morning and a lighter nearby. With a little patience, he soon had a
nice fire going, and he walked over to the mini bar that was concealed
in a panel not too far from the fireplace and poured himself a drink. It
was then that he saw the time, and he scrunched up his face in disgust.
The clock read three a.m., and he wished he felt tired. It would be a
long day indeed for the doctor, and he was sure at some point he would
long for sleep. He turned around and walked back to the sofa, and sat
down. Once again his thoughts returned to Rebecca, and how she would
always argue that he just needed to return to bed, and eventually sleep
would come. She had always been right, but right now he could not bring
himself to follow the advice he had heard so many times in his life with
her. In fact, he wanted to be up, he wanted to think. Part of his
problem was this sudden dwelling on all things Rebecca. What was the
cause? Sure, he had always thought about her during this time of the
year, for she had loved it so, but ten years had passed since her death,
and now he found his thoughts returning to her almost as much as they
had the day after she died.Ben
rose from the sofa and crossed to the old mahogany desk in the library
and took out an old picture of Rebecca from a hidden drawer panel. He
had kept it hidden in his desk, the only picture he did not allow others
to see. Her hair had been shorter then, the dark ringlets framing her
face and making her smile all the more innocent. Her smile had always
seemed so simple, and yet so magnificent because of its graceful
simplicity. She smiled for any reason, at the slightest provocation, and
Ben remembered the time he had first seen it. The smile that changed my life,
he thought to himself as he gazed upon the picture. As enthralling as
the smile was, her eyes truly had it. Deep, dark pools of vibrant warmth
that had been so fascinating to look into. How he had fallen in love
with those eyes, how they would become alight with fire when she was
outraged, or how it seemed her love for him poured from those wondrous
portals of her heart when he kissed her. Unexpectedly the picture seemed
blurred, out of focus; and he blinked and rubbed his eyes only to
discover that he was crying. He shook his head and sat down at his desk,
and put his head down.His head
had barely touched the desk when he suddenly felt a warm hand on his
face, and felt a light breath on his neck. He knew who it was before
they spoke, but he waited for the voice anyway."How did I know I would find you here?" Her soft voice made him smile, despite the slight sarcastic tone."I
would imagine, you know where to find me because you have found me like
this before," He inhaled deeply, and brought his head up from the desk.
There sat Rebecca, on the edge of the desk looking down at him, eyes
radiant and smile beguiling. He turned in his chair and stared up at
her, taking in the sight of her after so long. She was just as he
remembered, but all the more lovely. She wore the long white dress that
had been her favorite for lounging about the house all those years ago. A
simple, flowing dress that hugged her lithe frame expertly, and had
always made Ben want to reach out take her into his arms."So,
it's that time of year again I see," She moved over to him, and picked
up the picture that he had been resting on only moments earlier."You know it, same as always," he remarked, watching her as she stared at herself. She breathed deeply, and looked back at him."I
thought you were going to get rid of this picture. You know how much I
hated my hair in it. It's too short." She ran her fingers around her
face in the picture, as if she could magically make the hair grow."I
think that is why I keep it, because you think its terrible but I
cannot find a flaw." He took the picture from her, and set it upon the
desk. Rebecca stood up then, and walked to the window. She wrapped her
arms around herself, and he watched her for a moment before finally
standing and walking to her side."I
see you returned to England. I wondered if you would ever pull yourself
out of LaBarre. I know how much you hated being there, what with my
family coming and going in the house after I was gone." She didn't turn
to face him, and he did not need to see her face to know a smile was
there. Instead she kept her eyes on the falling snow."That
is not true, I loved France, and I loved LaBarre. But you are right;
your family was beginning to make me a bit batty. Your mother wanted to
come over each day and cook for me, and your brother absolutely refused
to leave me alone on the weekends. He insisted on dragging me to every
little night club he was familiar with." Ben crossed his arms at the
memory, but he heard her begin to laugh."Find
that funny do you?" He turned to her, arms still crossed. She faced him
finally, the laughter still evident in her smile. She placed a hand on
his chest, and moved closer to him."You
must not be angry with Philippe, he was trying to do you a favor, and
they love you." She kept laughing, and he smiled at her as he wrapped
his arms around her."They are not
the one I want. I want you, I miss you so much." The laughter was now
gone, and she stared up at him. She didn't speak, but instead took his
arm and pulled him over to the sofa. He sat down, and she curled up next
to him, tucking the hem of her dress under her toes."Well,
fill me in on all that has happened since we last spoke." She was
smiling again, and though he didn't want to change the subject, he
couldn't help but give in to her request."Well,
I have returned to my research, finally attempting to cure all the
universe's diseases like I said I would when we met. I am finally
settling into the routine of this new life, and I now have things
running pretty smoothly with the medical facility. Not to mention, I
just bought this gargantuan place, and I still have my work cut out for
me with renovations and unpacking everything. But I love it, and slowly
but surely I am getting comfortable here." His sudden sprightly demeanor
did not convince her, and she could tell he was not being completely
forthcoming."Ben, I know there is
more to it than that, and you know that your professional life is not
what I wanted to hear about. You have always been able to work in spite
of whatever personal things were going on with you, and you have learned
to hide it well. But you can't hide it from me, you never could. Stop
trying to evade me and just tell me what is going on." Her mellifluous
French accent pierced him, and despite his love of it and her, he felt
his anger rising."As if you don't
know. You say you know me so well, and yet you want to go through all
this. Why? Don't you see that I don't want to? I just want to sit here,
and stare at you and think about you." He reached out for her hand, and
interlaced his fingers with hers."Ben,
you can't hold onto me forever, and I can tell that you grow tired of
this. Every year you trudge out that old picture of me and stare at it,
and reminisce on things that can never be. You persecute yourself, and
now I can sense that you are close to a new happiness, and yet you chose
to be hard on yourself. This year you have been harder on yourself than
any other. Never have you sunk to the depths you have this year, and it
is that more than anything else that tells me something is different.
What is it? Have you met someone? Are you in love?" Her eyes were
attempting to bore into him, as if she could search his heart herself
and glean the answer."YES DAMMIT
YES!" His outburst was so sudden, and it frightened him. "At least, I
don't know. I have met someone, and she is....well, she is wonderful. Each
and every time that we are together, I find myself longing to be closer
to her, to hold her just as I once held you. But when we get close, I
feel that I am hurting you, and not being honest with her. I just don't
think that I am ready to be with someone else." He closed his eyes, his
head suddenly throbbing and sweat beginning to form on his head. The
realization of the feelings he had for someone else abruptly seemed to
come crashing down upon him, and he felt as though he may break under
their weight. He could not bring himself to look at her, but soon he
felt her touch his face with her soft hands and bring his head down to
rest on her shoulder."Ben, how
long did you expect to mourn me before you finally began to let go?
Honestly, this is natural, and thoroughly to be expected. You should not
want to be alone, no one should. I would not wish that on anyone,
especially not on the man I love." She stroked his hair, and continued
talking. "Ben, I love you, and I always will you know that. But I am not
here to be with you, I cannot be, and you cannot waste your life
waiting for something that is never going to happen. You need to move
on. This new person could be who you are looking for, who you need.
Perhaps you can both be the rock the other needs in their lives.""But
I don't want another rock! Rebecca, you were supposed to be it for me.
All my life I wanted nothing to do with anyone. I was so proud of being
able to do things on my own. But when I met you, and the way you helped
me to attain my life goal, I just knew that I was supposed to be with
you. I feel so guilty all the time about you, and I don't need another
thing to feel guilty about. Already just thinking about someone else
makes me feel as though I am betraying you. Do you know how much my
heart hurts to think about you? To think of all the things we will never
get to experience together?" He turned away from her once again, and
crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby bookshelf. Once again she
came to him, and wrapped her arms around his waste and leaned on his
back."Do you remember the night
you proposed to me? What you said? You said that no matter what, you
would be there for me, that you would do all you could to make me happy.
You also said that you did not believe that you were worthy to be with
me, and that you would spend the rest of our lives together doing all
you could to be worthy of my love. Well Ben, follow through with that.
Just because I am not here anymore does not mean you cannot still be
worthy of my love. I want you to be happy, just as happy as you had
wanted me to be, and I want you to have that happiness with someone in
your life. You want to be worthy of my love, to be worthy of the faith
that I always had in you to be the honorable upstanding man I met all
those years ago? Then let me go. Let me rest. Put those old pictures
away, and don't take them out anymore." She
walked around to face him, and he leaned down and touched his head to
hers. She was crying softly, the tears beginning to fall down her face.
He cupped her face in his hands, and lifted her head to look in her
eyes."Ben, let
me go. Don't do this to yourself, not anymore. You're slipping, and I
am afraid you won't be able to come back again if you let go. I promise
it is alright. I am fine, and you need to move on." She brought her
mouth to his and kissed him, and he kissed her back gently, not applying
much pressure but holding her lips to his. A tear began to roll down
his face, and finally she pulled away, slowly freeing herself from him."I
love you....so much. I am so sorry for what happened, so sorry that I
could not save you. It should have been me." Tears began to flow in
earnest from him, and she outstretched her hand to wipe some of them
away."I know you love me, so do this for me....please. Let me go Ben. Just let me go."Suddenly
he awoke. He had fallen asleep at his desk in the library. He looked
around quickly, almost expecting to see Rebecca there. The fire was
beginning to die out, the room becoming colder and colder as each ember
dimmed. He became aware of a hot wetness on his cheek, and realized he
had been crying. He wiped his face and looked down, to find himself once
again staring at the picture of Rebecca that he so cherished. He picked
it up and wiped it off, then slipped it back inside the desk drawer. He
rose slowly, his bones creaking from the cold and having sat in a
position for so long, and made his way back upstairs.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 10: PM
|
Personal Log, Doctor Benjamin Thrace, Stardate 62900.5
I think my stay at the Fleet Admiral's house is at an end. I have
come to realize that despite my feelings about her....for her, I cannot
stay here. I suppose it is my own fault, really. I feel I have crossed
the line, allowed my professionalism to be compromised. I really
thought that she was beginning to feel.......well something for me, but
it seems all I arouse in her is anger and trepidity. This is simply
something that I am not used to. I have never really been good at
putting myself out there, at being close to someone, and for the first
time in a long time I finally felt that I could be close to someone. So
many times we shared moments, great times with one another, but we
whenever we seemed close to any kind of fundamental breakthrough, we
would revert to arguing and criticizing eachother. It has gotten to a
point where I cannot see a need for us to continue to be in the same
place anymore. I know that she has been depending on my medical
expertise to cure her current illness, and I will do just that. My work
will not be impeeded in any way, and I can continue my work from either
my new home or at Starbase 231 where I still hold my position as lead
researcher. Perhaps a break from each other would be just what we both
need in order to really achieve our respective jobs.
But it is more than just my want to continue my work unhindered that
makes me seek this......separation. I have never met a woman like her,
so strong and yet so fragile. She puts so much stock in her her job,
how she is viewed, that sometimes her professional objectivity
overshadows her personal one. She has grown so accustomed to things
being a certain way in her life that she cannot imagine a change, in
which she may actually have come to depend on someone. Not that I can
blame her. My own issues with relationships is probably more at fault,
for I continue to hold back. There is so much about me that she simply
does not know, and yet I cannot seem to break that barrier in order to
really connect to her, to let her in. I want to, gods know I want to,
but for some reason I cannot. You know, if Rebecca were here she would
say I was just being too pig-headed to open up, that I am allowing my
past to influence too much of my future.
She messes me about in a way that I would never have imagined. There
are nights when I cannot seem to sleep without dreaming of her, or that
my day is simply not complete without seeing her and that wonderful
smile at least once. But she seems to have thought other thoughts about
me. The last of my things are being moved as I make this entry,
although I am leaving a fully stocked medical carrier for her personal
use. There may be times when I am unable to get back to her to get her
the medicine she needs, so in this manner she can make up the proper
dosages. I have shown her how to do it on several occasions, and I have
left explicit instructions as well. I am confident she will acquit
herself of this task well, but should she need my, personal touch, she
knows how to reach me.
I have just been informed that my final belongings have been
transferred to my home in England. I am now officially.....moved out.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 10: PM
|
OOC: Something I was thinking about one night...
You know, the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that what I battle everyday is loneliness. I
spend countless hours each day running about attempting to find things
to occupy the hours, from work to group functions, to sports teams, and I
as rapidly approach the day when I will lose one of those forever, I
realize that loneliness is creeping up on me once again. I don't think I am the only one. It
is quite possibly the one thing that we all have in common. We get
older, we make friends, we have intimate relationships, and it is all so
that in the end, we have someone with us during the good and bad times. There are those people who say they are proud to be alone, and find many ways to justify this notion. They
find clever words to hide the loneliness, find ways to express a sense
supposed sense of independence that are supposed to make those that have
someone feel jealous. I know, because I was one of these people. I
used to (and still do on occasion) make fun of my friends who were in
these long and involved relationships, their constant battles, and their
drama. I always told them their
relationships were far too much trouble then they were worth, and I was
so glad that I depended on no one.
But then the other night, I awoke at about three a.m., and when I rolled over in my bed I was once again greeted by a wall. There
was no other person, no young woman that I was fervently in love with;
no soft breathing to remind me that someone loved me back. There was just a wall. I stared at it for quite a while, the faint lines from the paint brush still quite evident in the moonlight. It
was in that moment that I realized how hollow those words of
independence and self-reliance were, and how lonely I really was. Sure,
I have friends and a great family, people around me who would do
anything for me and vice versa, but at three a.m., when I wanted nothing
more than to hold someone and tell her I love her, I had a wall.
So, what is all this about? You
know, I am not sure. I am getting older, and while I know many would
fervently remind me of how young I am and how much time I still have to
find that one person that I am meant for, I cannot help but look at the
way my life is now, take stock all that I have and all that I have
experienced, and not recognize the possibility that I may end up, alone. How can one even begin to prepare for a life like that? Sure
there are women around me that I talk to, that I am interested in, even
one that knows of my feelings for her and returns them. But
as much as I care for her, and as much as I know that she wants to be
with me, still I cannot shake the feelings of loneliness. She is quite far away now, and we do not talk that often anymore. I had expected this to happen, that as time passed that distance would be too great for us to conquer. Perhaps
it was that initial defeatist attitude that sabotaged any advancement
for us, and once again it only serves to reinforce my thoughts of how I
shall end up.
Of course, I can always lose myself in my friends. I have a great many of them, and I am quite social. I love meeting people, talking, interacting, and experiencing new things with them. I
have many friends now that are as close to me as any family member, and
some I have known for so long they are practically family. Will they be there, all of my life, ready to stand by me and help me whenever I need them? Of course they are. We have forged relationships that could never be challenged or broken, and for that I am grateful. And
I have met new people who, while months ago our relationship started as
nothing more than a simple diversion to help me ease a little college
stress, who now I cannot wait to talk to each night. It's great, meeting new people and experiencing all this with them, and I look forward to each new minute.
But at the end of every night, at the end of every dinner, every conversation, I return to my wall. It is solid, it is bare, it is beige, and it reminds me every night that I am alone. I fall asleep, wake up, and again am greeted by this wall. For the longest time I knew I hated that wall, but I could never figure out why. It
has done nothing more than shield me from the outside elements, warm me
when I was at my coldest, and provide me with a place to think and
reflect. But the hate came on anyway, and it is only now that I am
realizing that the wall is not my problem.....the loneliness is.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 10: PM
|
Medical Officer's Log, Stardate 62818.6
My continued research into the disease that plagues Fleet Admiral
Janeway does not go well. While I have isolated the illness, I have yet
to determine its cause or a way to cure it with any definition. While I
cannot name specifically what it is she suffers from, it can best be
described as a type of white blood cell overload. All the white blood
cells of her body seem to be in a state of hyperdrive, their production
level way above normal. At a first glance, one would think this
increase indicative of a bacterial or parasitic infection, but at this
point I believe there to be more to it than that. I believe, that after
the initial infection, the bacteriophage responsible for that inital
stage may have altered the nuclear DNA of her WBC's sending them to this
hyperactive state. Normally they would have returned to baseline
levels, but this disease seems to thrive in the mass numbers.
There are a few things that concern me: One is her eosinophil count.
Eosinophils are responsible for responding in the event of a parasitic
invasion, so they would naturally be the first ones infected. This of
course would explain their high numbers, but now the percentage of
Eosinophils in her blood have risen to dangerous levels, and I cannot
stop it. The average human eosinophil count is about five percent, but
hers is currently fourteen percent. This high percentage is
troublesome, simply for the fact that upon degranulation of eosinophils,
they release an array of cytotoxic cationic proteins that damage the
surrounding tissues. Too many of these could lead to her death.
Another thing that bothers me is her NK or Natural Killer cell count.
These cells are normally the regulators, making sure to control cell
production by killing the cell before it becomes a problem.
Unfortunately, I can find no NK cells in the Admiral's body, and this
lack of cells is extremely troubling. Somehow, I must find a way to
stimulate NK cell production without continuing to stimulate the
production of her other WBC's, and I must isolate the bacteriophage or
parasite responsible for the original infection or else my work would be
for nothing.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Benjamin Thrace
|
10/11/2011 10: PM
|
Medical Officer's Log, Stardate 57921.4
Recently I have begun research into the mysterious illnes that
currently plagues Fleet Admiral Kathryn Janeway. I became acquatined
with her ailment only a few weeks previous and the following log entries
will document my attempts to save her life.
The patient's inital symptoms are: joint and muscle pain, lack of
apetite, fatigue, sensitivity to light and touch, and an increasing
sensitivity to heat. As far as can be determined at this point, no
physical representations of advanced disease have occured (hair loss,
tumors, leisons, sores, etc...) but as the patient is now absent it is
hard to acertain if these manifestations have not begun.
Before the patient left, I was able to obtain several blood samples
from the Admiral, and though they are now several weeks old, they still
provide the best information. I am convinced that the answers to all
this lie in the blood, and I am attempting a full histiological workup
at this time. I can only hope that the disease does not mutate or
rapidly increase in productivity while the Admiral is gone, and that the
cure I develop for her will still be viable.
Preliminary testing shows that the Admiral's leucocyte production is
quite low, with Eosinophils and basophils showing the least in
production in her body. Her neutrophilic count however, is alarmingly
high, and I can only hope this is not the end result of some
anastomosing tumor that has now branched to her lymphatic and endocrine
system. Systemic linkage on this magnitude could lead to a more severe
form of disase that would be near impossible to treat. Wherever the
Admiral is, I hope she takes good care of herself. At last report, she
was using B-12 vitamin injections to supplement her energy loss, but the
virility of the disease has probably made this stop gap measure futile
by now. My first series of tests should be completed in the morning,
and I shall make a full report of findings after the analysis.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|