#calypsostarter

Working in a male-dominated industry as a woman, particularly a woman who looked like Isabelle - well, it was nothing short of excruciating. She loved the work, loved the projects she got to lead, but her colleagues made things difficult. After what had felt like the longest day in Isabelle’s existence, all she wanted was a large glass of red wine and a good book. Thankfully, Hotel La Lune had a number of spots that could offer her just that. She settled on The Architect’s Lounge, choosing to bring her own bottle of wine with her.

“Mind if I sit here?” she asked, eyes glancing over at the person occupying one of the two armchairs positioned in front of the roaring fireplace. She’d settled in the comfortable chair before waiting for their response, pouring herself a large glass of wine and settling back into her seat with a contented sigh, casting another quick look over in the direction of the stranger. “You mind not staring? I know it’s close quarters but… I’m trying to relax,” she grumbled, voice icy and irritated. 

Impaler was Elora’s go to spot when dealing, but tonight had been a quiet one and so she found herself a little buzzed, trawling up and down Allard Alley, kicking the occasional stone into the street as she walked. Perhaps she might find someone interested in buying from her - the area tended to attract a slightly more rough set of folks. Not that Elora minded - she preferred it. Preferred to be among those who were perhaps just as messed up as she was.

Rounding the corner her shoulder nudged against someone else’s and she let out a lazy little chuckle, hooded eyes glancing blearily up the stranger. “M’sorry mate- y’alright? Ah- you looking for anything?” she asked, brows crinkling as she shifted on her feet.

So Neil returned to his spot near the helm, lips pursed. No one would have assumed he was guilty of something if not for the slight crack in his exterior--as if he had something to be guilty about. To hell with it.] 

They had Dr. Byrne. Getting back to a transporter was the next priority. She couldn't hear anyone in the decks above, hardly the team--she had to look behind a few times, flanking the Captain, checking--naturally--on Mudah. 

When Hazel heard whirs, clanking, the flash of green light in her periphery, the anxiety dissolved and hardened. 

Not even with that in mind, two young men she'd trusted to follow her dead by her own mercy, the whole thing was a sick joke. Something she wouldn't be able to admit to herself for a while.

She has things to live for, at least. The great unknown. Family. Spitting in a certain Admiral's face, God willing. 

When she hears people outside her barricade--not the clinical march of drones, but people, phasers ready and voices low, she grabs the gun without a second thought.]

Okay, gentlemen, you heard the Captain.