#ensnchekov

@ensnchekov  :     does  anyone  ever  answer  that  question  with  a  no?

       the  smallest  little  smile  blooms  on  her  lips  ,     something  she  typically  likes  to  keep  unseen     –     but  she'll  make  the  exception  for  chekov  .        her  grandfather  had  once  told  her  that  the  enemy  of  her  enemy  is  her  friend  .  .  .        so  what  does  that  make  a  friend  of  a  friend  ?        her  grandfather  wouldn't  know  ,     he'd  never  really  had  any  in  the  first  place  .        and  truthfully  ,    neither  had  serena  .        she  could  count  them  on  one  hand  ,     one  ,     two  ,     three  .       maybe  four  .       maybe  .

       ❛     you  would  be  surprised  ,    ❜               she  says  .               ❛    let's  go  .        i  always  eat  better  with  someone  else  .        otherwise  everything  tastes  bland  .    ❜

there's concern laden between the handful of bodies watching, waiting, but none quite so high as the doctor that has positioned himself just off the platform where the captain's chair resides, his arms folded tight over his chest as he tries to meter his own breathing.

they can't send anyone else down without knowing what's going on, but jim has already begun the process of putting himself in danger in order to step forward if another silent chunk passes. who else is there to lean on now, with the usual suspect taking his place as the martyr, leaving the rest of the bridge to almost helplessly stand by?

leonard shuffles closer to the man he finds the most ease in speaking to, leaning down a bit into pavel's space to glance at his screen, but also to mutter. " somethin' ain't right down there. no break in the comms, but nothin' reported back this long? can't be good. " @ensnchekov

@ensnchekov

The feeling of déjà vu was powerful and highly unpleasant, when Serik saw the Federation starship approach his spacecraft. They were unmistakable with their wide, circular dish. And while that was a different shape from the freighter he once boarded what seemed like a lifetime ago, it still sent him back...

It brought a bitter taste to the back of his throat, tension rising in his guts. It was just his luck the Federation would be the one answering his distress call. Dammit...

But he knew he had little choice but to board this ship. His own was now stranded after a dogfight, the remnant of which were still scattered nearby. Bits and pieces of the attacking ships floating around -- probably alongside bits and pieces of the pirates who used to pilot them, but Serik didn't want to think about this too long...

He had come out on top. But while he could go outside to repair most of the damage -- at least enough to make an emergency landing somewhere for further repairs -- his ship's tank had been pierced. He was fucking lucky it didn't blow up her whole engine, but he was still stranded. All her fuel had scattered and spread in her trail, and even if he could patch the tank itself, he was still out of fuel and functioning on emergency power.

So he sent out a distress signal, ready to fend off some more pirates if he needed to. What answered, though, wasn't pirates.

In some ways, it was worse.

He took a deep breath and sat back down in the pilot seat when the Federation ship hailed him. The USS Enterprise, it was called. He rolled his eyes, if only to fend off his nervousness, and pressed the button to send back a response.

"Pyrite's pilot here, civilian-class cargo ship. Been stranded following an attack. All I need is repairs and a refuel. Requesting permission to board..."

Civilian-class was a bit of a stretch when it came to Pyrite, given her home-made specifications. But he hoped they wouldn't be looking too deep into that. Or into the cargo he was transporting. Or at his fighter-class ship Rutile, all custom-made and lovingly tucked away in Pyrite's bay.

Yeah, he was fucked.

Still. Enterprise responded with their OK and opened up their hatch. Like a gaping maw, it greeted him, and Serik had to take another deep breath to keep down his anxiety. This was such a fucking bad idea. He knew when he would enter, but who knew when he'd be able to leave...

He wasn't twenty-two anymore though. Hopefully, it would be different this time.

Another deep breath and he slowly directed Pyrite towards the hatch on her emergency power. He landed her, the hatch closed behind him, the airlock cycled... Fuck. There was no going back now.

He sat for a moment in silence, gathering his courage. His hands shook a little as he watched some of the Enterprise crew assemble close by, probably to 'greet' him. Shit... Bayu was going to kill him. But again, there was no going back now...

At least, he wasn't there because he was being arrested (yet), he reminded himself. Small mercies.

He got up at last, put on his helmet and gathered a couple of weapons -- just in case -- before approaching Pyrite's hatch. Another deep breath and he hit the release button, warily standing at the top of the ramp as he looked at the people there, his weapon held at rest in front of him, pointed towards the ground.

⚖️ You’ve Reached Durán Law: [ TXT ] : “ bring a jacket,  it's freezing. ” @ensnchekov

📟⇨[P. Chekov]: You know I don’t go anywhere without details 📟⇨[P. Chekov]: I need more info

she knows it's a death wish, because, well, she and @ensnchekov had been checking their instruments for no more than two minutes and all of a sudden their crewmates were nowhere to be found. just a day ending in a y then.

" so, essentially, we're stuck here, we have no idea where everyone is gone, and there's someone still stuck here? " a rhetorical question. " i'm convinced whoever keeps recommending me for away missions wants me dead. " an overly dramatic sigh, head shaking as she stares down at her padd.

there is a beat. the shrill sheathing of his sword breaks the silence between them. arthur huffs at the scholar's comments, dirt-colored eyes moving toward the noise. they are met with a rather bemusing sight—mud, and soot-tinted ichor, splashed against the thin shambles of the other's clothing. perhaps pavel had not been as battle-ready as he may have claimed before, and perhaps the slayer is amused by that fact, even though he knew deep down that the other would not be prepared for a day in his life. no one would, really. he wonders why the man would even tag along in the first place. still, he laughs and tries to lighten the mood with a clasp of the shoulder. he is sure he looks no better—matted hair clumped with monster blood, callous fingers still warm from the fires he conjured but moment prior. armor torn, and face slicked with sweat.

" is this in my head? i don’t know what to think. " from @ensnchekov

for a long moment, she considers leaving. to turn around, to slip out before he notices her. she's not who he needs - he needs someone... well. anyone but her. yet his words slice through the silence with such terrifying precision: leaving herself no time to return herself to the shadows or slip out without a sound. he's her friend. so she steps a bit closer, comes to sit opposite him on cold ship floor, side resting against all too large view or universe outside.