[Christmas Minisode] Constellation Christmas!

[Daniel Howell]

It's the week leading up to Christmas Day and everything is starting to shut down for the Christmas Period, well almost everything. The Freight docking ports and shops on board the base are busier than ever full of lots of Christmas things (Apparently the Ferrengi know that humans celebrate Christmas), civilian ports are also very busy as many of the crews family arrive for a Christmas in space. The Atmosphere is relaxed and the base is operating everything on a rotating skeleton crew so everyone on board can enjoy the festive period without working to hard. Engineering have also taken the time to install a rather large artificial Christmas tree on the promenade.

First Officers Office
Howell was in his office catching up on paperwork that seriously had lacked attention due to various events of last month. He had taken the time to install a few Christmas decorations, such as small desk size Christmas tree and some Tinsel that had been a tradition from Earth for centuries. Although the base had it's complement of staff, each department was working a skeleton crew on a rotation so everyone could enjoy the festive period. With the last few bits of paperwork completed, hopefully for the year, Dan decided to go to the bar and have a few non-alcoholic drinks and interact with the crew.

He got up and left his office, nodding to the two or three officers that were manning Operations, before getting in the turbolift. A few moments later, he arrived on the booming promenade and the even more heaving bar. He ordered a Coffee and sat at the bar, thinking about how he was going to enjoy this Christmas. He enjoyed relaxing, but he knew one of two things would happen, either he would get called to something or someone would get his attention. Over the past couple of days, he had already had to introduce himself to a few families who the crew had got permission to bring aboard for the festivities.

[Vem, son of Motag]

Á¢â,¬ËœTwas the week before Christmas, when all through the station
Nary a creature was stirring, not even the Ferengi delegation

The idols were placed by their altars with care,
In hopes that Chaplain Vem soon would be there;

The Bajorans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of The Prophets danced in their heads;

And Vem's aid in a panic, he was a not a chill sort of chap,
Had just settled on his favorite fear for he was about to snap

When out on the landing bay there arose such a clatter,
Vem's aid sprang from the Chapel to see what was the matter.

Away to the bay he flew like a flash,
He tore to the shuttle and threw open the hatch.

The light on the hull of the newly arrived craft
Played across the ramp as a voice heartily laughed

When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But an oddly dressed Klingon drinking a beer

He was a strange Starfleet Chaplain, his eyes sparkling like a gem
He knew in a moment it must be Vem!

More rapid than rain his tears they came,
And the poor aid fell to the ground and reported that it was all his fault- he was to blame!

"Now, aid, do not fret. I'm here, returned from my spiritual retreat, so what is the matter?"
"It's horrible! It's too much! I couldn't set up the holiday services and I'm going mad as a hatter!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Vem made his way to the Chapel, to see what was awry;

The boxes of decorations were still packed,
No Bajoran rek'ja, and the crates of human stocking were sticked stacked!;

And then, with a twinkling in his eye, Vem said to his aid,
"Tiz is not so much work for one night. We will work till dawn so don't be afraid!";

So it was that Vem worked his hippy magic,
And by morning the station was decorated- avoiding a fate most tragic;

Vem was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his face was still covered in tribal paint and "magic" soot;

A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack;

His eyes- how they twinkled! his forehead ridges how merry!
He looked like the human santa clause though his chin was considerably less hairy;

His sharp-toothed little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And he'd dyed the dreadlocks on his head as white as the snow;

The stump of a stogie he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad Klingon face and in his fist he grasped a sharp Klingon knife;
That he carried for the month of "Krak-jor"- the ending of strife,

Vem was an odd sort of duck, a mishmosh of holiday cheer,
And though it all- he still carried his beer;

To everyone on the station he gave a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
To his surprise, this fill children with dread;

He spoke not a word, but continued his Federation-sanctioned work,
And filled all the stockings; praying at the rek'ja, and offering blood sacrifices to klingons with his dirk

And laying his hand upon his breast,
He reported to the Captain, his words probably disturbing him from his early morning's rest

"I'm back, don't you know, from my spiritual retreat.
I've decked the halls and presided over several holiday feasts."=/\=

He headed to Operations and arrived to the sound of the boatswain's whistle,
And carried with him a wreath for the station crafted of thistle

And to the entire station, he broadcast on one of Operations open mics,
"Happy Holidays to all, please celebrate it however you'd like!"

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

[CO's Quarters]
When Stafford was a boy, back on Earth, sometimes it was the dreams that woke him. Floating above his own body, out in the forest, the cold voice of space, the blue ocean. Formless and otherworldly, they left him feeling quiet and introspective. They never scared him. As he grew older the strange dreams, happened less frequently, but they still came. And when they did he thought of them like old friends.

Other mornings the birds of the nearby woods were the culprits. Papaquiqui, papaquiqui! in a distinctive four note tune.

Less frequently, the neighbor's rooster or his own alarm woke up, but Stafford had always been an extremely early riser.

So when the call from chaplain Vem came over the comm, twice, and loud, Stafford was already awake but still abed, planning out his day. So much time to shave, so much time to eat...

"=/\=Good morning and happy holidays, chaplain. Meet me at the place where Tritter caught the cook passing off plain old ham as gourmet free range targ. I want a hearty Klingon breakfast and I believe in second chances. See you in a few. Stafford out."

[Hust Kinun]

[Cargo Bay Twelve, Deck 130]

Hust slammed down the lid of the container in this dark, dusty area of the station before loading the Hypospray with trembling hands. He dropped the cylinder he was loading, cursing himself as he picked it up again and fumbled it into location. He heard the click that indicated the injection was ready, and pressed it into his neck, near the jugular. He heard the hiss of the injection as he counted in his head. One... Two... Three... Four... Five...

He removed the injection from his neck, sighing as the voices silenced in his head. The shaking tremors in his arms stopping, or at least going down. He locked the container, and buried it again, finally sprinkling dust around so there was little sign that he'd been there. It was a process he'd gotten perfected over multiple trips. He went to the door of the cargo bay, killing the lights before he exited. He looked around, making sure he was not observed before he went back to his quarters, taking an indirect route. He was also out of uniform, he was hoping that he had not been identified. Unfortunately for him, at least one person had recognized him, a figure concealed in the dark. It was undetermined if they knew him or what was going on, but he had been observed.

The drugs were highly illegal- acquired at great expense to himself from a Ferengi merchant after the last debacle at the station. They were highly addictive, but also served a purpose- they blocked all of his telepathic functions, essentially masking his Betazoid side at great cost to his body. Eventually he'd be totally consumed in need for the drug, but for now it was a trade off he'd be willing to make. He found his way back to his quarters just as he heard the comms systems going off. It was Vem, the lucky Klingon who'd been spared from the viscous events of the last while. He changed slowly into his uniform, walking out of his quarters and working his way to his office, where he'd stay unless he was called elsewhere, or until he got motivation to go somewhere.

[Kirok]

[Crew Quarters]

Zex sat on her bed with her knees drawn up close to her chest.  Her arms hugged her knees.  She had just stopped crying.

This was not her first holiday away from Delta IV, but it certainly felt like it.  Sure her Star Fleet career had started to get traction and she had made a few friends.  But ultimately, she was still alone and away from home.

Not that her parents would want her back.  Not after what she had done.  But still, she could not help but miss them despite the fact that it had been years now since she had spoken to either of them.

Á,"˜
And to the entire station, he broadcast on one of Operations open mics,
Á,"œHappy Holidays to all, please celebrate it however you'd like!Á,"

[Crew Quarters]

The announcement did little to lighten the Deltan's mood, but it did give her incentive to at least get out of bed.  'Maybe a party would help to take her mind off her troubles.  A girl could hope' she thought to herself as she finally stood and stretched.

[LK Reede]

[LK Reede's quarters]

The holiday dear to her heart was here! She'd just spoken to her sister, Susan, and her mother. Back on Lunar Colony where she was born, her group-home-mates were all doing well. Work at the mines was steady. Clacy was going to have a baby sometime during the next year, Betsy graduated her 6th semester at school, Susan said their mom was about to start on her seventh pairing. Her mother had nothing to say about the matter, as usual.

"You'd think she'd give up on men after all this time," LK said aloud to the empty room. Her roommate was off doing whatever it was that he did. LK seldom seen him anyway. No need to wonder if he was doing anything special this year.

LK dug into the civilian chest of draws set well out of the way in the small closet at the foot of her bed.

Five minutes later, she triumphantly held up a red cap rimmed with a white fur. Putting it on her head, she then dressed in her standard cadet's uniform. Smiling at the reflection in her mirror, she left her quarters and headed for the promenade.

Time for a little Christmas cheer.

[Jamie McConnell]

Personal Quarters - Dr. Jamie Abigail McConnell

Jamie had gotten used to being alone during the Holidays and being okay with it until she met Cayden.  Now, the Holidays were a little, no a lot, lonelier.  She looked around her new quarters and sighed finding everything was missing something.  She missed her husband, his voice, his smell, his touch, his kiss... everything.
The tall Vulcan-human hybrid twirled around what was her living room and frowned.  She moved over to one of the crates that had been moved in and went through it.  Jamie pulled out a framed picture of Cayden, one she had taken herself, and placed it on a shelf by the bay window that looked out into the expanse of stars that surrounded the Columbus, her new home.
"Well, babycakes," Jamie leaned in and kissed the picture of her husband, "I'm home and just waiting on you." She hugged herself and took another sigh, "As you always say, home is where the heart is...and I'm right here, my love."
The new Chief Medical Officer ran her long fingers through her dark hair and tore her eyes from the image of her beloved and towards the stars.  He was out there, somewhere, doing something he couldn't tell her but she knew when he dreamed he dreamed of her.  As for Jamie all she thought about was him.
"Soon, my love," Her green eyes darted back to Cayden's face and she smiled warmly at it, "Soon."

[Michael J. Tritter]

[Tritter's Quarters]

Tritter was not much of one for the Holidays, but the Kids, ages 6 and 4 really enjoyed it. It was a good age for them and the perk of being on Starbase means unless he's onduty, he can actually spend time with his spouse and kids. It is a luxury he does not take lightly. One advantage of rank, was he didn't have to share a room with anyone. His oldest, was a typical boy, he was dressed in jeans, a shirt and a hooded sweat shirt over it. His daughter on the other hand, was more festive. She had picked out a red dress, with green stockings and black shoes.

He had had a chance to take a shower and get changed prior to arriving at his quarters, he tried to not expose his kids or partner to the violence he sometimes has to inflict. Tritter tried to convince his better half to come along, but they wanted a chance to catch some rest and he was fine with that. Kids can make that hard. He would than rise to his feet and corral along the two young children. He would lead to a turbolift and gently guide them inside, they were nervous as the Starbase was huge compared to them. He keyed in for the Promenade, the man wasn't impatient as he usually was when waiting for the turbo lift to slide to stop. Once the doors open, he puts his hand behind his youngest's back and gives her a gentle push outwards, she was the more outgoing one and he relied on that, as she kind of led her brother along to new things.

Once he made his way onto the Promenade, the two kids follow him closely. He took the two youngsters over to one of the Restaurants, to get their beverages of choice. His youngest a glass of root beer and the oldest was a bit on the plain side, favoring ice water. Once the two kids ordered what they desired and he paid for it, he led them over towards the window, allowing them to pick a seat over by it. They seemed to like being able to look out into space. He took a seat next to them, the man had nothing to drink, he simply kept an eye on things, watching the comings and goings of the other crew members.

[Vem, son of Motag]

Chuckling to himself, Vem took the turbolift down to the promenade and passed out a few small gifts to some of the station's child visitors. The young Ferengi held out his hand for a second and Vem produced a lump of coal. The Ferengi nearly jumped for joy, "I see... I could turn this into a diamond! Thank you strang red klingon! I'll give you 5... no FOUR percent of my earnings!" and scampered off. Vem sighed just before the Captain's message reached him,

"Sure thing Á¢â,¬ËœMander... I Á¢â,¬Ëœmean Á¢â,¬ËœAp'en." He reported back, correcting himself to use Luke's correct rank.
He sauntered down to the Klingon restaraunt and growled at the waiter who did the same back.

"MAY YOU FIND NO STRIFE IN MY BLOOD!" Vem yelled proudly and held out his chest. The other Klingon roared back, drawing a knife and making a shallow, but violent cut, across Vem's chest. He licked the blood of his knife and nodded, "You are pure of Strife! May we see an GLORIOUS end that results in Kahless's victory!"

Both Klingons embraced, in the customary fashion of the celebration of Krak-jor. Vem had done this 5 times now and would have to visit sickbay soon...
Vem took his seat at the table and ordered a small feast- most of it still living.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

Chuckling to himself, Vem took the turbolift down to the promenade and passed out a few small gifts to some of the station's child visitors. The young Ferengi held out his hand for a second and Vem produced a lump of coal. The Ferengi nearly jumped for joy, "I see... I could turn this into a diamond! Thank you strang red klingon! I'll give you 5... no FOUR percent of my earnings!" and scampered off. Vem sighed just before the Captain's message reached him,

"Sure thing Á¢â,¬ËœMander... I Á¢â,¬Ëœmean Á¢â,¬ËœAp'en." He reported back, correcting himself to use Luke's correct rank.
He sauntered down to the Klingon restaraunt and growled at the waiter who did the same back.

"MAY YOU FIND NO STRIFE IN MY BLOOD!" Vem yelled proudly and held out his chest. The other Klingon roared back, drawing a knife and making a shallow, but violent cut, across Vem's chest. He licked the blood of his knife and nodded, "You are pure of Strife! May we see an GLORIOUS end that results in Kahless's victory!"

Both Klingons embraced, in the customary fashion of the celebration of Krak-jor. Vem had done this 5 times now and would have to visit sickbay soon...
Vem took his seat at the table and ordered a small feast- most of it still living.

[Klingon Restaurant]

Stafford limped into the establishment and went through the ritual entrance with the chef/owner. Though the human didn't cut his chest, he went through the gestures. The owner knew humans weren't keen on self mutilation, but he was happy that his culture was being appreciated.

"Chaplain, did you order--ah, perfect." The captain took a raktajino and drank it straight. Doing so was akin to being hit between the ears with a tree limb made of caffeine, but Stafford buckled down and told himself to enjoy it. A request for hot cocoa would not go over well in these parts.

"Tell me, how was the retreat? You missed a fun time here on the station, to say the least." Stafford inquired. He'd missed the strange Klingon, truth be told. He felt as if he could have used him on their last mission.

[Vem, son of Motag]

[Klingon Restaurant]

Vem nodded but did not stand as Luke entered. He wasn't big on formality,

"Well the Taljorans were FANTASTIC. Their view on the cyclical nature of all things, tied in with recycling, was just astounding. The only problem is that, as you probably have heard, the Taljorans lack a proper sphincter and thus it just kind of... flows out. It was a.... eh... well it was as enlightening as it was an offense to my nose. But-" He said spearing a bit of roast targ, "The absence of a pleasure makes it all the more sought after upon your return to it."

He chewed loudly and swallowed hard, "Anything of importance on the station happen while I was gone? I miss any fun?"

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

[Klingon Restaurant]

Vem nodded but did not stand as Luke entered. He wasn't big on formality,

"Well the Taljorans were FANTASTIC. Their view on the cyclical nature of all things, tied in with recycling, was just astounding. The only problem is that, as you probably have heard, the Taljorans lack a proper sphincter and thus it just kind of... flows out. It was a.... eh... well it was as enlightening as it was an offense to my nose. But-" He said spearing a bit of roast targ, "The absence of a pleasure makes it all the more sought after upon your return to it."

He chewed loudly and swallowed hard, "Anything of importance on the station happen while I was gone? I miss any fun?"

[Klingon Restaurant]

"Just a few thousand undead corpses." The roast targ was crispy, fatty, and hot, but all of the sudden Stafford had lost his appetite. The fallout from the previous month's incident was still being felt across the station. And soon the entirety of Starfleet. His first command was not shaping up to be his best.

"We could have used you, I assume you have some type of spell that can counter reanimation," Stafford said, sounding defeated.

[Vem, son of Motag]

[Klingon Restaurant]
Vem raised an eyebrow at the mention of corpses.

"Well... I know an incantation or two. But I'd need a few sheep and a Venjuvlian death arrow. I'll make sure ta' put in a request fer' them so I have them on hand in the future." He added in good humor.
"But seriously Á¢â,¬ËœAp'en. What happened? Was it really that bad?"

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

[Klingon Restaurant]
Vem raised an eyebrow at the mention of corpses.

"Well... I know an incantation or two. But I'd need a few sheep and a Venjuvlian death arrow. I'll make sure ta' put in a request fer' them so I have them on hand in the future." He added in good humor.
"But seriously Á¢â,¬ËœAp'en. What happened? Was it really that bad?"

[Klingon Restaurant]

"We were supposed to be destroying some dangerous viruses. But they got loose." Stafford resolved to eat. He had a long day ahead of him and did not know when he'd have any more time than now. He stuffed a piece of targ into his mouth, hastily swallowed some raktajino, and sliced up the rokeg blood pie.

"They started affecting the telepathic sentients of the station in a strange way. Made them angry and mean, and hungry. They were attacking everyone who wasn't infected. We managed to cure everyone, but we lost a lot of good people..."

"For the life of me, I don't know how Tritter or Howell isn't traumatized. They put down more than anyone on the station. Could have been their friends or even family. Oh." The captain blinked. "Tritter's husband and kids are here for the holidays. Let's make sure any visiting family gets included in the festivities, yeah?"

"Like a piece of pie, Vem?" With a grim, watered down smile Stafford offered him a plate.

[Vem, son of Motag]

[Klingon Restaurant]

Vem's normally cheery face soured into a grim smile as he explained the previous situation.

"By Garlop's Razor that sounds like a nightmare 'Ap'en." He said apologetically and bowed his head for a moment.

"But yes- pie does sound wonderful." He responded, accepting and partaking in it, his attitude changing on a dime.

"It sounds like you and yours could very much benefit from some of the festivities. As you know, this isn't jus' the hu-mons times of celebration. This year it lines up with the Klingon's celebration of Krak-jor and the kendai sect of the Bajoran's observe Rek'ja. The former is a bloody affair-"

As if it emphasis this Vem padded at the shallow cut on his chest with a paper napkin unconciously,

"but the Rek'ja service is a quiet, private one. So I doubt we will be having any issue from them."