I Object! Part II
Posted on Wed Apr 22nd, 2026 @ 1:12pm by Chief Petty Officer Stephen Farrelly & Captain Thorrin & Commander Marisa Sandoval & Lieutenant C'Mila Juli & Lieutenant Addison Talbert & Lieutenant Junior Grade Wyatt Spencer & Major Hastios Eilfaren
Edited on on Wed Apr 22nd, 2026 @ 1:28pm
2,438 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
In The Nick Of Time
Location: Transporter Room 1 - Deck 2 - USS Herodotus
Timeline: MD006 1100 hrs
Juli had flinched when the Captain first called her name for the away team. She had stayed quiet while others were volunteering. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, of course she did. She just hadn't presumed she'd be selected. She quietly regained composure and prepped her station for transfer, before stepping away. Once she was ready, she stood restless, shifting her weight, waiting to follow the Doctor's lead, doing her best to hide the sheepish grin that threatened to give her excitement away.
Marisa was last to leave the bridge, nodding once to the captain before she left.
The transporter room doors opened and Hastios stepped through first, already looking like a man who regretted every decision that had led him there.
The Kroat disguise sat heavily on him, all cold-region military grandeur and ceremonial excess. Broad, dark uniform coat cut close through the torso, trimmed in heavy fur at the collar and shoulders, brass fastenings catching the light, medals and insignia pinned in stiff rows across his chest. A thick cloak hung from his shoulders with just enough weight to be annoying, the exaggerated structure at the epaulettes making him feel even larger than he already was. The hat was the final insult: furred, formal, and bearing the Kroat emblem at the front like some ancient declaration that dignity had died before he entered the room.
The facial prosthetics completed the transformation. His skin now had the roughened, almost weathered texture of a Kroat from the northern territories, cranial ridging worked cleanly across the forehead, ears subtly sharpened, eyes turned an icy blue that made him look even harder than usual. He lifted one hand and rubbed at the side of his jaw with visible irritation.
“This face itches,” he muttered darkly, stopping just inside the room. “And if one more person puts another medal on me, I’m going to start a war before we even get to the wedding.”
He adjusted the fall of the cloak with obvious displeasure and glanced down at himself as though personally offended by the amount of fabric involved.
“I look like I should be annexing a continent.”
For all the grumbling, though, the disguise suited him unnervingly well. His size, bearing, and natural severity slid into the Kroat military aesthetic far too easily. Even uncomfortable, even faintly murderous about the hat, he looked every inch a decorated officer from a harsh northern command.
Marisa followed a moment later. Her green skin was now a shimmering silver-blue, accented by large sapphire-blue eyes that slanted up to make her face look smaller in contrast. Her full red lips were not smiling as the sapphire-encrusted headpiece of filigreed black metal that covered her long, black hair and matching collar itched terribly. Two long, pointed elf ears stood out on either side of her headdress like wings.
She did like the form-fitting black bustier, high boots, and long skirt with slits up both sides to allow her access to two boot knives. They were at least comfortable and would let her move and gave her access to weapons if she needed them. It was topped by black metal epaulets that held up a bejeweled cloak.
She wondered if anyone had used it to attract bulls. The thought made her smile as she turned to give Hastios and his costume a slow once over. "Very formal."
Hastios took in the sight of her and let the silence sit for a beat, his ice-blue Kroat eyes travelling from the sapphire headpiece to the knives hidden in the slits of her skirt.
“Formal,” he echoed, dry but not displeased. “I don’t mind formal. I mind looking like I’ve won three wars, liberated a province, and married into the royal family before breakfast.”
He tugged once at the front of the heavy coat, glancing down at the rows of medals pinned to his chest with open suspicion. “No one should need this many decorations just to attend a wedding. I feel less like a guest and more like a cautionary tale.”
Then he looked back at her properly, and the grumbling eased into something a touch warmer.
“You, on the other hand, look exactly like you belong there,” he said. “Elegant, dangerous, and just foreign enough that no one will ask twice.” A faint smirk touched his mouth. “If anyone does, I’ll loom nearby and pretend I’m important.”
"You are important." She ran a finger across one of his medals with a humorous sparkle in her eye. "These say so. And so do I." She looked him over again and nodded. "You are also free to loom all you want. In this bustier, I might need it." At least she'd feel more comfortable with Hastios nearby as she was displaying more skin than usual.
Farrelly had manned his post as he always did. It came as no surprise when the two people walked in. The Captain was exceptionally thorough and made sure the Transporter Chief was informed of what was to happen. "Right then. Is it just the two of ya?" His brogued voice made everything sound slightly more pleasant than it should.
"No. We are simply the first," Marisa replied. "The others should arrive shortly." It all depended on how long it took the doctor to make the physical alterations. And then there were the costumes. They took a little careful manipulation.
As Farrelly looked at the two people that were there he smiled. "You know, if I knew it was going ta be a costume party I would have dressed fer the occasion." His smile broadened. Fact was at least for the time being he rarely got any visitors and thought he would make a few jokes to get to know some people.
The warmth in Hastios’ expression shifted into something more private when her finger traced the medal. He dipped his head slightly, close enough that the next words were meant for her alone rather than the room. “Then I’ll consider myself decorated by the highest authority available,” he murmured, the dry humour softened by the look in his eyes. At her comment about the bustier, his gaze flicked over her once, brief but not careless, and a faint smirk touched his mouth. “If it starts trying to kill you before the wedding does,” he said quietly, “I’ll be happy to help you out of it later.”
Her blue eyes darkened in reaction, but that was definitely a conversation for later. In private. Then Farrelly spoke, and the moment loosened just enough for Hastios to turn toward him with more open amusement. “If you’d like the uniform, Chief, it’s yours,” he said, tugging once at the front of the heavy Kroat coat. “Take the hat as well. I’ll even leave the medals on it. Only condition is I get to watch someone else suffer in all this.”
When C'Mila walked into the Transporter Room, she was completely unrecognizable. Her emerald green skin was now a fair shade of porcelain, a touch of peach on her cheeks and lips, and her eyes glowed a cerulean blue and were set wider on her face. Something about her new look resembled a ceramic doll. The ridges that flowed from her brow and temples created a striking contrast to the otherwise delicate features of the faux Kroat. Her usual red hair was now platinum blonde and braided stylishly for the wedding.
She was dressed to seduce, though not obviously so. Her long indigo dress was tasteful and designed to accentuate her feminine curves. Soft pink details decorated the sleeves and the bodice of her dress. She wore a fur stole over her shoulders.
She noticed the Major's uniform immediately and offered him a subtle curtsy. Her eyes were the only part of the disguise that really bothered her. The lashes were thick and long and every time she blinked her eyelids felt too heavy, which caused her to unintentionally flutter her lashes at time.
"Hello, Major, Commander. Hi, Chief," Juli greeted everyone. One last opportunity to be normal before the show.
"Indeed. And a moment to get into character for the wedding." Marisa nodded to C'Mila's costume. "You look...nice is not the right word. A lovely distraction might be more appropriate."
Marisa turned to Farrelly. "What do you think of our wedding apparel?"
The Irishman was floored, and for the first time in a long time was at a loss for words. After a moment to catch his thoughts. "With all due respect, ma'ams..." He began by addressing both Marisa and C’Mila. "...I believe there is an old saying in Ireland that talks of nothing prettier than a sunset. That was true until now, because hot damn." He caught himself as he spoke and came back to attention. "With respect. Ma'ams"
The door to the transporter room opened up with a quiet whoosh. Addison stepped inside to check on the alterations she had made for the away team. For a moment, the doctor stood, gazing at the apparel that was chosen. Her eyes traveling over the choices, she was impressed. The shifting of some of them, where the clothing was concerned, she noted it. Addison gave a bit of a smile before she moved forward. "You all look fantastic!" Addison exclaimed as she made her rounds to look closely at the physical changes that she had made.
C'Mila tugged at the sleeves of her dress and straightened out the edging along her wrists. "Hopefully, we are convincing."
Hastios looked C’Mila over as she entered and, for a moment, said nothing at all. The disguise had done its job too well. Between the pale porcelain skin, the platinum braid, and that deceptively soft dress, she looked nothing like the officer who normally bounced onto the bridge with a tricorder in hand.
Then Farrelly found his words, and Hastios let out a low breath through his nose that might have been the beginning of a laugh.
“Easy now, Chief,” he said dryly, not looking away from C’Mila just yet. “You’ll have us thinking the mission’s become a competition.”
Only then did he glance toward Juli properly, one brow lifting beneath the weight of that ridiculous Kroat hat.
“You’re convincing,” he said, his tone settling back into something warmer and more practical. “Though if those lashes get any heavier, we may have to beam down with a rescue party just for your eyelids.”
His mouth twitched faintly before he looked between the group of them — Marisa in dark Vwaarti elegance, C’Mila like some carefully crafted noble ornament, and himself standing there draped in enough medals and fur to annex a border region by mistake.
“If this lot doesn’t sell the illusion,” he muttered, tugging once at his coat, “then history deserves whatever happens next.”
Then his eyes flicked toward the transporter room doors again. Once. Then back to the others. Then back again.
A beat later, impatience finally edged into his voice.
“Are we waiting on Lieutenant Spencer to make his entrance dramatic,” he asked, “or has he already decided he’s the bride?”
"If he is the bride, we have already failed," Marisa replied with a touch of humor. "But we may need to leave without him if he is not here shortly. The ship may have all the time in the universe, but we cannot be late to this particular wedding." And they did need time to discover exactly what they needed to prevent.
Wyatt, who had spent the last twenty minutes deciding what to wear, finally went back to his first choice: charcoal pants, a lavender shirt, and black polished boots had heard the tail end of the conversation that had called his name.
"I may be many things, but a bride is not one of them," he joked. "My apologies for my tardiness."
"Good," Marisa said with a nod, her expression deliberately bland. "It would be terrible manners to bring another bride to someone else's wedding."
Wyatt laughed. "I am sure she would outshine me, " he replied. "She is far more stunning than I ever could be."
Marisa inclined her head in acknowledgement. She hoped the woman was at least kind. "We will shortly see for ourselves." She glanced at the others. "Now that we are all here, shall we beam down for the ceremony?"
Hastios looked between the four of them, taking in the improbable collection of disguises, colours, fur, silk, jewels, and Wyatt’s attempt at respectability. Then he gave a single nod, the movement carrying the air of a man accepting his fate.
“I agree with the commander,” he said, voice dry but practical. “The less time we spend standing around admiring each other, the better our chances of not ruining a thousand years of history.”
"Indeed. We will correct the history, then return to the ship to admire each other." Marisa looked over Hastios one more time, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth, then she stepped onto the transporter pad.
When the four of them were ready, the half-Vulcan nodded to Farrelly. "Activate the transporters, please."
Stephen set the coordinates and looked up from the console. "See you in a few minutes." He said with a smile, it was his way of making a temporal joke.
A Joint Post By
Commander Marisa Sandoval
Executive Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Major Hastios Eilfaren
Chief Security & Tactical Officer
Second Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Lieutenant Junior Grade Wyatt Spencer
Chief Operations Officer
Communications Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Lieutenant C'amila Juli
Chief Science Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Lieutenant Addison Talbert
Chief Medical Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Chief Petty Officer Stephen Farrelly
Chronal Metric Transporter Chief/Transporter Chief
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
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