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In the order that I need themDaniel Meade (play by Eric Mabius): He is Betty's Lovie interest. Known each other for years but didn't realize how he felt until she was leaving for London , He followed her there, professed His love and have been together ever since (now they live in NY)Alexis Meade: (play by Rebecca Romijn) Daniel's Sister ,Tyler's Half sister, Claire's DaughterClaire Meade: (play by Judith Light) Daniel ,Alexis and Tyler's Mom.Amanda Tannen: (Play by Becki Newton): Betty's Best Friend , is fashion stylist for ModeHilda Suarez Talercio: (Play by Ana Ortiz) Betty's Sister, Bobby's Wife, Justins �mom.Bobby Talercio (play by Adam Rodriguez): Hilda's husband, Justin's Step Dad, Betty's Brother in lawJustin Suarez (Play by Mark Indelicato) Hilda's Son, Bobby's step son, Betty's Nephew)Marc (Play by Micheal Urie) Wilhelmina's assistant, He looks up to her thinks of her as his Mother, he also works at ModeTyler Meade Heartley (Play by Neal Bledsoe): Daniel and Alexis Half Brother, Amanda's Boyfriend.(these roles above are Non Negotiable as they are Canon Characters)Made Ups Needed for the Second Generation charactersDakota Meade (Play by Cody Simpson): he is the Youngest of the future Daniel and Betty's children and is the Most like Season one Daniel. This Play by is Non NegotiableAlso needed are Amanda and Tylers Kids, Hilda and Bobby's Kids, Older Justin and Older DJ Play bys for these are �Negotiable�as a side note I RP this the way the show ended so keep that in mind if you are taking on the rolehere is a Banner for more info. *It should be noted the Role of Daniel has been filled If interested contact Betty Suarez

Name: Benjamin CroweAlias(s): NoneSex: MaleRace/Species: HumanAge: 19Birthday: December 15thSign: SagittariusFamily: Nathaniel Crowe(father, deceased), Lily Crowe(mother, deceased)Birthplace: The CaribbeanOccupation: PirateHeight: 5'10"Weight: 172lbsEye Color: GreenHair: Crimson RedWeapons/Equipment: Cutlass, flintlock pistol, flintlock rifle, blunderbuss, dagger, granado, boarding axeAttributes: expert swordsman, master sailor, explosives expert, unparallelled knowledge of the sea and it's myths and legends.Bio: The son of one of the most famous and respected pirate lords, Nathaniel Crowe, Benjamin was literally born into piracy. From the time he was able to walk, Benjamin was taught everything he needed to know about being a pirate by his father along with the support of his mother, Lily. Things didn't stay peaceful forever. The British Royal Fleet had amassed an armada created for one purpose: to purge the seas of pirates once and for all. They started with the pirate lords. If all the lords were disposed of, the pirate world would lose structure and fall swiftly. Nathaniel's pirate haven was the first one to be invaded. On the day of Benjamin's eighth birthday, they stormed the small island and killed any that resisted and imprisoned any that surrendered. When they finally made it to the Crowe manor, they forced their way into the estate and hunted down the family. Nathaniel fought them off and told Lily to take their son and escape. Lily ran out of the manor with Benjamin and hid him in a fox hole and told him not to make a sound before sealing him inside. By the time Benjamin managed to break free of his prison, it was morning. His home had been burned to the ground and mother and father were dead. Over the next ten years, Benjamin sailed the seas on his ship, The Nightmare, making a reputation for himself as a pirate in honor of the family that was taken from him. He became one of the ten pirate lords by the time he was eighteen and created his own pirate haven called World's End. But while Benjamin was building his empire, the Royal Fleet was assembling a force unlike any that had come before; an army large enough to cover every span of the globe. Benjamin challenged this army to avenge the deaths of his parents and to protect everything all free pirates stood for.Theme Song~ Seven Deadly Sins by Flogging Molly 

Name: Edward van Cross Alias(s): None Sex: MaleRace/Species: Vampire Age: 256(looks around 25) Birthday: September 21st Sign: Virgo Family: James van Cross(father, asleep), Elizabeth van Cross(mother, asleep), Evangeline(godmother)Birthplace: Vienna, AustriaOccupation: Lord Height: 5'11" Weight: 177lbs Eye Color: Red Hair: Black Weapons/Equipment: Rapier Attributes: Immortality, super-human strength, endurance, speed, and agility, ability to transform into giant bat, expert swordsman, expert horseback rider Bio: Descended from a long line of royalty within vampire society, Edward was only one hundred years old when he inherited his family's castle. Though born of noble blood, his family had fallen from grace when his father began opening his large home to the less fortunate. His father, James van Cross, had begun adopting various creatures and allowing them to live within his castle. Slaves, orphans, and homeless creatures all found refuge in van Cross Castle. When both his parents decided it was time for their centuries long sleep, Edward took up his father's station as lord. Deciding to continue his father's charitable work, Edward frequently visited the slaver's market, and used his family's infinite wealth to buy the freedom of elves, golems, fairies, hobbits, werewolves and many others. Still, even though Edward inherited his father's home, fortune, and title, he also inherited the hatred of the vampire nobility. Edward had refused the marriage proposals of every lord's daughter and has unintentionally made himself, and his greatly extended family of mystical creatures, a target. Theme Song~ La Musica Notturna delle Strade di Madrid' No.6 Op.30 by Luigi Boccherini

The first thing he really visualized of Rome had been the warm orange shimmer of the joints tip he enlightened with his Zippo. He took a deep breath, smelling the stinging scent of petrol and the smooth grassy aroma of menthol tobacco mixed with perfect Ganja. He inhaled again, allowing the smoke to stay within his lungs longer than ever possible. For some moments he closed his eyes, only indulging in the soft tickle of the marihuana's velvety tentacles. Fuck, it was great! And he needed it urgently. Needed to be boozed, dazed, totally stoned. Needed some damn sensual shivers aroused by visionary pictures blurring his uselessly spinning thoughts. Mirages. Hallucinations. Snapshots of a glorious long gone past mingled with the modern aura of this breathtaking city. Rome! Founded 753 before Christ by twins who had been nursed up on wolves milk: Romulus and Remus. It had been a nearly biblical story. Romulus killed his brother und built his city on seven hills. This murder became pregnant and fatal for an entire empire. The brother kills the brother, the murderer of his father who raped his daughter and slaughtered his son... Rom: malicious tongues tell these letters to be the shortcut for Rabies, Odium and Metus, rage, hatred and fear, and by listening carefully to the whisper of the old ghosts gliding through the beautiful gardens of Esquilin, sensitive minds slowly will get to know that Rome's history turned out to an endless declaration of death and nearly none of their leaders had ever died natural. Not even the catholic church had been able to extinguish the evil worm still gnawing on Rome's roots. It had been Remus' innocent blood that had cursed the eternal city for ever. Rome! A star that shone more than brightly with the bloodstained twinkle of rotten decadence. Once the capital of the world, the pearl and the heart of the Roman Empire. SPQR. Sentus Popolusque Romanus: in the name of the senate and the people of Rome. Ascarion inhaled again.Gosh! This lousy little dealer hadn't promised him too much: with the intense of a silken hammer the "door" opened and Ascarion allowed his senses to enter a kind of daydream. His lids flutter as he watched the rays of the sun glisten on the fine marbles of some imposing temple-ruins. Standing on top of the Capitol Hill he looked down the ancient stones caressed by a tint of apricot and lilac. The shadows grew longer as the broken columns seemed to stretch like single fingers to the darkening sky. The moon was out already and like captured within a kind of transcendental experience the Irish could see himself watching this lovely natural drama. Sol invictus turned his golden carriage to leave the endless airwaves to gentle Goddess Luna. And Luna entered the stage: a solemn lady crowned by the crescent, generously wrapped in ink-blue silk adorned with thousands of twinkling mirrors; the stars broke through the mist. It could be a marvellous night... It could be. Maybe...Ascarion stood motionless except the small gesture he needed to move his right holding the joint back to his lips. Yes, he saw himself now: a slender young man all dressed in tight white velvet except his high black boots and a broad belt of the same colour, his uncombed long hair framing his beautifully vacuous face, flowing down his back and shoulders like woozily clouds of swirling arterial blood. His silver earrings shimmered like his indigo eyes. His bare arms were covered with pictures carved in his flesh. He looked dignified: like a strange saint, an uneasy warrior, a pretty special kind of angel. The expected angel! (Ha! Don't expect too much! I'm about to log out.) He was tired, horribly tired. A sarcastic smile curled his lips. Rome, he sighed, Rome, sweet Rome! His eyes were here, fixed to a couple of carved and painted stones formally the glorious temple of Jove bathed now in glimmering violet and the haze of too much exhaust emissions. A soft cool breeze awakened and the colours started to wash out. He shivered and put on his long black coat made from brocade. Now he looked perfectly medieval. Perfectly gothic. His mind was open to the impressions of fugaciousness: the fading light, the broken stones, the melting shadows. The breath from the past. Vanitas. Tempus fugit. We are all made from dust and to dust shall we return. Carpe diem! It could be your last one. He sighed again. Vanitas, momentariness. Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas. He liked the evening as well as he liked the morning. The death of a day and his re-birth. He never feared the sun though he lived within the shadows for nearly one thousand years. Fuck! The drugs didn't work... They never do. He felt his body captivating his mind again. Earthbound, yes. His body was here. His soul still wept. His heart remained in Malta. He was so confused.All he wanted was to talk to Louis again. But Louis was gone, had been together with his sire, his maker, his former lover who appeared on the scene like the desired rock-star he used to be: Lestat de Lioncourt. Blush in admiration! Bow to him in devotion! Praise him like God! Fuck! What a lad! He liked him from the first moment on. Ascarion always loved decadence and exorbitance. He always used to act and behave this way; not this noisy and swanky maybe, but nevertheless exalted and eccentric as well. Life is short... (What a farce!) Life is short enough and it should be lived to the full! Fuck vanitas! Therefore they sent him to Rome, a city where decadence filled the air like a precious fragrance. You have to meet Flavius, Pandora ordered. She had been nervous but restrained, her beautiful face vacuous like his own now. No feelings shown. The fingers of her right hand entangled to Johnny's fingers so they both trembled a little. Ascarion noticed this all too well. He had been looking at his soul's brother, but John Wilmot arrogantly looked away. What kind of loyalty is this? Pierce ones heart not to hurt another? He had been snarling a "Yes!" and left the room. He hadn't touched Johnny's mind. Things had changed since this night in the tavern. The coldness of Russian winter had followed him to Malta. Things got worse. Passion went sour, pleasure turned to bitterness. Maybe he had been too vulnerable, like he always had been. Too sensitive, too emotional. Maybe he had started to miss-interpret each and everything. Maybe it hadn't been arrogance that turned the face of the cherub to perfectly carved marble; maybe it had been just a kind of contemplation, a kind of inner preparation. Maybe it had been the perfect time for Ascarion to leave. Aye... High time to catch fresh air. High time to get entertained by new impressions. One lover gone, three still in line. Fuck! He felt like Don Quichotte now: he hopelessly fought the windmills of his mind.Find Flavius. Help Autumn and Amy. Meet Santino and Thelia. Face the evil. Fight the evil. He flipped the joint into darkness: a disappearing orange point he followed with his eyes. Fight the evil... What is evil? What is good, what is bad? What is loyalty, what is love? What is the difference? What did these ethics all count when they slowly but surely break and devour ones heart?For a last time he looked at himself. Yes, he appeared like a warrior. Like the clan-lord's son he once had been. And he exactly felt like one. Knight of the woeful countenance. His Rosinante awaiting him outside the fenced area of the Capitol ruins: a rented Honda Shadow to get him everywhere he wanted to. Flavius, he called mentally. Flavius, where are you? Come and get me! I don't know where to find you and I will surely not look around. My intuitions got dazed by sweet Mary Jane and I'm in the mood to get lost tonight. So again: come and get me! Maybe the others could hear him now, too. Evil, he smirked. What is evil? I'm here for new impressions. I'm here in the capital of former lust and decadence. I'm damn sure I will look for typical Roman enchantment tonight. I'm damn sure to misbehave. If you look for an (real) angel, catch him within the silent halls of the Vatican museum. Attract him down from Michelangelo's fresco at the Cappella Sistina. I am not here. Maybe I will never be here again... I do not care for good and evil. I spit on loyalty. I spit on love. I'm lying to myself. I belie myself... I never had wings, but now they are broken. My soul weeps. My heart has remained in Malta. Only my body is here. But I'm still me. So, fuck you all: come and get me! Fontana di Trevi! There were too many tourists around to grasp the entire enchantment of this breathtaking monument, but with the slow spinning of the multi-coloured spotlights and the wavy reflections of the water on buildings, statues and human skin the magic of this famous place didn't fail its effect at all. Even the noise, the rush of the falling water was heavy: a perfect oceanic illusion, breaking in confusing echoes on the surrounding fa�ades like a force of nature. He had heard this swoosh long before he had seen the fountain.Ascarion narrowed his eyes and smiled, leaning over the basins edge to dive his right hand into the water. It was cool, and for some moments countless voices touched his mind: all full of excitement, desire and hope: "O please, please..." They mingled, but all in all they did sound quite similar.He looked up the solemn face of Oceanus, the powerful God and emperor of all seas, stretching his mighty right to a group of tritons and sea-horses, forever solidified in this gesture of silent pride and demand. Look, he seemed to say, this is my realm, my element, my absolute magic, my power over life and death. The sea is beautiful, but she could be a wet grave, too. So: Praise me! Look down... And Ascarion looked down. Bathed in changing colours he could see a lot of coins reflecting and shimmering from the ground of the pool. Each coin a wish, spoken in hundreds of different tongues. His smile brightened as he watched some people celebrate this old tradition right before his eyes: whenever you come to Rome, visit Trevi and make a wish. But don't be too stingy, even Fortuna got her price... Ascarion slowly shook his head. They turned their backs to the fountain, they closed their eyes, they threw a coin. Gosh! Humans! They are so hopelessly romantic! Still smirking he watched a loving couple kissing, their faces now tinted in orange and yellow, their limbs entangled like their tongues, their thoughts wet and full of longing: a perfect demonstration that some wishes mostly always come true. Ascarion sighed and politely looked back to the basin.The spotlight-colours changed again and suddenly the water and the entire pool went red as blood. The Irish shivered. From one split second to the other his sentimentality turned to pure horror. Dies Irae... The night in the tavern! He could smell the disgusting miasma of burnt flesh again, the fragrance of death and nearly senseless destruction. His lover Louis, who wept in his arms and Johnny, his soul-mate, who too deeply looked into his eyes. "Brother...", he whispered, not caring that some of the tourists would be able to hear him. "Brother..." My heart remained in Malta! My soul screams in despair. I'm broken to the core.He swallowed hard. He turned his back to the fountain. The noise of the water was suddenly unbearable. The colours changed again. Now the world surrounding him went lilac. He didn't care. Make a wish, he thought with a sarcastic grin, throw a coin into the pool and make a wish! For every wish... could come true... Sure! It could...He turned his head again. You want me to make a wish, he silently asked motionless Oceanus, unimpressively watching him with polished empty eyes. Wishes I surely got enough, Ascarion thought, his face and his entire countenance now beautifully bathed in wavy china-blue, a lot of wishes... But, so sorry, no change!WELL, 2 HOURS LATER I HAPPENED TO BE DEAD... AGAINTHE ASSASSINATIONWritten by Celeste ValoiseSole and legal copy of Celeste Valoise (Paod)https://www.myspace.com/pandorasangelsofdarknessThe profound whisper of solitude finds me tonight, ensnaring me in a web of dark silk, my thoughts veer towards the gentle entwining of the past, it entangles me like the echo of long-spent passion filled nights with Santiago. Though it is not what I would call peaceful, there is an ease in it that I appreciate, a familiarity, it brings about the quiet malice, the absolute contempt that I always welcome and embrace in the cool rushes of the night. I sighed, flagrantly brushing off any feelings of guilt and regret, for it was very rarely the I had any. I walked along the cobblestone road quietly. The water from the Fountain di Trevi lapped and lulled against the stone, not far from me. As I moved closer and closer, the crescendo of gushing waters seemed to reach my immortal ears, even without registering its presence. My thoughts however were not on the water, they were on the ones who lingered by, two immortals like me and a young mortal boy stood at the architectural wonder. All around, were nearby tourists in awe of the triumphant example of Baroque art. As it was twilight, it was incredibly easy for me to blend in with the conclaves of mortals. I did wonder if one of these three would even sense my presence or were they far too engrossed in conversation to know that another immortal was nearby? To be safe, I veiled my presence, careful not to relinquish too many of my own thoughts.Like a cat in pursuit of its prey, I let the three figures have their space, their feelings of being free to go where they willed. Little did they know or realize, I was there lurking in the crux of mortals, discretely hidden in the shadows, waiting, watching. Tonight, they were my game, my hunger, the thirst for blood was not on the agenda. No instead, I silently stalked, listened and watched...I heard the incessant clamour of their chattering, oh how it drove me to the brinks of sanity; petty disagreements, convoluted theories about life, love and immortality from the red haired one...how very drole they were, so amusing to say the least.. "Mon Dieu" I whispered, when will it all end?I had fully intended to be clubbing this night, picking my game from the faces that shift and swirl to the music, but instead my loyalty to the coven had taken me down another path, it led me right into their midst's. Suddenly, I watched as the tall streamlined crimson -haired immortal audaciously doused himself with the effervescent waters of the fountain, the youth next to him dipped his hands in and out as well. For a moment, I thought I had been spotted. I saw the flash of the tall one's unwavering indigo eyes dart towards me, his mind almost seemed to catch up with his glance: I read his thoughts;" Another immortal, no it can't be" Amused and quiet delighted that he shrugged my presence off, I stood reading his thoughts, glimpses of emerald absinthe dreams entwined with highly sexually charged interludes all flooded his mind, then flowed into mine.He abruptly moved away from the fountain and the mortal youth, his mind seemed to fluctuate from hedonistic revelry to a preplanned mission- a task he was sent to complete. I saw the vision of an ancient Goddess in his mind, Pandora, she had sent him, sent him to journey deep into the catacombs, to penetrate the coven. This could not be, I could not let it happen.Immediately, I closed my eyes, shut out all sounds and the dulcet roar of the voices of the undead, I concentrated solely on this one known as Ascarion; I watched him intently as I stood motionless so close by, a play of words and images wound back and forth, plaguing his mind, as I decided that I would lure him away from his mission. His eyes grew vacant and I could sense that my mind trick was working, but the youth-- he seemed uneasy, was it possible that this mortal sensed me? How? Nevertheless, I continued to play my mind game with the crimson haired one...Careful not to be seen or heard, I followed, watched, and listened, with each image I revealed and each word I whispered, Ascarion became more entranced, his lust for hedonistic debauchery, his unquenchable thirst for absinthe took over completely. With each image I sent, his interest rose more and more, heightening all his senses. I watched the slow meticulous gestures he made, the way his face reflected just so in the moonlight, a jewel to behold he was, beautiful and sensual, but this did not impede me and my plans. My mind entwined with his, the stage was now set, soon the curtain would rise and Act One would commence! I grinned a devilish grin, subtly revealing just a glimpse of pearly white fangs as I strode silently behind them. The boy, yes he was indeed alarmed, I sensed his thoughts as they flowed to the handsome Grecian, whose blood scent was particularly familiar. I sensed the Eternal Scholar, no I was mistaken it was not the Roman fop, it was Pandora, his blood reeked of her. To my astonishment, not a one of them could see me follow so closely behind. Crafty, I always had been guising myself among shadows and hidden alleyways, sometimes even blending in with several mortals if I so choose. How I just watched, as they all strode towards a local tavern, completely unaware of my presence. I watched as the raven haired youth and his Grecian companion disappeared into the smoky halos of the tavern. The strong aroma of rich wines entwined with mortal sweat and nicotine, it made the red haired one stop dead in his tracks, but immediately I forced his mind to consume images of buxom Italian courtesans, of sinuous male youths, their writhing, glistening naked forms pleasing him in every way imaginable, flesh for fantasy, each one devouring his mind, his heart, his body, even his very soul in a wave of sin and scorching hot desire. Determined as I was for him to move onward, I whispered his name, allowing it to echo in his mind over and over, making it seem as it was more than one voice summoning him: "Ascarion, venu, nous veuillez �tre ici, � votre bac de teinture et appel, � vous, pour vous satisfaire mon amour"As luck was on my side, he moved gracefully forward, his long strides quickening as I followed swiftly behind till he stopped egregiously at a local house of ill repute; it looked as any other building did on the street, the only difference was the numerous amount of vagabond women that strummed about, some rather pretty while others were just very plain and ordinary looking--Whores, the lot of them, waiting for a client to stream by and offer them a bundle of cash for their services. I watched Ascarion's indigo eyes widen as he entered the brothel, all his attentions drew to the horde of scantily clad boys, well fed, nubile, smooth and rounded of limb they all were, it was incredibly easy for me to whisk past him unnoticed; in a gust of wind, I scampered up the spiral staircase completely unseen and unheard- an immortal trick I have grown quite accustom to using. I stopped at the foyer at the top of the staircase, leaning against a wall, I took a moment to take in all my surroundings. The brothel reeked, incense made the air heavy, still the more rancid odors lingered under the veil of sandalwood, mortal sweat entwined with stale alcohol and cigar smoke, "Ahh Mon Dieu! What are you doing here Celeste?" I whispered to myself. I moved over to the cherry banister of the staircase and peered over the edge. I observed Ascarion, more than delighted in his new surroundings.I watched as the boys seemed to lavish affection upon him, groping him, whispering sweet nothings in his ears, they were so eager to appease him. Two specific youths rushed towards him, beckoning for him to choose. He subsequently chose the taller, muscular youth with the pale skin, jet black eyes and chocolate hair. I looked about some more and watched as lascivious, buxom women strode about as well. The parlor was indeed quite dreary and incredibly filthy. The once white walls had been tarnished with soot from cigar and cigarette smoke, tattered red velvet drapes adorned the windows, the lights were kept soothingly low. I looked below and watched as a parade of half naked women, some wearing nothing but thigh highs and bustiers, while others adorned resplendent costumes of satin and lace. Some even wore just panties and nothing more.There seemed to be an onslaught of Nigerian women as well as some their paler Eastern European counterparts. I looked around wondering what made these women and young men turn to such a distasteful way of life. I stood motionless for a moment wandering in and out of each one's mind, stories of poverty, absolute suffering and strife. A young blonde male moved towards me, he was rail thin, his grayish-green eyes stained red from lack of sleep and intoxication, I watched as his eyes began to shift in my direction, they shifted and then hovered over my form, he melodically hummed to the music resonating from the parlor, he tightly clenched a bottle of red wine in his right hand and took a swig from it every now and again. He moved closer to me, staring and then smiled, "Care for a sip, love, come let us have some fun" I refused and meandered away, still ever so intent on watching Ascarion and the mortal youth. From the Mistress that spoke vociferously below, I ascertained which chamber Ascarion and his new pet world be retiring to, quick like a fox, I trotted to the room and hid myself in a nearby wardrobe.I sat quietly, curled up and waited for my moment; I heard them enter and I could peer through the slit of the wardrobe to see exactly what they were doing. I watched as the mortal boy removed all his clothing, he was indeed a magnificent specimen of a young man, his sinuous, glistening features even began to entice me. I watched as he moved towards a coffee table, he knelt down and began to snort a long line of a powdery substance - cocaine, heroine, I do not know which nor did I care, Ascarion subsequently joined him and did the same. Line after line they did followed by quenching their thirst for absinthe. I watched as Ascarion became ever more comfortable with the boy, teasingly, he removed his attire and then they began to fondle one another, I heard the sounds of kissing, moaning and suckling, and finally I heard Ascarion collapse on the immense four poster bed, the flamboyant young man giggled in delight and mounted Ascarion, consequently cuffing him to the bed; the boy teased Ascarion with a feather and then said " Oh but my angel, I do have some more mischievous toys we can play with, be right back" and he moved towards the bathroom. I giggled, slightly amused as this seemed to be just way too easy.Completely inebriated on absinthe and stoned on whatever drug they chose, the immortal did not notice how I crept silently from the wardrobe, the youth came out with his cat o nine tails and I quickly ensnared him, he screamed in horror as I revealed my white pearly fangs; Ascarion shot up from the bed and his icy indigo eyes glared at me. I laughed, "Mon Dieu mon cher,, watch as I take his very life, this is what happens to little pets, they are bled dry!" I bent the youth's head back and watched as Ascarion struggled with his cuffs; my fangs quickly pierced his flesh and I swallowed his very life in one precious gulp, I tossed the body aside and moved swiftly towards Ascarion. I pulled a machete from the folds of my gown and I mounted Ascarion, pushing him down with vigorous force and slamming his head against the headboard of the bed in a loud thump. He seemed to check in and out as he looked at me, I smiled malevolently and sprung into action, I took the blade and quickly sliced his right cheek, I watched as the blood gushed forth. I leaned forward and sliced his throat, the blood seethed forth staining the ivory bed linens, I then took the blade and plunged into his abdomen, twisting it clockwise and then counter clockwise, I was pleasantly aroused by my actions, to kill another like this, I never thought it would bring me such joy, to have power over this immortal was intoxicating in itself. I pulled the bloody blade out and then sliced his abdomen over and over, till I revealed his entrails. He writhed in agony, screaming and moaning for me to release him from his pain. I forced his mouth open and sliced off his tongue and tossed to the floor as it were nothing but a wriggling worm. I laughed and watched as scarlet tears streamed down his face, he gasped for air, I could see his last remaining thoughts, visions of Louis, of the dark haired Lord Rochester, of Malta. "Ahh mon ange, cry, spill your last remaining tears for the emerald eyed one who left you for his maker and for the one that was never yours to begin with, Lord Rochester, mon ami has and will always belong with his Goddess, tu ne comprends pas? He was never yours!A devilish grin came over me and I pushed his hair back from his blood soaked face," Ohhhh ma petite chou, it now ends, I will end your suffering, look at me for I am the last you will see, "Est-ce que mon nom, je suis connu car Celeste Valois, la beaut� malveillante, et oui mon ange je suis une femme, pour penser une femme qu'une seule femme a vu � votre cession, il sais vous blesse pour savoir ceci ? J'esp�re certainement ainsi!" (Know my name, I am known as Celeste Valois, the malicious beauty, and yes my angel I am a woman, to think a woman- a mere woman saw to your demise, does it hurt you to know this? I certainly hope so!) Suddenly I thrust my hand into his abdomen and pulled out his wriggling organs, blood poured forth in a slow undulation and covered the coverlet on the bed; "Scarlet dreams Ascarion" I whispered. I ripped the organs out and shoved them into his bloody, gaping mouth, with one last gesture I raised the machete and slammed it straight down splitting his chest cavity in half. Covered in his blood, I rose from the bed, I went to the bathroom and meticulously washed myself off, I adorned some extra, clean clothing that was in the wardrobe and peacefully sat down in the armchair and lit a cigarette. I took a quick inhale and blew the smoke out in a grey streak across the room, I laughed and tossed it on the bed, I picked up the youths bottle of absinthe and doused the bed with it, I walked toward the door and finally flung an open match over the cadaver and blood stained sheets. Flames began to devour the room and the red haired immortal, the false prophet known as Ascarion was no more.... Au Revoir ma petite mouton noire! (Goodbye my little black sheep!) I exclaimed as I walked calmly out the door, closing it gently behind me.REBIRTH OF AN ANGELWith the door closing the scenery froze. The stinging scent of heated wormwood hung in the air, mixed with blood, thick and delicate like a silken veil. Tiny drops of crimson, washing a rosy cloud over the entire setting to dilute the maniacal horror to a kind of gothic nightmare. Absinthe was made to indulge in green damnation, not to be used as a kind of combustible. Sure Ascarions hair got scorched, but all in all nothing really happened. The alcohol burnt out. The scenery froze. Time stood still. It looked like a lurid photograph from a splatter movie, like an oil painting done by an extremely talented but absolutely sick artist. Bosch, Dali, Helnwein... it looked grotesque. A shadow slipped into the room, black, noiseless and disembodied like only a shadow can be. It came closer, it grew bigger with every move. It stopped at the bed, and though time stood still a deep heartbreaking sigh was heard. "Angel...", a voice whispered, "Angel... what the hell had happened?" Death has many faces, so they say. Most of the time Death has none. There's only the eternal grin of lipless jaws and the endless stare of lidless eyeholes. There's the skull, the bony vestige of former life. Nothing less, nothing more. Death has many faces. The slow, the fast, the merciful, the suffering, the sudden. Many faces. To tell the truth, Death has none. Death is Death, the archetype of all things to end. The grim reaper, the dark man bearing the scythe and the hourglass, the skinless skeleton wrapped in a cloak. Seldom, but sometimes, Death is only a shadow standing in front of a blood-soak bed looking down on the lacerated corpse of a slaughtered angel. Seldom, but sometimes, Death is a shadow changing to a woman weeping bitter tears over a scene even she cannot understand. Death has no heart at all. But sometimes Death's heart breaks."Angel..." the voice whispered again, now soft and sweet like only a human voice can be. She stepped closer and her eyes widened in certain terror. "Angel... remember our deal. You have to wake up, you have to decide..."Death is not fair. Death is not unfair. Death is a necessary evil. Death never selects, death never regrets, death never weeps. Sometimes (and it really seldom happens)... when Death strips his well-known countenance and transforms to Sleep's older sister, she is able to do all these things. Then she is fair, then she selects, then she regrets. Then she weeps.It seldom happens. But even Death shows respect. Respect to one who always respected life. To one who always filled his loneliness with love and the imagination of a better way. The one who never allowed hatred to blacken his soul. The one who so deeply indulged in sin that some bad tongues would say he deserved this kind of execution. The one who once had a deep love-affair with his own sister, the one who stood on the cliffs looking down to end his young life in the salty bed of the ocean, the one who once had been killed by a maniac. The one who looked deep into Deaths eyes and said "I don't wanna die!" The one who still wasn't able to hate. The one who lived in the shadows for nearly one thousand years. Mated wolves. Killed demons. Drank the blood of an angel while he fucked him."Angel... yes... listen to me..." And Ascarion opened his eyes. Eyes bluer than the ocean. Bluer than desire. Bluer than even madness. Indigo. Cyan. Melting poison. Eyes that had seen heaven as well as hell. Ascarion was not dead. Not dead at all. But he was damn close to the final doorstep. There had been no tunnel of marvelous light, no breathtaking harmony to fill his heart, no last beautiful, hope-foaming picture to guide him wherever dying people may go. He had luck. There was nothing. Not even pain. Because time stood still his wounds didn't heal. Wounds? He himself was one. A wound. Ripped open and sliced to jigsaw. To look at him was horrible, was breathtaking gruesome, but nevertheless... he was still beautiful. Though none of his organs remained on their ancestral places, though his face looked like a mask of bloody destruction, his soul had been untouched, unstained, unwounded. Unbroken. His soul was pure. His inner beauty was still undefeated."Angel..." Death, the woman, Sleep's older sister, stepped even closer, slowly touching Ascarion's forehead. His eyes moved, his eyes pierced her heart, and her eyes, wet with tears, looked at his hands, still chained to the bed. Suddenly she started to smile. "I know you for so long and I fought with you for so often, and now... at the moment were I could take you without any protest from your side I feel mercy. I feel love. How can a man this lustful and debauched cause me tears of shame, cause me tears of regret, cause me sighs of desire? How can a man this sinful be so holy? What's your enchantment, angel, what's your magic?"She looked at him and she expected no answer. His eyes stared at her, but he couldn't see her. He was not there. He was somewhere were agony wasn't able to get him, were pain was just a word and nothing of importance. Somewhere where his dreams came true and he found peace at last in the arms of the one he desired, the one he did not even know yet. The one love. The perfect love. His quest wasn't over.Death closed her eyes. Suddenly there was music from a distant tavern, laughter of people and the monotone rush of cars. It didn't sound right, it sounded too fast. The sun rose. The sun set. Time slipped. Time twisted. Time stood still again. The bloody veil sank."Tell me, angel..." Death whispered, "Will you finally join me?""Never... Why doncha simply fuck yerself?"To be serious Death has no emotions. But you can be asured Death laughed out loud.

Scarlett stepped the accelerator harder, making the '65 Mustang growl as it sped down the street.  A tear of anger and frustration, not sadness, rolled down her bruised cheek, stinging the tender flesh.  Her tongue licked against her split lip, tasting the blood that began to clot.  She angrily brushed the tear away, upset at her 'weak' emotion. Her mother had died when she was young, leaving her father to raise a daughter the best he could on his own.  She learned skills not usually taught to girls, like how to fix cars.  When she was 18, her father left her to join her mother, leaving her all alone with only his old car and a little money.  She worked in a small garage to pay rent for a tiny apartment and meager other expenses. It was there that she met the man of her dreams, quickly moving in with him and giving him all of her pay, except what she needed for her car.  He provided for her needs, not in luxury, but she was happy.  He taught her how to cook what he liked and how to care for their small apartment the way he was accustomed to.  She did it all eagerly, imagining them happy forever. After a while, he began to stay out after work, coming home smelling of alcohol and women.  He would just go to bed without touching the supper she had made him or any explanation of where he had been.  The nights got later and he came home drunk, yelling at her and occasionally manhandling her some before passing out.  She stopped cooking for him and began staying at her job working late to avoid him. One night she decided to go for a drive after work, figuring he would be late anyway.  When she came home, she was surprised that he was already there, but when she opened the door, she got a surprise.  He was laying on the couch, one woman riding his cock and another sitting on his face.  Both women stared at her as she stood frozen in the doorway, before she finally yelled, "Bastard!" He pushed the women off of him with amazing speed, leaping at her and grabbing her arm to pull her face to his.  "I think you better show some respect," he spit at her, his putrid breath choking her.  "Fuck you," Scarlett spit back, her eyes blazing with fury.  His fist quickly slammed into her face, splitting her lip before he pulled back to hit her again, but she turned away so his fist slammed into her cheek. For a moment she was shocked, looking up at him while her hand pressed to her cheek.  His smirking face sickened her, her knee swiftly rising to connect with his crotch.  He buckled over in pain at her feet, "fuck you," she hissed, spitting blood onto him.  Before he could recover, she turned to run out the door with only the things she had come with, her cell phone, car keys and purse. Running to her car, she started it and burned rubber out of the drive, speeding down the street to escape it all.  She had no idea where she was going, just away from him.  She was lucky to not meet any cops, driving faster and faster until she noticed she was slowing down.  Looking to the gauges, she noticed the gas was on 'E', "shit," she yelled, hitting the steering wheel with her hand. The car stopped in front of a bar which could have been considered lucky.  Grabbing her purse, she cleaned up her face the best that she could with a tissue and the rear view mirror.  She then locked the doors and headed inside, unsure what she would do.  Luckily the establishment was dark, so she lowered her gaze to cover her face with her hair somewhat and sat in a dark corner to think a moment.

                 THE RUSSIAN TOURNAMENT RP. {CLOSED}

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?