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                 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?

I know I know, this was a looong time coming! I probably should have done these a long time ago, and it would have saved me a lot of heartache. But live and learn, and now I know what I need to say so that people won't get all all upset (Like some have) when I tell them I cannot rp with them.  So, I hope these help clear things up, and this way I can avoid confrontations! So here they are!Rules:1. I am a  non-canon character. That means I am a true blue, 100% original. I can do what I want, and not worry about wondering if it is "In Character." So, don't criticize how I act or what I say, because that is the sure fire way to find yourself deleted!2. I will not rp with you in which we continue to introduce your character over and over.  Once,  the very first time we rp together, is enough.  Please establish yourself.3. I will not rp with someone who tries to play multiple characters at once.  This means that if you make a comment post as one character, but in that post you act as four or five other characters, I will not respond.  Pick one, make it your main, and then we can rp.4. At no point will I sacrifice myself, or "kill off" a character at any time.  While it may seem pivotal to the storyline,  I simply will not do it, so don't expect it or request it.5. Keep God Moding slim to nil. There are some people with whom this is an exception, for I have rped with them long enough that they would know how I respond. And even they know my limits. So, don't do it. I control me, you control you. Easy right?6. I don't like "magic," so don't try it. It gets on my nerves when people use obvious plot holes in order to solve their problems, so don't even think about it. Q's are an exception, because of who they are and their overall intent. But even that is a bit extreme, so it would be best to just ask before proceeding. I will not be entranced, spellbound, or any other such nonsense so don't try.7. I am a doctor, nothing else. While I do have knowledge of a lot of different fields and areas, medicine is first. So that being said, don't ask me to take over in Engineering or some other craziness. And with that, don't step into my house either. If you're a Transwarp Theorist, I would be more than happy to talk to you about it, but that is it. I'm not building warp engine with you or any other kind of strange thing. I'm a doctor, so leave it at that.8. I don't do one liners. Don't ask, don't try, just don't do it. I like to read as well as write, and when things are short and choppy it aggravates me.  Para and multi-para are great, so get it together and go with that. Just don't go crazy.9. SPELL CHECK SPELL CHECK SPELL CHECK! Holy crap, I HATE reading a bunch of misspelled words! One or two is fine, but a whole paragraph dominated by them? Not on my page! There are tons of websites that offer quick and easy spelling and grammar checks, so USE THEM! Stop being lazy! I know I use them, so don't be prideful!  Grammar, punctuation, and correct spelling make good stories great. DO IT!10. And Last but certainly not least....I AM CURRENTLY IN A RELATIONSHIP!! That's right, I'M TAKEN! So you women get those licentious eyes off me!  It's not happening, no way, no how. I am not a cheat, no matter how much you beg or whine. THE ANSWER IS NO! I am still willing to carry on friendships with you, but that is as far as it goes. You want something more? Tough.  Read my profile, its all there. Hell, you should read the profile anyhow just so that you know who I am! Again, see rule 1!!!Now then, these rules are of course subject to change as my character develops and it becomes necessary to add things or subtract or modify, whatever the need is. I posted these to clear things up a bit, and to stop all the angry messages because I don't rp with people (You know who you are!!!) Now we are all on the same page, and I hope we can do some really great rps together. Should you have any questions about any of these rules, do not hesitate to send me a message and I will discuss them. Doesn't mean they will change, but I am willing to discuss them.

"When she shall die, take her and cut her out in little stars and she will make the face of heaven so fine that the entire world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun."Ben awoke suddenly in his bed, and listened to the silence around him. The only sound to be heard was that of the wind whipping about the windows of his room, the third winter storm of the season in full go. He slowly sat up, pulled the blankets off, and slipped out of bed. The moment his feet touched the cold wooden floor, he cringed and slipped them into his dark green slippers. He always did that, missed them by inches, and always received a cold reminder. He grabbed his matching house robe from the bedpost, put it on, and made his way downstairs.The entire house seemed frozen. It was as if his own personal winter had sprung up inside his new home, the winter wind finding its way through the walls and chilling the entire house to a point of morose emptiness. Surely no life could ever exist in such a dreary place, and even Ben seemed to think of himself as an odd sort of innkeeper of a long forgotten English Manor. The heavy robe he wore could not protect him from the house winds, but he still vainly attempted to wrap the dense material about him to generate some warmth. He could not understand how the cold had become so trenchant, since he had made sure to turn on the heating unit before going to bed. The blasted thing is probably on the blink again, he thought, but when he approached the monitor he saw that it had automatically turned off. He considered turning it back on, but decided instead that he wanted a fire, so he turned away from it and headed for his library.The library was smaller than he would have liked, but it certainly served its purpose well. He had painstakingly placed all the books on the shelves just a few days previous, but had yet to place the pictures and paintings on the wall of the room. He smiled at the notion of how much work remained to do in this new house before it would become a home to him, but cringed inwardly at the thought of it. If only Rebecca were here, she would have this place already stocked full of our things, and feeling like a right proper place to call home. He shuddered at the thought of her, trying to drive her from his mind. It was no use, as this time of year often did that to him. How she had loved the winter, had loved the holidays. The only thing she had ever asked of him was to get the necessary decorations, whatever she requested no matter how outlandish, and she would take care of the rest. And take care of it she did. In a day's time, their home in France transformed from a seemingly simple flat in the city of LaBarre into a shrine for the holiday season. The house would exude the pungent fragrance of cloves and cinnamon spice as she cooked and baked and overwhelmed herself with seasonal foodstuffs. His favorite scent had been the fresh peppermint, which she would put in the water for the tea on the first day of her cooking. The living room would absorb the aroma, and it would linger for days, and it would welcome him home each time he sat in his favorite chair near the bay window. Now that smell and all the others were gone, this new place still reeking of moth balls, and wood, and totally grounded him in the very real sense that he was alone.He walked to the fireplace and began the process of starting it up. It didn't take long, since he had placed treated wood in the hearth the other morning and a lighter nearby. With a little patience, he soon had a nice fire going, and he walked over to the mini bar that was concealed in a panel not too far from the fireplace and poured himself a drink. It was then that he saw the time, and he scrunched up his face in disgust. The clock read three a.m., and he wished he felt tired. It would be a long day indeed for the doctor, and he was sure at some point he would long for sleep. He turned around and walked back to the sofa, and sat down. Once again his thoughts returned to Rebecca, and how she would always argue that he just needed to return to bed, and eventually sleep would come. She had always been right, but right now he could not bring himself to follow the advice he had heard so many times in his life with her. In fact, he wanted to be up, he wanted to think. Part of his problem was this sudden dwelling on all things Rebecca. What was the cause? Sure, he had always thought about her during this time of the year, for she had loved it so, but ten years had passed since her death, and now he found his thoughts returning to her almost as much as they had the day after she died.Ben rose from the sofa and crossed to the old mahogany desk in the library and took out an old picture of Rebecca from a hidden drawer panel. He had kept it hidden in his desk, the only picture he did not allow others to see. Her hair had been shorter then, the dark ringlets framing her face and making her smile all the more innocent. Her smile had always seemed so simple, and yet so magnificent because of its graceful simplicity. She smiled for any reason, at the slightest provocation, and Ben remembered the time he had first seen it. The smile that changed my life, he thought to himself as he gazed upon the picture. As enthralling as the smile was, her eyes truly had it. Deep, dark pools of vibrant warmth that had been so fascinating to look into. How he had fallen in love with those eyes, how they would become alight with fire when she was outraged, or how it seemed her love for him poured from those wondrous portals of her heart when he kissed her. Unexpectedly the picture seemed blurred, out of focus; and he blinked and rubbed his eyes only to discover that he was crying. He shook his head and sat down at his desk, and put his head down.His head had barely touched the desk when he suddenly felt a warm hand on his face, and felt a light breath on his neck. He knew who it was before they spoke, but he waited for the voice anyway."How did I know I would find you here?" Her soft voice made him smile, despite the slight sarcastic tone."I would imagine, you know where to find me because you have found me like this before," He inhaled deeply, and brought his head up from the desk. There sat Rebecca, on the edge of the desk looking down at him, eyes radiant and smile beguiling. He turned in his chair and stared up at her, taking in the sight of her after so long. She was just as he remembered, but all the more lovely. She wore the long white dress that had been her favorite for lounging about the house all those years ago. A simple, flowing dress that hugged her lithe frame expertly, and had always made Ben want to reach out take her into his arms."So, it's that time of year again I see," She moved over to him, and picked up the picture that he had been resting on only moments earlier."You know it, same as always," he remarked, watching her as she stared at herself. She breathed deeply, and looked back at him."I thought you were going to get rid of this picture. You know how much I hated my hair in it. It's too short." She ran her fingers around her face in the picture, as if she could magically make the hair grow."I think that is why I keep it, because you think its terrible but I cannot find a flaw." He took the picture from her, and set it upon the desk. Rebecca stood up then, and walked to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself, and he watched her for a moment before finally standing and walking to her side."I see you returned to England. I wondered if you would ever pull yourself out of LaBarre. I know how much you hated being there, what with my family coming and going in the house after I was gone." She didn't turn to face him, and he did not need to see her face to know a smile was there. Instead she kept her eyes on the falling snow."That is not true, I loved France, and I loved LaBarre. But you are right; your family was beginning to make me a bit batty. Your mother wanted to come over each day and cook for me, and your brother absolutely refused to leave me alone on the weekends. He insisted on dragging me to every little night club he was familiar with." Ben crossed his arms at the memory, but he heard her begin to laugh."Find that funny do you?" He turned to her, arms still crossed. She faced him finally, the laughter still evident in her smile. She placed a hand on his chest, and moved closer to him."You must not be angry with Philippe, he was trying to do you a favor, and they love you." She kept laughing, and he smiled at her as he wrapped his arms around her."They are not the one I want. I want you, I miss you so much." The laughter was now gone, and she stared up at him. She didn't speak, but instead took his arm and pulled him over to the sofa. He sat down, and she curled up next to him, tucking the hem of her dress under her toes."Well, fill me in on all that has happened since we last spoke." She was smiling again, and though he didn't want to change the subject, he couldn't help but give in to her request."Well, I have returned to my research, finally attempting to cure all the universe's diseases like I said I would when we met. I am finally settling into the routine of this new life, and I now have things running pretty smoothly with the medical facility. Not to mention, I just bought this gargantuan place, and I still have my work cut out for me with renovations and unpacking everything. But I love it, and slowly but surely I am getting comfortable here." His sudden sprightly demeanor did not convince her, and she could tell he was not being completely forthcoming."Ben, I know there is more to it than that, and you know that your professional life is not what I wanted to hear about. You have always been able to work in spite of whatever personal things were going on with you, and you have learned to hide it well. But you can't hide it from me, you never could. Stop trying to evade me and just tell me what is going on." Her mellifluous French accent pierced him, and despite his love of it and her, he felt his anger rising."As if you don't know. You say you know me so well, and yet you want to go through all this. Why? Don't you see that I don't want to? I just want to sit here, and stare at you and think about you." He reached out for her hand, and interlaced his fingers with hers."Ben, you can't hold onto me forever, and I can tell that you grow tired of this. Every year you trudge out that old picture of me and stare at it, and reminisce on things that can never be. You persecute yourself, and now I can sense that you are close to a new happiness, and yet you chose to be hard on yourself. This year you have been harder on yourself than any other. Never have you sunk to the depths you have this year, and it is that more than anything else that tells me something is different. What is it? Have you met someone? Are you in love?" Her eyes were attempting to bore into him, as if she could search his heart herself and glean the answer."YES DAMMIT YES!" His outburst was so sudden, and it frightened him. "At least, I don't know. I have met someone, and she is....well, she is wonderful. Each and every time that we are together, I find myself longing to be closer to her, to hold her just as I once held you. But when we get close, I feel that I am hurting you, and not being honest with her. I just don't think that I am ready to be with someone else." He closed his eyes, his head suddenly throbbing and sweat beginning to form on his head. The realization of the feelings he had for someone else abruptly seemed to come crashing down upon him, and he felt as though he may break under their weight. He could not bring himself to look at her, but soon he felt her touch his face with her soft hands and bring his head down to rest on her shoulder."Ben, how long did you expect to mourn me before you finally began to let go? Honestly, this is natural, and thoroughly to be expected. You should not want to be alone, no one should. I would not wish that on anyone, especially not on the man I love." She stroked his hair, and continued talking. "Ben, I love you, and I always will you know that. But I am not here to be with you, I cannot be, and you cannot waste your life waiting for something that is never going to happen. You need to move on. This new person could be who you are looking for, who you need. Perhaps you can both be the rock the other needs in their lives.""But I don't want another rock! Rebecca, you were supposed to be it for me. All my life I wanted nothing to do with anyone. I was so proud of being able to do things on my own. But when I met you, and the way you helped me to attain my life goal, I just knew that I was supposed to be with you. I feel so guilty all the time about you, and I don't need another thing to feel guilty about. Already just thinking about someone else makes me feel as though I am betraying you. Do you know how much my heart hurts to think about you? To think of all the things we will never get to experience together?" He turned away from her once again, and crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby bookshelf. Once again she came to him, and wrapped her arms around his waste and leaned on his back."Do you remember the night you proposed to me? What you said? You said that no matter what, you would be there for me, that you would do all you could to make me happy. You also said that you did not believe that you were worthy to be with me, and that you would spend the rest of our lives together doing all you could to be worthy of my love. Well Ben, follow through with that. Just because I am not here anymore does not mean you cannot still be worthy of my love. I want you to be happy, just as happy as you had wanted me to be, and I want you to have that happiness with someone in your life. You want to be worthy of my love, to be worthy of the faith that I always had in you to be the honorable upstanding man I met all those years ago? Then let me go. Let me rest. Put those old pictures away, and don't take them out anymore." She walked around to face him, and he leaned down and touched his head to hers. She was crying softly, the tears beginning to fall down her face. He cupped her face in his hands, and lifted her head to look in her eyes."Ben, let me go. Don't do this to yourself, not anymore. You're slipping, and I am afraid you won't be able to come back again if you let go. I promise it is alright. I am fine, and you need to move on." She brought her mouth to his and kissed him, and he kissed her back gently, not applying much pressure but holding her lips to his. A tear began to roll down his face, and finally she pulled away, slowly freeing herself from him."I love you....so much. I am so sorry for what happened, so sorry that I could not save you. It should have been me." Tears began to flow in earnest from him, and she outstretched her hand to wipe some of them away."I know you love me, so do this for me....please. Let me go Ben. Just let me go."Suddenly he awoke. He had fallen asleep at his desk in the library. He looked around quickly, almost expecting to see Rebecca there. The fire was beginning to die out, the room becoming colder and colder as each ember dimmed. He became aware of a hot wetness on his cheek, and realized he had been crying. He wiped his face and looked down, to find himself once again staring at the picture of Rebecca that he so cherished. He picked it up and wiped it off, then slipped it back inside the desk drawer. He rose slowly, his bones creaking from the cold and having sat in a position for so long, and made his way back upstairs.

I think my stay at the Fleet Admiral's house is at an end.  I have come to realize that despite my feelings about her....for her, I cannot stay here.  I suppose it is my own fault, really.  I feel I have crossed the line, allowed my professionalism to be compromised.  I really thought that she was beginning to feel.......well something for me, but it seems all I arouse in her is anger and trepidity.  This is simply something that I am not used to.  I have never really been good at putting myself out there, at being close to someone, and for the first time in a long time I finally felt that I could be close to someone.  So many times we shared moments, great times with one another, but we whenever we seemed close to any kind of fundamental breakthrough, we would revert to arguing and criticizing eachother.  It has gotten to a point where I cannot see a need for us to continue to be in the same place anymore.  I know that she has been depending on my medical expertise to cure her current illness, and I will do just that.  My work will not be impeeded in any way, and I can continue my work from either my new home or at Starbase 231 where I still hold my position as lead researcher.  Perhaps a break from each other would be just what we both need in order to really achieve our respective jobs.   But it is more than just my want to continue my work unhindered that makes me seek this......separation.  I have never met a woman like her, so strong and yet so fragile.  She puts so much stock in her her job, how she is viewed, that sometimes her professional objectivity overshadows her personal one.  She has grown so accustomed to things being a certain way in her life that she cannot imagine a change, in which she may actually have come to depend on someone.  Not that I can blame her.  My own issues with relationships is probably more at fault, for I continue to hold back.  There is so much about me that she simply does not know, and yet I cannot seem to break that barrier in order to really connect to her, to let her in.  I want to, gods know I want to, but for some reason I cannot.  You know, if Rebecca were here she would say I was just being too pig-headed to open up, that I am allowing my past to influence too much of my future.   She messes me about in a way that I would never have imagined.  There are nights when I cannot seem to sleep without dreaming of her, or that my day is simply not complete without seeing her and that wonderful smile at least once.  But she seems to have thought other thoughts about me.  The last of my things are being moved as I make this entry, although I am leaving a fully stocked medical carrier for her personal use. There may be times when I am unable to get back to her to get her the medicine she needs, so in this manner she can make up the proper dosages.  I have shown her how to do it on several occasions, and I have left explicit instructions as well. I am confident she will acquit herself of this task well, but should she need my, personal touch, she knows how to reach me. I have just been informed that my final belongings have been transferred to my home in England.  I am now officially.....moved out.

You know, the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that what I battle everyday is loneliness.  I spend countless hours each day running about attempting to find things to occupy the hours, from work to group functions, to sports teams, and I as rapidly approach the day when I will lose one of those forever, I realize that loneliness is creeping up on me once again.  I don't think I am the only one.  It is quite possibly the one thing that we all have in common. We get older, we make friends, we have intimate relationships, and it is all so that in the end, we have someone with us during the good and bad times.  There are those people who say they are proud to be alone, and find many ways to justify this notion.  They find clever words to hide the loneliness, find ways to express a sense supposed sense of independence that are supposed to make those that have someone feel jealous.  I know, because I was one of these people.  I used to (and still do on occasion) make fun of my friends who were in these long and involved relationships, their constant battles, and their drama.  I always told them their relationships were far too much trouble then they were worth, and I was so glad that I depended on no one.   But then the other night, I awoke at about three a.m., and when I rolled over in my bed I was once again greeted by a wall.  There was no other person, no young woman that I was fervently in love with; no soft breathing to remind me that someone loved me back.  There was just a wall.  I stared at it for quite a while, the faint lines from the paint brush still quite evident in the moonlight.  It was in that moment that I realized how hollow those words of independence and self-reliance were, and how lonely I really was.  Sure, I have friends and a great family, people around me who would do anything for me and vice versa, but at three a.m., when I wanted nothing more than to hold someone and tell her I love her, I had a wall.   So, what is all this about?  You know, I am not sure. I am getting older, and while I know many would fervently remind me of how young I am and how much time I still have to find that one person that I am meant for, I cannot help but look at the way my life is now, take stock all that I have and all that I have experienced, and not recognize the possibility that I may end up, alone.  How can one even begin to prepare for a life like that?  Sure there are women around me that I talk to, that I am interested in, even one that knows of my feelings for her and returns them.  But as much as I care for her, and as much as I know that she wants to be with me, still I cannot shake the feelings of loneliness.  She is quite far away now, and we do not talk that often anymore.  I had expected this to happen, that as time passed that distance would be too great for us to conquer.  Perhaps it was that initial defeatist attitude that sabotaged any advancement for us, and once again it only serves to reinforce my thoughts of how I shall end up.   Of course, I can always lose myself in my friends.  I have a great many of them, and I am quite social.  I love meeting people, talking, interacting, and experiencing new things with them.  I have many friends now that are as close to me as any family member, and some I have known for so long they are practically family.  Will they be there, all of my life, ready to stand by me and help me whenever I need them?  Of course they are.  We have forged relationships that could never be challenged or broken, and for that I am grateful.  And I have met new people who, while months ago our relationship started as nothing more than a simple diversion to help me ease a little college stress, who now I cannot wait to talk to each night.  It's great, meeting new people and experiencing all this with them, and I look forward to each new minute.   But at the end of every night, at the end of every dinner, every conversation, I return to my wall.  It is solid, it is bare, it is beige, and it reminds me every night that I am alone.  I fall asleep, wake up, and again am greeted by this wall.  For the longest time I knew I hated that wall, but I could never figure out why.  It has done nothing more than shield me from the outside elements, warm me when I was at my coldest, and provide me with a place to think and reflect. But the hate came on anyway, and it is only now that I am realizing that the wall is not my problem.....the loneliness is.

My continued research into the disease that plagues Fleet Admiral Janeway does not go well.  While I have isolated the illness, I have yet to determine its cause or a way to cure it with any definition.  While I cannot name specifically what it is she suffers from, it can best be described as a type of white blood cell overload.  All the white blood cells of her body seem to be in a state of hyperdrive, their production level way above normal.  At a first glance, one would think this increase indicative of a bacterial or parasitic infection, but at this point I believe there to be more to it than that.  I believe, that after the initial infection, the bacteriophage responsible for that inital stage may have altered the nuclear DNA of her WBC's sending them to this hyperactive state.  Normally they would have returned to baseline levels, but this disease seems to thrive in the mass numbers.  There are a few things that concern me: One is her eosinophil count.  Eosinophils are responsible for responding in the event of a parasitic invasion, so they would naturally be the first ones infected.  This of course would explain their high numbers, but now the percentage of Eosinophils in her blood have risen to dangerous levels, and I cannot stop it.  The average human eosinophil count is about five percent, but hers is currently fourteen percent.  This high percentage is troublesome, simply for the fact that upon degranulation of eosinophils, they release an array of cytotoxic cationic proteins that damage the surrounding tissues.  Too many of these could lead to her death.  Another thing that bothers me is her NK or Natural Killer cell count.  These cells are normally the regulators, making sure to control cell production by killing the cell before it becomes a problem.  Unfortunately, I can find no NK cells in the Admiral's body, and this lack of cells is extremely troubling.  Somehow, I must find a way to stimulate NK cell production without continuing to stimulate the production of her other WBC's, and I must isolate the bacteriophage or parasite responsible for the original infection or else my work would be for nothing.