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Writing Challenge: Rita Paris

Posted on Sat May 19th, 2018 @ 4:24am by Commander Rita Paris
Edited on on Sat May 26th, 2018 @ 3:43pm

Mission: Curing the Black Blood
Location: Sickbay most likely
Timeline: 2995- backpost slash dream sequence to 2265

Rita Paris Challenge words: Drydock, crazy, humanly, scenic, flush



As she slept, the thoughts of Rita Paris turned back to a happier time, and she dreamt of a moment lost to history.



Flipping through the local singles ads frustrated the restless navigator, and Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris was rapidly arriving at the conclusion that her two martini lunch had perhaps not been her wisest career move. She was frustrated, horny, buzzed and now that she had dropped the boom of the Commander's plan, she officially found herself with nothing to do.

Returning to the TAD quarters that had been assigned to her, Rita made her way through the maze of storage tubs that comprised her life. According to Starfleet Psych, surrounding herself with familiar items and images helped her feel connected to life, while additionally insuring that she would have to be brought aboard by shuttle.

The latter theory did not work, and for now she was surrounded by towers of uniform grey Starfleet storage tubs that held little familiarity for her.

Scanning over the labels, she found the one she was looking for and removed it from the stack. Popping it open, she dug through it until she found what she was looking for- her PT shoes and socks. While just where her PT gear was located was beyond her, she did manage to find her old Academy workout gear. She eyed them dubiously- her figure had definitely filled out a bit since her days as a plebe at Starfleet Academy. On the other hand, the material was designed to be remarkably elastic while supportive.

"What the hell," Paris muttered as she got naked then wrestled into the sport top and the briefs. There was no mirror in the room, so she stepped into the head shared by the room next door, only to encounter a surprised ensign.

"Oh, sorry!" she expressed to the dark-skinned young officer, even as he did his level best to maintain eye contact. Noting his clear distress, she checked her reflection in the mirror, then burst out laughing.



The workout clothes fit, if only just barely. Stretched across the rather ample curves of Rita Paris they rode the line of indecency, but they were still quite supportive. Admiring herself in the mirror, she turned to ask the ensign's opinion even as he hastily ducked back into his room, demonstrating remarkable survival instincts.

"Hell with it," Rita shrugged, a motion that was somewhat seismic in her current outfit. As she walked back through her temporary quarters she grabbed her favorite PDD and as she exited the room she was already tapping away, making things happen in her own inimitable style.

Taking a few moments to stretch her long and somewhat thick legs, she was unsurprised when a worker bee floated down out of the sky to park nearby. Shaking out the stiffness, the leggy lieutenant waved at the departing maintenance worker who had delivered her ride. Taking the comm card from the man, she popped the hatch, stepped inside and ran a preflight check.

It never hurt to be prepared, after all.

Twenty minutes later she had navigated through the appropriate air locks and channels of Yorktown Station and she was setting the worker bee down gently atop the saucer section of the USS Exeter, parked in drydock(1). Popping open the hatch, the nubile navigator stepped out into the hull, stretching with both hands over her head as she peered through the main viewer at the JAG personnel and technicians inside, all clad in hazmat suits. Waggling her fingers at them cheerfully, Rita finished doing her stretches then strode across the saucer section to the edge, all the way down to deck 6.

The plates of the hull showed a clear path. She didn't have to worry about running off the edge if she gave 2 sections worth of distance between her and the edge, but the view was still breathtaking. And it was the rarest of opportunities- the starship in an atmosphere of one gravity. No one stood on the outside of the saucer section in space unless they were at full stop and making repairs.

Absolutely no one used it for a running track. That would be crazy(2).

Setting off, the limber lieutenant began to jog. There was no need to sprint- she wanted to get a feel for the tritanium beneath her feet, see how much traction her running shoes would bring. Those at least still fit right. If she wasn't allowed inside the Exeter, then she could not jog the circular hallways of deck 6 as she preferred. But given the somewhat unique circumstances, she could take a jog on the outside of the hull of the mighty starship that would probably be her home for the next few years.

Bond with the ship, humanly(3). Know her, and let her know you.

For the first lap she took it very slowly at around 5 kph. She took stock of the hull as a running surface, then measured out her safety margin. Speeding up, she took off on the second lap. She alternated between watching where she was going and taking in the navigational points of the ship. In realtime it would be different, but again, this was a unique perspective afforded her by the drydocked starship in an atmosphere. She had many times stood on the hull and watched the stars warp by when she had been the ghost of the USS Constitution, but this was very different. She was solid and whole, she had mass and weight, and the starship was at rest.

For the third lap she watched just the 'track' and worked to get a feel for the slope of the deck and making course corrections from the plane of the edge of the starship ahead. The next lap she measured it off her port shoulder as she ran clockwise around the great wide saucer. By the next lap Rita had it worked out and was making course corrections as she ran from wherever she was looking. Rita Paris was, in fact, an excellent navigator, the product of an excellent Starfleet Academy education. And right now, she was taking a most definitely scenic(4) route.

Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris ran off her frustrations, staring off and daydreaming about the USS Exeter, making almost unconscious course corrections with her running physique. There was only one incident wherein she got a bit close to the edge, and stopped running to reorient herself.

Standing there, she realized she had run quite a ways by now, and she took a knee to catch her breath.

Given her day and her multiple frustrations, she would have preferred energetic, enthusiastic extended sexual athletics. But failing that, running a few kilometers on the outer hull of the starship Exeter was at least a somewhat acceptable substitute to burn off her energy. And she was most definitely flush(5) and sober now.

"Shower, sleep, tomorrow begins at 0500..." Rita muttered to herself as she walked around the hull back toward the worker bee, pausing to peer into the bridge. It was evening shift, so low-power mode was the default. There was no one actually on the bridge- the JAG were not gathering evidence and the medical sterilization was not a process that required continuous application.

Changing course, Rita Paris walked across the hull of the ship to stand on the outside of the bridge looking in. The empty bridge at night.

This wasn’t a sight that would be seen by many. The bridge bereft of personnel- no one tending to the mighty starship at its brain. The chairs all sat empty, the displays on but dim. Placing her fingers to the transparent aluminum block that comprised the main viewer, Rita Paris envisioned the sight of their crew on the bridge, of what the future might hold for the crew of the Exeter.



Catching a whiff of her pits, the all-too human officer realized it had been a very long day. “Shower. Sleep. 0500.”

As the worker bee zipped away from the Exeter, Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris smiled.

It had been a long day, but today had been a good day.

Tomorrow would be a good day too.

Another fine day in Starfleet.



In her sleep, Paris smiled. Tomorrow was different than she had anticipated, but it might just be another fine day as well.

 

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