The Colour Green part I - Delethram and Doyle

Outside Chief of Operations Quarters, USS Rhode Island
Date and Time?

Ellen paused and braced herself for a moment, as her gaze moved from the two PADDs she carried under her arm, to the door inscribed with the words "Living Quarters: Centurion Galan tr'Delethram." This situation combined two of her least favourite things about her current job: 'paperwork' and interacting with her direct superior, the Romulan Centurion. She was always never a fan of writing reports and other such drudgery, probably one of the main reasons she had avoided becoming an officer, instead preferring practical hands-on work.

The tactile feel of isolinear chips being slotted into a torpedo's targeting sensor, the grip of type VII phaser rifle in her hands, the kinetic movement of countering a mok'bara striking hand...all of that made much more sense to her then the filling out and writing of reports. It was monotous and needlessly redundant to her...and now that she was the Security Chief, it made up most of time, whether she was reading threat files from Intelligence, reviewing work logs from her surbordinates, or in this case, filling out reports and requests to her superiors.

Her reasons for avoiding the Centurion as much possible was less clinical and more anxiety driven. Her experiences with Romulans had not been cordial in the past and her own background was filled with influences from three of the things Romulans generally despised the most...Human, Klingon, and Vulcan...all she needed as a Breen Refridgeration Suit and a Tholian Prismship to complete the package. It didn't help that as a rule, Romulans were a perceptive bunch...in the back of her mind, Sergeant Doyle knew, The Centururion would sniff out the Klingon influences in her pysche and immediatly despise her passionately for it...not the best start to a working relationship.

Grow up Elle and put on a good face and try to make the most of this assignment... She told herself, silent except for a long sigh. ...and failing all that, if it goes really south, switch to the real stuff tonight and in the morning, you can introduce yourself to your brig staff the fun way!

After applying her best poker face, Doyle reached out with her spare hand and hit the 'doorbell' button next to the door-frame.

<tag Galan>

Outside Chief of Operations Quarters, USS Rhode Island
January 13th, 2387
1932 HRS

Ellen paused and braced herself for a moment, as her gaze moved from the two PADDs she carried under her arm, to the door inscribed with the words "Living Quarters: Centurion Galan tr'Delethram." This situation combined two of her least favourite things about her current job: 'paperwork' and interacting with her direct superior, the Romulan Centurion. She was always never a fan of writing reports and other such drudgery, probably one of the main reasons she had avoided becoming an officer, instead preferring practical hands-on work.

The tactile feel of isolinear chips being slotted into a torpedo's targeting sensor, the grip of type VII phaser rifle in her hands, the kinetic movement of countering a mok'bara striking hand...all of that made much more sense to her then the filling out and writing of reports. It was monotous and needlessly redundant to her...and now that she was the Security Chief, it made up most of time, whether she was reading threat files from Intelligence, reviewing work logs from her surbordinates, or in this case, filling out reports and requests to her superiors.

Her reasons for avoiding the Centurion as much possible was less clinical and more anxiety driven. Her experiences with Romulans had not been cordial in the past and her own background was filled with influences from three of the things Romulans generally despised the most...Human, Klingon, and Vulcan...all she needed as a Breen Refridgeration Suit and a Tholian Prismship to complete the package. It didn't help that as a rule, Romulans were a perceptive bunch...in the back of her mind, Sergeant Doyle knew, The Centururion would sniff out the Klingon influences in her pysche and immediatly despise her passionately for it...not the best start to a working relationship.

Grow up Elle and put on a good face and try to make the most of this assignment... She told herself, silent except for a long sigh. ...and failing all that, if it goes really south, switch to the real stuff tonight and in the morning, you can introduce yourself to your brig staff the fun way!

After applying her best poker face, Doyle reached out with her spare hand and hit the 'doorbell' button next to the door-frame.

Galan sat up in his chair, bleary-eyed, as the door chime buzzed annoyingly. It took him a few moments to realize that he had fallen asleep at his table again. He cursed under his breath. The left side of his neck was in pain from using the piles of tea paraphernalia on his table as makeshift pillows. If he didn't stop doing this, he'd eventually make his neck so stiff it'd simply snap and fall off, he thought.

Sighing, he rubbed the grogginess out of his eyes and stood, stumbling across the length of his room. It was quite the feat giving the floors state, which was no better than his table. There was only one part of his quarters that wasn't a mess and that was, ironically, his bed. Pristine sheets were tucked taut into it's sides. It was comparable to a small, peaceful, island in the midst of a stormy sea.

He tugged on his uniform and attempted to make himself presentable before reaching the door. When it opened to reveal the extremely elusive Chief Security officer, he was somewhat taken aback, but very quickly regained his composure.

“Gunnery Sergeant Doyle,” he said, flicking his eyes up and down the human, as if to measure her. "Come in... I was about to have some tea, perhaps you'll join me?"

<tag Doyle>

Outside Chief of Operations Quarters, USS Rhode Island
January 13th, 2387
1932 HRS

Ellen paused and braced herself for a moment, as her gaze moved from the two PADDs she carried under her arm, to the door inscribed with the words "Living Quarters: Centurion Galan tr'Delethram." This situation combined two of her least favourite things about her current job: 'paperwork' and interacting with her direct superior, the Romulan Centurion. She was always never a fan of writing reports and other such drudgery, probably one of the main reasons she had avoided becoming an officer, instead preferring practical hands-on work.

The tactile feel of isolinear chips being slotted into a torpedo's targeting sensor, the grip of type VII phaser rifle in her hands, the kinetic movement of countering a mok'bara striking hand...all of that made much more sense to her then the filling out and writing of reports. It was monotous and needlessly redundant to her...and now that she was the Security Chief, it made up most of time, whether she was reading threat files from Intelligence, reviewing work logs from her surbordinates, or in this case, filling out reports and requests to her superiors.

Her reasons for avoiding the Centurion as much possible was less clinical and more anxiety driven. Her experiences with Romulans had not been cordial in the past and her own background was filled with influences from three of the things Romulans generally despised the most...Human, Klingon, and Vulcan...all she needed as a Breen Refridgeration Suit and a Tholian Prismship to complete the package. It didn't help that as a rule, Romulans were a perceptive bunch...in the back of her mind, Sergeant Doyle knew, The Centururion would sniff out the Klingon influences in her pysche and immediatly despise her passionately for it...not the best start to a working relationship.

Grow up Elle and put on a good face and try to make the most of this assignment... She told herself, silent except for a long sigh. ...and failing all that, if it goes really south, switch to the real stuff tonight and in the morning, you can introduce yourself to your brig staff the fun way!

After applying her best poker face, Doyle reached out with her spare hand and hit the 'doorbell' button next to the door-frame.

Galan sat up in his chair, bleary-eyed, as the door chime buzzed annoyingly. It took him a few moments to realize that he had fallen asleep at his table again. He cursed under his breath. The left side of his neck was in pain from using the piles of tea paraphernalia on his table as makeshift pillows. If he didn't stop doing this, he'd eventually make his neck so stiff it'd simply snap and fall off, he thought.

Sighing, he rubbed the grogginess out of his eyes and stood, stumbling across the length of his room. It was quite the feat giving the floors state, which was no better than his table. There was only one part of his quarters that wasn't a mess and that was, ironically, his bed. Pristine sheets were tucked taut into it's sides. It was comparable to a small, peaceful, island in the midst of a stormy sea.

He tugged on his uniform and attempted to make himself presentable before reaching the door. When it opened to reveal the extremely elusive Chief Security officer, he was somewhat taken aback, but very quickly regained his composure.

“Gunnery Sergeant Doyle,” he said, flicking his eyes up and down the human, as if to measure her. "Come in... I was about to have some tea, perhaps you'll join me?"

"Um...thanks, but I never touch the stuff..." Ellen replied, somewhat taken aback by the offer. She raised the PADDS under her arm up towards the romulan as she moved in to the room and towards him. "Just need your approval for a few resources and reallocated power on the ODN lines. If it's not a bad time, that is."

<tag>

Outside Chief of Operations Quarters, USS Rhode Island
January 13th, 2387
1932 HRS

Ellen paused and braced herself for a moment, as her gaze moved from the two PADDs she carried under her arm, to the door inscribed with the words "Living Quarters: Centurion Galan tr'Delethram." This situation combined two of her least favourite things about her current job: 'paperwork' and interacting with her direct superior, the Romulan Centurion. She was always never a fan of writing reports and other such drudgery, probably one of the main reasons she had avoided becoming an officer, instead preferring practical hands-on work.

The tactile feel of isolinear chips being slotted into a torpedo's targeting sensor, the grip of type VII phaser rifle in her hands, the kinetic movement of countering a mok'bara striking hand...all of that made much more sense to her then the filling out and writing of reports. It was monotous and needlessly redundant to her...and now that she was the Security Chief, it made up most of time, whether she was reading threat files from Intelligence, reviewing work logs from her surbordinates, or in this case, filling out reports and requests to her superiors.

Her reasons for avoiding the Centurion as much possible was less clinical and more anxiety driven. Her experiences with Romulans had not been cordial in the past and her own background was filled with influences from three of the things Romulans generally despised the most...Human, Klingon, and Vulcan...all she needed as a Breen Refridgeration Suit and a Tholian Prismship to complete the package. It didn't help that as a rule, Romulans were a perceptive bunch...in the back of her mind, Sergeant Doyle knew, The Centururion would sniff out the Klingon influences in her pysche and immediatly despise her passionately for it...not the best start to a working relationship.

Grow up Elle and put on a good face and try to make the most of this assignment... She told herself, silent except for a long sigh. ...and failing all that, if it goes really south, switch to the real stuff tonight and in the morning, you can introduce yourself to your brig staff the fun way!

After applying her best poker face, Doyle reached out with her spare hand and hit the 'doorbell' button next to the door-frame.

Galan sat up in his chair, bleary-eyed, as the door chime buzzed annoyingly. It took him a few moments to realize that he had fallen asleep at his table again. He cursed under his breath. The left side of his neck was in pain from using the piles of tea paraphernalia on his table as makeshift pillows. If he didn't stop doing this, he'd eventually make his neck so stiff it'd simply snap and fall off, he thought.

Sighing, he rubbed the grogginess out of his eyes and stood, stumbling across the length of his room. It was quite the feat giving the floors state, which was no better than his table. There was only one part of his quarters that wasn't a mess and that was, ironically, his bed. Pristine sheets were tucked taut into it's sides. It was comparable to a small, peaceful, island in the midst of a stormy sea.

He tugged on his uniform and attempted to make himself presentable before reaching the door. When it opened to reveal the extremely elusive Chief Security officer, he was somewhat taken aback, but very quickly regained his composure.

“Gunnery Sergeant Doyle,” he said, flicking his eyes up and down the human, as if to measure her. "Come in... I was about to have some tea, perhaps you'll join me?"

"Um...thanks, but I never touch the stuff..." Ellen replied, somewhat taken aback by the offer. She raised the PADDS under her arm up towards the romulan as she moved in to the room and towards him. "Just need your approval for a few resources and reallocated power on the ODN lines. If it's not a bad time, that is."

"You don't like tea? Why?" Galan slowly stepped towards the human, until they were mere inches apart. He wasn't about to let Ellen leave so quickly. This was his chance to learn about her. Not to mention, she'd provide a desperately needed distraction. Flashing his raptor-like smile at her, he added, "If you try mine, I'm certain you'll change your opinion. Sit down and I'll look at the PADDS."

<tag>

Outside Chief of Operations Quarters, USS Rhode Island
January 13th, 2387
1932 HRS

Ellen paused and braced herself for a moment, as her gaze moved from the two PADDs she carried under her arm, to the door inscribed with the words "Living Quarters: Centurion Galan tr'Delethram." This situation combined two of her least favourite things about her current job: 'paperwork' and interacting with her direct superior, the Romulan Centurion. She was always never a fan of writing reports and other such drudgery, probably one of the main reasons she had avoided becoming an officer, instead preferring practical hands-on work.

The tactile feel of isolinear chips being slotted into a torpedo's targeting sensor, the grip of type VII phaser rifle in her hands, the kinetic movement of countering a mok'bara striking hand...all of that made much more sense to her then the filling out and writing of reports. It was monotous and needlessly redundant to her...and now that she was the Security Chief, it made up most of time, whether she was reading threat files from Intelligence, reviewing work logs from her surbordinates, or in this case, filling out reports and requests to her superiors.

Her reasons for avoiding the Centurion as much possible was less clinical and more anxiety driven. Her experiences with Romulans had not been cordial in the past and her own background was filled with influences from three of the things Romulans generally despised the most...Human, Klingon, and Vulcan...all she needed as a Breen Refridgeration Suit and a Tholian Prismship to complete the package. It didn't help that as a rule, Romulans were a perceptive bunch...in the back of her mind, Sergeant Doyle knew, The Centururion would sniff out the Klingon influences in her pysche and immediatly despise her passionately for it...not the best start to a working relationship.

Grow up Elle and put on a good face and try to make the most of this assignment... She told herself, silent except for a long sigh. ...and failing all that, if it goes really south, switch to the real stuff tonight and in the morning, you can introduce yourself to your brig staff the fun way!

After applying her best poker face, Doyle reached out with her spare hand and hit the 'doorbell' button next to the door-frame.

Galan sat up in his chair, bleary-eyed, as the door chime buzzed annoyingly. It took him a few moments to realize that he had fallen asleep at his table again. He cursed under his breath. The left side of his neck was in pain from using the piles of tea paraphernalia on his table as makeshift pillows. If he didn't stop doing this, he'd eventually make his neck so stiff it'd simply snap and fall off, he thought.

Sighing, he rubbed the grogginess out of his eyes and stood, stumbling across the length of his room. It was quite the feat giving the floors state, which was no better than his table. There was only one part of his quarters that wasn't a mess and that was, ironically, his bed. Pristine sheets were tucked taut into it's sides. It was comparable to a small, peaceful, island in the midst of a stormy sea.

He tugged on his uniform and attempted to make himself presentable before reaching the door. When it opened to reveal the extremely elusive Chief Security officer, he was somewhat taken aback, but very quickly regained his composure.

“Gunnery Sergeant Doyle,” he said, flicking his eyes up and down the human, as if to measure her. "Come in... I was about to have some tea, perhaps you'll join me?"

"Um...thanks, but I never touch the stuff..." Ellen replied, somewhat taken aback by the offer. She raised the PADDS under her arm up towards the romulan as she moved in to the room and towards him. "Just need your approval for a few resources and reallocated power on the ODN lines. If it's not a bad time, that is."

"You don't like tea? Why?" Galan slowly stepped towards the human, until they were mere inches apart. He wasn't about to let Ellen leave so quickly. This was his chance to learn about her. Not to mention, she'd provide a desperately needed distraction. Flashing his raptor-like smile at her, he added, "If you try mine, I'm certain you'll change your opinion. Sit down and I'll look at the PADDS."

"...I'll stand if, that's okay." Ellen replied, gazing upwards to meet the Centurion's eyes. "Sitting around doesn't...if you'll pardon the term...sit well with me. Never has."

<tag>

There was something terrible and oddly familiar that Ellen saw flash behind the Romulan's blue irises and it almost buckled her to core. She kept her face stiff and cold though, placing herself down on the nearby chair as she uttered a social stand-by for when there was little else to say: "Nice quarters you have here."

<tag>

Outside Chief of Operations Quarters, USS Rhode Island
January 13th, 2387
1932 HRS

Ellen paused and braced herself for a moment, as her gaze moved from the two PADDs she carried under her arm, to the door inscribed with the words "Living Quarters: Centurion Galan tr'Delethram." This situation combined two of her least favourite things about her current job: 'paperwork' and interacting with her direct superior, the Romulan Centurion. She was always never a fan of writing reports and other such drudgery, probably one of the main reasons she had avoided becoming an officer, instead preferring practical hands-on work.

The tactile feel of isolinear chips being slotted into a torpedo's targeting sensor, the grip of type VII phaser rifle in her hands, the kinetic movement of countering a mok'bara striking hand...all of that made much more sense to her then the filling out and writing of reports. It was monotous and needlessly redundant to her...and now that she was the Security Chief, it made up most of time, whether she was reading threat files from Intelligence, reviewing work logs from her surbordinates, or in this case, filling out reports and requests to her superiors.

Her reasons for avoiding the Centurion as much possible was less clinical and more anxiety driven. Her experiences with Romulans had not been cordial in the past and her own background was filled with influences from three of the things Romulans generally despised the most...Human, Klingon, and Vulcan...all she needed as a Breen Refridgeration Suit and a Tholian Prismship to complete the package. It didn't help that as a rule, Romulans were a perceptive bunch...in the back of her mind, Sergeant Doyle knew, The Centururion would sniff out the Klingon influences in her pysche and immediatly despise her passionately for it...not the best start to a working relationship.

Grow up Elle and put on a good face and try to make the most of this assignment... She told herself, silent except for a long sigh. ...and failing all that, if it goes really south, switch to the real stuff tonight and in the morning, you can introduce yourself to your brig staff the fun way!

After applying her best poker face, Doyle reached out with her spare hand and hit the 'doorbell' button next to the door-frame.

Galan sat up in his chair, bleary-eyed, as the door chime buzzed annoyingly. It took him a few moments to realize that he had fallen asleep at his table again. He cursed under his breath. The left side of his neck was in pain from using the piles of tea paraphernalia on his table as makeshift pillows. If he didn't stop doing this, he'd eventually make his neck so stiff it'd simply snap and fall off, he thought.

Sighing, he rubbed the grogginess out of his eyes and stood, stumbling across the length of his room. It was quite the feat giving the floors state, which was no better than his table. There was only one part of his quarters that wasn't a mess and that was, ironically, his bed. Pristine sheets were tucked taut into it's sides. It was comparable to a small, peaceful, island in the midst of a stormy sea.

He tugged on his uniform and attempted to make himself presentable before reaching the door. When it opened to reveal the extremely elusive Chief Security officer, he was somewhat taken aback, but very quickly regained his composure.

“Gunnery Sergeant Doyle,” he said, flicking his eyes up and down the human, as if to measure her. "Come in... I was about to have some tea, perhaps you'll join me?"

"Um...thanks, but I never touch the stuff..." Ellen replied, somewhat taken aback by the offer. She raised the PADDS under her arm up towards the romulan as she moved in to the room and towards him. "Just need your approval for a few resources and reallocated power on the ODN lines. If it's not a bad time, that is."

"You don't like tea? Why?" Galan slowly stepped towards the human, until they were mere inches apart. He wasn't about to let Ellen leave so quickly. This was his chance to learn about her. Not to mention, she'd provide a desperately needed distraction. Flashing his raptor-like smile at her, he added, "If you try mine, I'm certain you'll change your opinion. Sit down and I'll look at the PADDS."

"...I'll stand if, that's okay." Ellen replied, gazing upwards to meet the Centurion's eyes. "Sitting around doesn't...if you'll pardon the term...sit well with me. Never has."

The romulan kept his gaze locked firmly on Ellen's and nodded slowly. "As you wish." He found her answer curious, but decided not to inquire about it, at least not yet.

There was something terrible and oddly familiar that Ellen saw flash behind the Romulan's blue irises and it almost buckled her to core. She kept her face stiff and cold though, placing herself down on the nearby chair as she uttered a social stand-by for when there was little else to say: "Nice quarters you have here."

Pausing, he looked around, and for the first time really noticed how messy it was. Though it didn't seem to phase him at all. "Yes, I'm not surprised you think so," he began in a matter-of-fact tone. "You humans have amusingly low standards for most things." He turned and went to a counter, putting some tea leaves into a strainer and setting it inside a cup.

<tag>