Personal Log, Stardate 40964.87

Posted on 28 Aug 2020 @ 5:52pm by Lieutenant T'Char Le'el

“Computer, lights.”

The door swishes shut behind the Vulcan as she enters her quarters, the overhead light fixtures turning on. She carries a number of PADDs in her arms, reading off of one of them as she makes her way to her desk. Her face is tense, and wound up with scrutiny as she manipulates one of the other PADDs into her view to make a comparison of the data.

She’s so focused that she forgets to stop walking forwards into her cabin, and her shin collides with the small table in front of her cot. The PADDs are thrown about the room as she rather unVulcanly vocalizes the small shock, lifting her leg into her hands in order to hop backwards on one leg away from the offending furniture. T’Char bites her lip in a grimace, inhaling to manage the pain which resonates like a clashed cymbal up to her thigh.

The Vulcan sets her leg down to trod carefully to her desk, tapping the console once.

“Begin personal log supplemental. Stardate 40963 point.. uhm-”

T’Char leans back from her desk and turns around, shaking out her leg as she moves in front of the cot. She kneels down slowly, and starts to collect the fallen PADDS, stacking them all neatly in front of her on the slightly raised surface of her table.

“Point something.. It’s twenty-two hundred seventeen hours. I have returned from my examination of the recently acquired narcotic supplement from aboard the detained freighter.”

She pauses for a moment, leaning on her heels with a PADD in her hand to rock her head backwards, staring at the ceiling with a gruff exhale. She lets the PADD droop in her hands, loosely holding it while she closes her eyes.

“We seem to have recently acquired a great many things. All of them with negative implications. I suppose it would be illogical to consider a situation in which we confiscate anything and it is somehow a positive thing. But, the thought remains. ”

The Vulcan leans forward again to stack her PADD on top of the other three, more carelessly than she placed the rest of them. It disturbs how they sit, and now the edges don’t line up evenly. T’Char briefly rolls her eyes before pressing her fingers to each side of the PADDs, in order to make them sit properly. Being constantly neat means being constantly organised, and being organised is important. She justifies the habit as being logical.

“In any event, I have located a trace compound in the chemical makeup of the narcotic. I suspect that this trace compound is a local factor of the laboratory in which it was produced. It matches identically to a trace compound in the bio-mimetic gel.”

She leans to her left, moving her legs to the side and underneath her so she can reach a fallen PADD halfway underneath the cot.

“There is no other means for this compound to have entered both substances without having them both be manufactured at the same location. This potentially confirms that not only the currently detained Admiral was responsible for the manufacture of bio-mimetic gel, but was utilizing a source of funding based in the manufacture and distribution of synthetic narcotics.”

Nabbing the PADD, she leans back up to gently place it on her stack, perfectly in-line with the rest. She finally allows herself to inhale evenly, sitting on the floor motionless.

“I, suppose that is a positive development. We are now certain of things which we were not before, and that much closer to locating Doctor Velires and T’Mok.”

Pulling herself upright, she takes the stack on the table in her hands and scoots on her knees around to her desk.

“I cannot logically dispute that we have made some progress, or that said progress is not a good thing. Nor can I say that we have lost advantages we might’ve gained should the recent covert mission have succeeded according to plan. Logically speaking, we have earned far more than enough ground to cover what we may have lost in the process of completing the objective.”

The PADDs are neatly stacked on the desk as she finally reaches her destination. Rather than standing up, she lets herself collapse back to the floor, sitting back on her legs as they fold and drop to the side again.

“So.. if this situation has resulted in a positive outcome.. why do I not feel agreeable.”

Her voice is dry, and flat. Her face hardly moves save for her eyes, which slowly scan the room without searching for anything in particular. After a moment, she eases herself down onto the floor, laying on her side with her arms spread in the opposite directions.

“I suppose there is some cruel irony to the fact that I seek to feel an emotion. But in this case, any emotion at all would suffice. This is not truly kolinahr is it? I did not choose not to feel, I am merely unable to express emotions whatsoever.”

She rolls onto her back, spread-eagle on the carpet. The dim overhead lights bounce off her double-eyelid and look much darker whenever she stares directly at them, at the cost of narrowing her vision dramatically.
“I have chosen to accept my Vulcan heritage and yet when I am in a place acceptable to this fact, I am disappointed. Which in itself is an emotion, furthering my disgrace.”

T’Char sits up straight, and moves a hand to smooth over her now excessively frizzy hair to little success.

“There must be some humorous irony to that. End log.”

She clambers to her feet, starting to undo the zipper to the top half of her uniform as the computer twips back a short digital response in reply to her command. It comes off easily, and she throws it haphazardly across her desk chair as she makes her way past it to the bathroom. The sink is flipped on, and the Vulcan cups her hands to catch the water, flipping it up into her face. She repeats the action a few times, and reaches over to take the small hand towel hanging next to the mirror, padding her cheeks to remove the excess moisture.

Her console beeps twice to signify she has a message waiting for her, just as T’Char is about to undo the rest of her uniform in order to break for a water-based hot shower. She groans slightly as she turns back out of the bathroom to read her desk computer, stalking over to flip the machine around to face her. Apparently the package due to arrive from Vulcan is on a freighter set to rendezvous with the Boston at an undetermined time. What an important and worthwhile message to receive. T’Char falls into her desk chair and is suddenly very tired.

Just as her face enters her hands the chime for the door goes off. She struggles to her feet with an exasperated exhale and a series of disgruntled vocalizations, sauntering to the door while almost dragging her feet. T’Char leans on the frame and taps the panel to open the door, and stares directly into the chest of an Andorian. Her posture stiffens as she steps back, suddenly attempting to appear composed. Kyr just smiles at her. The Vulcan gets that warm sensation in her gut again when he does, it forces her into a small smile as well.