Context: After witnessing Andraina's unexplained "display," LC reflects on what he saw and opens the floor for crew insights. Decherrek suspects psionics, but lacks confirmation. LC honors Terry LeFrontaine’s request for privacy, but leans on the crew's discretion and analysis.
LC Rains – Crew Common Area, Aboard the Miss Fortune
Notes and a half-drunk cups of Kaffe lay strewn across the galley table. LC sits hunched in his usual spot, datapad in one hand, stylus tapping absently against his temple.
LC thumbs through his notes with the same vague irritation he reserves for planetary tax codes and unpaid docking fees. The LeFrontaine stateroom had been... illuminating. Not in the sense of clarity, but in the way a malfunctioning jump-grid sometimes lights up
just before it explodes.
He’d promised Terry he’d respect the sanctity of the room, and he had. No poking, no prodding, no recordings — not even a snide remark about the ambiance. But he
had told the crew they might want to drop by. Quietly. Respectfully. With their eyes open and their mouths shut — at least until they were out of earshot.
Andraina’s "display," if one wanted to call it that, still lingered in his mind: a blooming holographic blossom, flickering and shifting with no clear emitter. Decherrek thought it was psionics, some kind of telekinetic projection, though he'd admitted — in typical Droyne fashion — that he was "not attuned." Which, in legal terms, meant
completely guessing.
LC didn’t like guessing. He liked precedent. Paper trails. Statutory ambiguity he could weaponize. But this thing? It moved like thought. Like emotion. Like poetry, and poetry made him nervous.
He makes a note to ask Kayla her thoughts at dinner. She has a way of seeing things sideways — which in this case might be the only valid angle.
He doesn't want to lead the crew on this. He wants to listen. That was rarer, and infinitely more useful. Whatever this was — psi, tech, or a hallucination they’d all politely shared — it was worth parsing. Decherrek thought it was a powerplant, and LC wondered what Bronz, Tamm and Leilani thought of that, since they were the trained engineers.
Quietly. Respectfully. With the full backing of the Miss Fortune’s discretion protocols — which, as always, were enforced more in spirit than in letter.
Last edited September 9, 2025 6:50 pm