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ET-Invencible VIP Quarters, Loft A
7/19/822 AS
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39 hours wide awake.
My therapist suggested I try to write down a logbook of my day-to-day activities as a means of un-winding to try to relax and control my temper.
The fact that the moment she suggested I even had a temper was the moment I considered burying my fist in her cheek suggests that she may've been right.
So why am I so tense as of late?
Because every time I try to actually sleep, someone in the Quorum or one of the recruits or worse; Enfield decide to flood my inbox, so now I'm just laying here with my hair in my damn eye waiting for a response to about 7 message threads-- Brilliant. Despite my numerous claims otherwise, the Council is actually annoying me more than Enfield today... Imagine that. Some crap about a new R&D project they want me to head because "nobody else is more fit for the job"-- yeah because I know soooo much about Advanced Combat Suites and what kinds of hull reinforcements go best on superstructures. Rodriguez or Victoria would be better for this job. Hell, I'm pretty sure Mendes of all people could manage the wrench-jockeys on Ibiza better than I could. Olmos's constant insistence that my input is required is total garbage.
Fleet strategy was always more his department anyway; I always just excelled at putting a sword through someone..---
--Note to self while I'm thinking about it: sharpen the Scarlet tomorrow. That last target two weeks ago on New Tokyo got to survive a few seconds longer because the initial swing didn't go all the way through his neck and the blade got lodged in his spinal column--
What was it Yuri said? "A dull blade fails it's master?" or some such nonsense?
*sigh* I do miss the old man though.
ADDENDUM:
So because one mail-chain wasn't enough, Enfield decided to mail me again, this time asking for a job..--- Seriously, why must I tolerate this guy? There isn't a single nerve in my body he doesn't get on, how much longer does Olmos want him around harassing m--
Hold up... I think I just figured out the cause of my blood-pressure issues.. S'not the job, it's not my diet; It's dealing with Enfield on such a regular basis... Spirits that explains a lot of things... Whelp-- Best thing to do now is forward him my pharmacy bills from now on.
Also: got the Scarlet sharpened, managed to slice my index finger open in the process-- and the dressing is leaking again..
Oh Merda...Now there's blood on the screen..
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[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.
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ET-Invencible VIP Quarters, Hangar
7/20/822 AS
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5:31 AM
Today started off well. I managed to wake up with a monster headache and a face full of blood-drenched pillow; turns out I'd made some mixup in meds and spiked my blood pressure. Following a trip to the infirmary to get that sorted, I returned to my room to find an inbox of about 13 new priority messages gracing my sight. It was then that I realized I was going to enjoy this day.
Two hours of video conferencing later, I'm finally able to pry myself away from it all, so I think I'll head to the observation deck for a little bit-- maybe have some peace and quiet for a little while before something else major pops up.
ADDENDUM:
8:11 AM
Meditated for a bit, now I'm just bored. It's a good bored though; I can calm down and let everyone else handle something for a while. Callahan is watching Callie today, Lightspear is on track and no major screwups have warranted my input, and Tamley has the Naxxar for the next few days running coordination drills.
Now if only it were always like this.
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[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.
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Valetta Shipyard, Crimson Halls, Inquisitor's Tier
7/24/822 AS
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11:31 PM
The past few days have been quiet. I've kept busy on Valetta with a number of projects; The first: the creation of a team for a Drive-Core system re-evaluation prototype, and second: overseeing a transfer and study of a recovered object from an Order vessel. The first is still in its developmental stages, but the second is more or less the "big one" as it were. The manifest claims that it's origin lies with the Spirits but, the Heathens have laid traps for us like this before; I'm not about to let them get a fast-one on us. Everything looks to be in order for it to be legitimate but, we're being cautious... and by cautious, I mean a fully reinforced hangar-deck, full radiation suits for everyone involved or anywhere close to it, and a team of some of the best tech experts that Malta has to offer.
And we are seriously hoping the manifest isn't lying; with the pressure of encroaching war on for everyone, it'd be good to get some good news.
Somehow I've managed to keep mostly calm the past few days. The sessions with Megan seem to be helping, if only a little. There's also the factor of location: I'm not entirely sure what it is but Valetta just has a calming effect on me. Always has, always will. Be it the newly installed lounge in the Crimson Halls, or just the reverberating noise of the smelting furnaces down in the lower levels that vibrates the very super-structure that's having the effect. Either way, this is almost therapeutic. Shipyard administration may not be a beach-trip on Curacao, but it sure beats the 40-hour days, 5 hour nights and constant hell of running back and forth from ship-to-ship of my daily life.
For some reason, Olmos has let up on the pursuit of the Bastia-project job.. if only temporarily. I can hope and dream to my heart's content that that'll be the last I hear on the subject, but if I know Olmos as well as I like to think I do; he'll be back. Here's hoping they manage to not blow Basita to dust in the meantime without someone actually competent heading everything.
Closing statements...Well, I managed an entire journal entry in a mostly calm-state... now that's a surprise even to me.
Huh, I should spend more time away from Enfield.. and the rest of the idiots I deal with on a daily basis.
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[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.
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Valetta Shipyard, Crimson Halls, Inquisitor's Tier
8/3//822 AS
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4:08 AM, MSMT
[ She sighed, offloading stress as she sat down at the table, a glowing display fading away from over her wrist as she now peered in the direction of the camera. A look of utter defeat in her eyes after the days events had taken their toll. It was a look few we're used to seeing; one she kept reserved and bottled until she'd finally had the chance to retire to complete solitude.
A pause, as she reached besides the monitor for a whiskey glass, taking a sip prior to venting the days events: ]
Well. I caved.
So... the Lightspearthing is now squarely in my lap and among the things I'm now inheriting with the job is the responsibility of righting the project from it's grievously misshapen state. 14 station crew had to be removed from the project for incompetence; entirely because the project cannot afford to fail.
[ Another sip from her glass... well, more of a gulp really; laying into the liquid so as to forget all that had transpired.]
I can't make any mention of specifics of the full project in any non-official logs but.. this thing is... -- It's probably the single most significant undertaking the Holy Order has taken so far..
Recovering from the damned mess the La Torre's left behind was one thing and even reconstructing La Flotta Cremisi was itself a huge challenge but-- this is something else.
[ She lifted the glass again to her lips, pausing only briefly before chugging down the remaining contents in mere seconds, screwing her bloodshot emerald-tinted eyes shut for a few moments following before sharply inhaling and continuing. ]
Three people killed in accidents during initial testing, another seven injured. Not even for any "glorious" or truly justifiable reason, simply because we're going too fast; because we're being rushed. Better still: on the day I walk in and take over, another two just had to fall victim to an airlock failure--
[ A slam, as the Inquisitor brought her clenched fist down upon the desk, causing the screen to shake back and forth. ]
I wasn't even fully logged into the station's computers yet; I was barely in the door, and now I have to justify "my failings" to the Council; To Olmos.
I dealt with him when we were kids. I let him talk me into working with Yuri-- I let him worm his way into my head about the Inquisition Admin position; and now I've let him do this..
[ She looked down, slightly more somber now as the tension in her fist released; her knuckles white and small amounts of blood now apparent from her nails digging into her palm. She merely looked at her own hand; admiring her handiwork in disgust and a cloud of mixed emotions as she glared back to the screen, now more focused.
Quietly, she whispered, trembling ]
I've got the papers, licenses and all the right people telling me I'm as free as they are... but he still has enough sway to push me in whatever direction he wants. I thought I'd finally be rid of him when I got the Inquisitor role... but it's just another prison; no different from the Armando Estate.
-
-
-
Is this really all I am then? Someone else's puppet?
[ Another pause, as she looked to her side; the vast abyss of the endless void filling the window to her side as she gazed into it; her eyes almost reflecting it perfectly. Erika merely sat there for several minutes, the recording still going, before Alpha's harsh light began to peer over Malta's horizon; bathing the station, and the land below it in it's radiance. Seemingly spurred by this, Espinosa wiped her eyes with her sleeve, standing before the camera and closing the laptop's lid as an ending to the log. ]
End of line_
[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.