Star Trek Sim/RPG:The USS Eagle, NCC 2185
Crew's Logs: Alexi Valderkev
Subj: Log for Stardate 0407.21
Date: 07/21/2004 2:31:29 AM Eastern Daylight Time
Alexi stepped through the airlock and onto the bland deck of the Tellarite
Trading Outpost ... "What was it's name again?" he thought to himself, "Oh,
yes, Liaara Mishrath, I think it was."
He strode forward, standing tall, and an air of confidence was about him.
He always felt this way when he put his uniform on. He knew it was
childish, but he could not help it. The uniform was freshly pressed
and the Starfleet insignia on his left breast was polished brightly.
As he strolled along, he listened briefly to the conversations around him.
He listened to people haggle and peddle their wares in the stalls that lined
He stopped in front of what was perhaps the seediest bar he had ever seen.
Granted, he had never been to any bars other than the ones in the Sol system,
which were run according to the rules of the Federation. Alexi shifted
the strap of the pack slung over his shoulder, and walked through archway
and over to the bar. After ordering two shots of the best vodka the
barkeep had, he turned and leaned facing the establishment and took in the
view of the crowd. As he downed the first shot, he began listening
to the conversations he could make out ... One woman's voice, in particular,
caught his attention. She was sitting with two shifty looking characters,
and whenever she spoke, her horrible grammar made him smirk inwardly.
As a high school boy in London, his Russian accent was occasionally the subject
of jokes and smart comments ... At first. It wasn't long before Alexi
established himself as a force to be reckoned with in a fist fight.
At that time, he wasn't nearly the size he now was, but he showed those pompous
British boys. Nobody had spoken to him for a week after he trounced three
of them at once for mimicking the way he spoke. That was partly because
his punishment had kept him outside doing the gardening and such with no
one but the old Irish grounds keeper. He had almost decided to give
up and finish his schooling back in Moscow. That was ... until she
His reminiscing was quickly halted by the shrill screams of the two men sitting
at the table with the woman with the atrocious grammar. He watched
as the two of them stood, nearly knocking the table over, and fled out the
exit. He turned to look at the woman, who was simply staring straight
ahead with a grin on her face. "That's odd," he thought to himself,
"She didn't watch them run like scared rabbits. It's almost as if she
were," His eyes widened as the shock of the realization hit him, and then
a smirk played across his face. "Blind ..." He reached for the other
shot behind him and lifted it in silent toast to the woman before downing
it. He had always been one to fight on behalf of the underdog, but
he enjoyed it even more on the rare occasions where they managed to win one
on their own.
Alexi dropped the credits he owed plus the tip onto the bar, and nodded to
the barkeep "Thank you for the wodka, it vas quite good." He was lying,
of course ... Those two shots tasted more like his attempt to distill his
own home-made vodka from some potatoes when he was a boy. He had copied
every step his grandfather had done, but it just didn't come out right. He
had improved at it immensely since then, but his liquor paled in comparison
to that of his grandfather's. The old man still refuses to tell him
his secret to this day. He still teases Alexi with the ambiguous promise
that he may tell him just before he goes ... Or perhaps he would just take
it to the grave with him.
He resumed his stroll, his body warmed by the drink, the smile still playing
across his face from the recent memory of the woman with bad grammar's upset
of the two men, and the anticipation of his first Starfleet assignment running
through his mind. He decided to explore the station a bit more, and
headed for the turbolift to explore the lower levels. He was warned
against doing so as the shuttle was docking, but he just couldn't help himself.
He stepped into the turbolift, and gripped the handle inside, instructed
the lift to take him to the lowest deck, as he intended to work his way backup
from there, and twisted the handle, beginning his decent, as the doors swished
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