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     Lieutenant Commander Sieven Drexler |
Sieven Drexler nodded in conclusion as he asked, "Any questions that pop to mind?" The man he was addressing, Lieutenant Marcy, paused a moment in thought, then replied. "No, sir, I think that's everything." Sieven uncharacteristically smiled and nodded, making an entry on the PADD in his left hand. "Good, then. You know where to contact me if you need anything else. Good luck as chief tactical officer, Mr. Marcy." Marcy nodded, and added, "And to you with your new job, sir." Sieven nodded and smiled, leaving the small conference room and meandering down the hall, having just gone over the essentials with his replacement, most of which just a formality that needed to be taken care of before he fully relinquished his duties as the ship's primary protector. There was now a sense of complete freedom about him, as he walked the halls. He'd felt it when he put on his new uniform the day before, having seen the pale mustard collar for years, now a slate hue. He hadn't worried about such things before recalling his former identity. Even now, he still hadn't fully grasped the nature of his former identity, only the main ideas. The details were still murky, but slowly they were becoming coherent and important to him. Also as such, his personality began changing, some uncomfortable hybrid of his former self and his current one. The old Sieven Drexler, in actuality Eiru-ai Siuvan of Uiil Ir, was an ambitious go-getter, if such a thing were possible for the stolid and reflective Êaaniar before the Borg robbed them of their pride. ("Drexler" was a name he borrowed when he arrived in the alpha quadrant, as he thought it would allow him to fit in better.) Competing with his former withdrawn demeanor, he is sometimes unsure of how to act. The dominant, early Siuvan seemed to be slowly taking over as time passed. Sieven entered a room a few turns from the CIC where engineers worked quickly to convert some of the rooms into designated flag offices. His was nearly complete, but upon arrival, a pair of engineers were standing in the doorway overseeing the placement of a potted plant, which currently rested on an antigrav sled. He nodded a greeting to the closest engineer. "Good evening, midshipman. Attempting to bring some life to these drab offices, are we?" The engineer was attentive in the presence of a superior. Drexler had gotten that reaction before, but not this severely. It must've been his association with the admiral. "Yes, sir, commander! The admiral sent these to you, sir. He said … err… he'd rather have some blank walls. I guess to hang things, sir, I don't know." "The admiral is quite spartan, midshipman," he said, smiling slightly, overlooking the plant. "This will be a nice addition, anyway. As you were." He proceeded underneath the antigrav sled and into his office as the noncom stupidly mumbled an acknowledgement, still kind of starstruck. He was about to head over to the replicator, but found it disemboweled and under the scrutiny of another technician. With a quick blink of the eyes he went to sit at his desk. The office was small, formerly a storage room, but large enough to accommodate him. The admiral was only one door down, while the CIC was in the other direction, location being the primary reason of choosing this room. Starfleet had a tendency to make most areas of the ship convertible in 48 hours if they needed to be. It was actually somewhat educational to see it first-hand. Quietly, as the engineers around him murmured, he read through his report on the status of his incoming staff, and basked in the glow of change. BTC |