Posted by Ensign Tak (Science Officer) in Side Sim: Rehearsal - Holodeck - Buddy and the Breen

Posted by Ensign Buddy Cullum (Security Officer) in Side Sim: Rehearsal - Holodeck - Buddy and the Breen

Posted by Ensign Tak (Science Officer) in Side Sim: Rehearsal - Holodeck - Buddy and the Breen
Posted by… suppressed (9) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Buddy stood with his hands behind his back, boots planted with a kind of ceremonial stiffness that didn’t quite suit him. His uniform was regulation crisp—mostly. His hair had a little extra product in it, and the excitement vibrating just under the surface kept twitching his fingers toward the neck of his guitar case, which rested at his feet like a loyal pet.

This was actually happening.

The transporter hum rose and resolved with that familiar shimmer of blue-white light—and then there they were. Three figures materialized on the pad, and with them came the past: old chords, half-drunk rehearsals, impossible harmonies, Federation Day tears, and inside jokes no translator could touch.

“Holy hell,” Buddy breathed, breaking into a grin. “Look at you degenerates.”

Jax Perren stepped off the pad first, grinning ear to ear, his broad Bolian frame just as Buddy remembered. He lugged a duffel that clanked ominously. “You better have room for my kit,” he said. “This thing took up half the shuttle’s mass allotment.”

“Please tell me it’s the one made from the Type-9,” Buddy asked.

“The one and only.”

T’Lex followed, serene as ever in stark contrast to the chaos around him. He raised a brow. “Your message implied this would be an informal reunion. I have prepared a new composition for the occasion—something minimalistic. Eleven chords. No rhythm. Three emotions.”

“…So, a Tuesday for you,” Buddy said, smirking.

Ree’za came last, tail flicking, a vintage denim vest stretched over her uniform, and a pair of retro mirrored shades perched on her feline nose. She slung her bass case with the ease of a street brawler and grinned with too many teeth.

“I told you he’d pull this off,” she purred, nudging Jax with an elbow.

Buddy felt his heart swell in a way that surprised him. This wasn’t just nostalgia. It was something better.

“Welcome aboard the Ark Angel,” he said, holding out his arms as if to hug the whole room. “Home of the best security team in the quadrant, the weirdest science department, and—if I have anything to say about it—your venue for one night only.”

He paused, glancing at the transporter chief. “Thanks, Chief. We’ve got it from here.”

Turning back to his friends, he grinned.

“C’mon. I’ve booked us holodeck time. Let’s see if you guys remember how to be a band.”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer
U.S.S. Ark Angel

The last cymbal crash from “Chicken à la Rage” echoed off the simulated bulkheads, still vibrating in Buddy’s bones. It was sloppy in all the right places—Jax missed a fill, Ree’za screamed two bars too early, and T’Lex had randomly changed the bridge progression to something vaguely threatening in D minor.

But it felt right.

“Okay, okay,” Buddy laughed, pulling off his guitar and giving the strings a playful slap. “That was… a train wreck.”

“A triumphant train wreck,” Jax corrected, sweat shining on his blue scalp as he leaned back behind the Frankenstein’d kit of shuttle panel drums. “A glorious, flaming, high-velocity wreck.”

“I was in time,” T’Lex added, totally serious, as he adjusted one of the knobs on his loop processor. “The rest of you were not.”

Ree’za, mid-swig from a water bottle, snorted. “You changed keys in the middle of the chorus!”

“I changed moods,” T’Lex countered with a small shrug. “There is a distinction.”

“Yeah,” Buddy said, grinning as he dropped onto a nearby crate. “The distinction is we noticed.”

They all laughed—four friends orbiting the same strange, perfect rhythm again. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just a memory of the band. It was the band.

After a beat, Buddy picked his guitar back up and began idly tuning.

“So listen,” he said, suddenly a bit more focused. “I’ve got a couple of new songs I want us to try out.”

That got their attention. Jax sat up straighter. Ree’za tilted her head. Even T’Lex raised an eyebrow, which in Vulcan terms was equivalent to shouting.

“New songs?” Ree’za asked. “From you? Please tell me one of them is finally about the shuttle fire.”

Buddy smirked and strummed a low chord, letting it hum.

“Well… one of them is about a Princess.”

A beat.

Ree’za’s ears perked, her tail giving a single flick. Jax let out a low whistle. T’Lex blinked once and simply murmured, “Fascinating.”

None of them said what they were thinking—but the silence was loud.

Buddy didn’t elaborate. He just gave a half-shrug and started dialing in the distortion on his pedal board.

“Let’s see if you’re still good enough to keep up.”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer

The walls of the holodeck vibrated with reverb and righteous noise. They were in the middle of it now—a full-throttle punk assault, snarling and defiant. Buddy’s voice was ragged but alive, punching through the mix like a deflector at full power. Ree’za’s bass roared beneath him like tectonic plates grinding into rebellion. Jax, sweating and swearing, kept time like a madman conducting a warp core breach.

And T’Lex—T’Lex was—

Gone?

The sound cut like a blown conduit. The ambient howl of T’Lex’s loop processor fell out first, followed by the sharp silence of his guitar line. It was like losing gravity mid-jump.

Buddy kept going for another bar and a half, then let his guitar ring out and slowly fade. He turned, panting. “T’Lex? What—what happened?”

The Vulcan stood still, his fingers resting calmly on the neck of his guitar. “I stopped playing,” he said.

Buddy blinked. “Yeah, no kidding. Why?”

T’Lex’s expression didn’t shift. But there was something in his posture—something stiff and off, like a line not quite resolved. “I find the lyrical content of this piece… problematic.”

That brought a few beats of stunned silence.

Jax leaned forward over the cymbals, eyes narrowing. “Wait, what? The lyrics?”

Ree’za folded her arms. “Since when do you care about lyrics?”

“I care,” T’Lex replied evenly, “when they represent a volatile and emotionally charged critique of Starfleet and the Federation as a whole—especially in the wake of the recent events on Federation Day.”

“It is emotionally charged,” Buddy said, setting his guitar down with more force than he meant to. “That’s kind of the point, T’Lex. People died. Systems failed. We all watched it happen. I’m not gonna write a damn lullaby about it.”

T’Lex’s gaze was level. “You are an officer of Starfleet. To release such a message publicly—”

“It’s not propaganda,” Ree’za interrupted, tail twitching. “It’s truth. Ugly truth, yeah. But don’t act like being in uniform means we’re not allowed to feel things.”

“I am not suggesting suppression of feeling,” T’Lex said. “I am suggesting precision. A message that disrespects the institution may undermine the very structure that protects the Federation’s citizens.”

“‘Structure’ didn’t save anyone on Federation Day,” Jax muttered, suddenly quieter. “You think I wasn’t scared out of my mind, man? You think people on my homeworld weren’t freaking out, wondering who was next? I love Starfleet. But if we can’t criticize the things that broke… what are we even defending?”

That hit Buddy hard. He rubbed his hands through his hair, unsure whether the sweat on his forehead was from playing or from trying to hold it all in.

“I wrote that song,” he said, voice low now. “Because I needed to. Because we all serve, but we also lived through that day. We lost people. We almost lost everything. And I’m not going to pretend that didn’t mess me up just because I wear a uniform.”

Silence again. This time longer.

T’Lex’s eyes flicked between them, considering.

“It is not that I object to emotion,” he said finally. “But emotion, when improperly harnessed, can cause greater harm than silence. If you intend to perform this live, you may find it creates tension among the crew.”

Buddy met his gaze.

“Good,” he said. “Maybe it should.”

Jax gave a low whistle again, but this one was different—less amused, more impressed.

Ree’za chuckled, shook her head. “Stars, I missed this band.”

T’Lex didn’t reply immediately. Then, with a sigh so subtle it was nearly imperceptible, he reached for his guitar.

“I will require another run-through,” he said. “Preferably with tempo consistency this time.”

Buddy blinked. “You’re… in?”

“I will not allow your intonation to go uncorrected in front of a live audience,” T’Lex replied, as if that settled it.

It kind of did.

Buddy smiled—wide, grateful, wired with adrenaline and purpose.

“All right,” he said. “From the top.”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer

The door to the holodeck opened, and a small figure scurried in during the next set. A little under four feet and with a facial structure somewhere between a cat and an otter, she glanced back out of the Arch before slipping off to the side. She squatted against the wall, almost looking like she was trying to hide. She kept quiet as the group played, head tilted slightly as she listened to the music, trying to remain unobtrusive. At the very least, she seemed to be enjoying it?

Kota, Civilian ‘Teenager’

The riff was nasty—Buddy had just twisted the chorus into something snarlier, louder, something with teeth. Ree’za was locked in, claws gripping her bass like it owed her money, tail snapping in time with the beat.

Then it happened.

Mid-note, her ears flicked. Once. Twice. Her head swiveled just slightly to the side. She sniffed the air.

Buddy didn’t notice at first. He was too caught up in the groove.

But Ree’za’s pupils dilated.

Her bass stopped.

And in a tone so low and guttural it didn’t belong anywhere near a starship, she growled:

“…Rodent.”

T’Lex froze mid-chord. Jax’s sticks hovered above his crash cymbal, eyes wide.

Ree’za’s nostrils flared. She scanned the room like a jungle cat in heat vision mode. Her ears twitched once more. Then she leapt off the stage—a blur of fur, denim, and muscle, moving with terrifying grace.

“REE’ZA, NO!” Buddy shouted, his voice cracking somewhere between a command and a plea.

She didn’t stop.

She bolted straight for the corner of the holodeck where a small figure was now half-risen, eyes wide as warp nacelles. Kota barely had time to blink before six feet of bass-wielding Caitian death hurtled toward her like a torpedo with eyeliner.

Ree’za landed hard—one hand on the wall, the other inches from Kota’s face, claws bared, lips curled back in a flash of fangs.

“Sssstate your intent: ally, audiencccce… or appetizzzzerrrr?”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer
USS Ark Angel

The young teen, to her credit, wasn’t scared? The woman threatening (?) her, she decided, wasn’t as scary as the Vek’na she’d had to avoid and compete with during her First Hunt. Fewer teeth. In fact, she was… pretty cool. Although Kota’s heart was pounding, she wasn’t giving off any signs of fear. She stood her ground, calm in the presence of the aggressive Caitian. “Your music is good. I like it. So, ally or audience, whichever,” she shrugged, glancing past the woman to look at the other three band members. “Calling me a rodent is kinda offensive though. I’m a pipini.”

Kota, Civilian ‘Teenager’

Buddy blinked. Once. Twice.

Well, that was… not what he expected.

He jogged the last few steps toward the two of them, still cradling his guitar against his chest like a peace offering.

“Right. Okay. That could’ve gone worse,” he said under his breath.

He gave Kota a quick once-over—not out of suspicion, just to make sure she hadn’t been knocked over or clawed in the adrenaline-fueled blur. “Hey. Uh. Thanks for not running, screaming, or calling Security on us. That was… intense.”

Then, to Ree’za—“Hey. Cool it with the species profiling, yeah? We’re trying not to scare off our entire potential fanbase.”

Ree’za only gave a half-smile and an unapologetic flick of the tail.

Buddy turned back to Kota, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re welcome to hang out, as long as you don’t mind a few missed chords and occasional death threats.”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer
USS Ark Angel

Kota stepped away from the wall, moving a little closer to the area where the group had their instruments. “I ain’t a narc. Or a scaredy-cat,” she declared, glaring at Ree’za for a second, “Or a snack.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then, from behind the kit, Jax let out a low whistle. “Well damn,” he muttered. “Kid’s got backbone.”

Ree’za tilted her head. Her tail curled with a mix of curiosity and something almost resembling respect. “Noted,” she said, flashing the barest glint of a smile. “Snack status revoked.”

Buddy chuckled, strapping his guitar back over his shoulder. “Yeah, okay. You pass the vibe check.”

He gave Kota a nod as she stepped closer, fully expecting some snarky follow-up. Instead—

She thought back a little to some of the lyrics she’d heard before Ree’za had gone all hunter. Despite the feline features, the woman reminded Kota more of a laleri. She decided to keep that observation to herself, thinking the Caitian wouldn’t appreciate being compared to the lupine species any more than Kota enjoyed being called a rodent. “What’s ‘Federation Day’?”

Kota, Civilian ‘Teenager’

The mood shifted like someone had flipped off the distortion pedal mid-song.

Buddy didn’t answer at first. He blinked, mouth half-open. Even Jax stopped tapping his sticks, and Ree’za’s ears went still.

T’Lex was the first to speak. “Statistically improbable,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Buddy looked over at Kota. She didn’t seem to be joking.

“You really don’t know?” he asked quietly, not accusing—just… trying to catch up.

The ‘teen’ shook her head slightly, looking a little confused.

His fingers drifted toward the edge of his strings, but he didn’t strum. “Federation Day was… supposed to be a celebration. Instead, it turned into the worst attack on Starfleet since the Dominion War. Most people just call it Frontier Day now,” Buddy mad a mental note to change the title of the song.

There was a weight in his chest now. One that never quite went away.

He glanced at the others, then back at Kota. “It’s what that last song was about,” he said. “Sort of.”

Ree’za gave a small grunt. “Sort of,” she echoed darkly.

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer

Kota could tell, even without an empathic link, that she had brought down the mood. For the first time, she responded without confidence. She even brought her wide tail around, hugging it between her arms, almost hiding behind the flukes. “I.. um.. sorry.”

Now that she thought about it, the name did sound vaguely familiar, although more as a thing adults talked about quietly when they thought kids like her weren’t listening. “Ig’ta doesn’t like to tell me and my little brother all the stuff going on in the wider galaxy. We’ve got enough to worry about just surviving out here in space, they said. Maybe they’re wrong,” Kota shrugged sadly, not sure what to do now that she’d apparently ruined the jovial moment.

Kota, Civilian ‘Teenager’

Buddy stepped a little closer, easing his guitar to his side with one hand and raising the other in a gentle, open-palmed gesture.

“Hey. You have nothing to apologize for.”

His voice was softer now, but steady. “Seriously, if asking a question could ruin the vibe in this band, we wouldn’t’ve survived ten minutes back at the Academy. Jax once asked if you could deep-fry Gagh.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Jax muttered behind the cymbals. “It was a vision.”

Buddy grinned briefly, then looked back to Kota.

“You didn’t know. That’s not your fault. And honestly… maybe it’s better that way, even just for a while. It means you haven’t had to live through that kind of fear yet. That’s not something you should apologize for.”

Ree’za made a small, low sound—not quite a purr, not quite a sigh. “Your Ig’ta wasn’t wrong. They were protecting you,” she added, flicking an ear. “Survival isn’t ignorance. It’s survival.”

Buddy gave a small nod. “Look, this band? It started because we needed a way to scream into the void. Play something messy and honest when the world didn’t make sense.”

He reached over and nudged an amp with his boot. “If that’s what you’re looking for too… you’re in the right holodeck.”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer
USS Ark Angel

Kota relaxed as the mood lightened, nodding along slightly as they talked. “Yeah. I’d like to stay,” she declared with a little confidence back in her posture. As the band got back to their spots at their instruments, Kota called up the computer and got it to replicate a little bean-bag chair and some art supplies for her. A small easel, some canvasses, and a bunch of acrylic paints. If she was going to stick around, she wanted to keep her hands busy. She didn’t explain herself, just set up her little station where she wouldn’t be in the way.

Buddy and his friends started up again, and Kota painted. The strokes of the brush and pallet knife were quick and wild, Kota pretty effectively following the mood of the music and translating it into a visual medium.

Kota, Civilian ‘Teenager’

Buddy glanced back over his shoulder as the familiar shimmer of a replicator lit the corner of the holodeck. He blinked once. Beanbag. Easel. Paints. Brushes. The works.

He exchanged a look with Ree’za, who just smirked and shrugged like this was perfectly normal. T’Lex tilted his head, quietly fascinated. Jax leaned over his kit and whispered, “Mascot upgrade complete.”

Buddy turned back toward Kota and gave her a quick nod—no ceremony, no spotlight, just inclusion.

“Cool,” he said simply.

Then he looked to the others, cracking his neck like a fighter about to enter round two. “Alright. From the bridge, this time. Let’s try not to eat anyone mid-verse.”

Ree’za gave a toothy grin.

Jax clicked his sticks together. “One, two—”

And just like that, the room exploded with sound again.
The band played.
Kota painted.
And for a little while longer, everything felt exactly as it should.

—Ensign Cullum
Security Officer
U.S.S. Ark Angel