The Purple-ery Effect
Posted on Thu Apr 23rd, 2026 @ 2:55pm by Captain Malcom Llwyedd & Lieutenant Hussa Carew & Ensign Nevin Brax
Edited on on Thu Apr 23rd, 2026 @ 6:46pm
2,254 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
Flashbacks and Side Quests
Location: USS Firebird
[ON]
The brig doors slid open with all the ceremony of a storage locker being accessed, which felt… appropriate.
No speech. No dramatic scene or symbolic gestures—unless one counted the crewman who released him. He looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else and gave a vague motion that Nevin could only interpret as go on, try not to find yourself back here.
Encouraging.
Nevin stepped out expecting… something. Anything, really. A work assignment, another reprimand, a speech about second chances. Instead, he got a sore back, an overactive mind, and the distinct realization that he now had to interact with people again.
Bold of Starfleet, he thought, to assume he was ready for that—not that he had much of a choice.
Two steps. Two steps—that was all he managed outside the processing center before he saw them.
Ensign Dove was on the far side of the corridor, moving toward a man he could only assume was her father—Lieutenant Commander something or other. He stood between them.
Even at this distance, there was no mistaking him. Men like him didn’t blend into corridors—they defined them.
He carried himself like the only thing separating him from authority was a promotion that hadn’t quite caught up with him yet.
“Lieutenant Commander. Not admiral—nor particularly close. Though some people do seem inclined to inhabit authority they haven’t earned yet. That was certainly the impression he gathered from Emilynn… by her third glass of synthehol, her usual restraint had noticeably diminished that night in his quarters.”
Emilynn paused mid-step when she saw him. It was enough for her father to notice and follow her gaze.
Right to him.
A scowl followed. Controlled. Deliberate. The kind of expression that suggested Emilynn’s father had already decided what category he belonged in.
Nevin met his gaze without yielding. It wasn’t a challenge—not really—more an acknowledgment of his presence. Yes, that would suffice, he thought. An acknowledgment. That should feed his ego for the day.
He supposed it was the kind of look one gave a superior he neither respected nor liked, but still had to treat with polite deference—because that man could make his life a living hell.
Not that his life could get much worse. And it wasn’t as though he really knew the man—only what Emilynn had told him.
Nevin looked back at her, not long or dramatic, just enough to make sure she knew he was on her side. After all, he could use all the friends he could get these days.
He continued on his way—to where, he wasn’t really sure—but away from whatever that was about to become because whatever it was, it didn’t look good.
Note to self: Check on Emilynn later.
His attention shifted to Lieutenant Carew.
He had no plan, but knew he needed one—and fast.
A plan. Right, okay. That shouldn’t be hard.
His stomach interrupted, reminding him he hadn’t had a real meal in fourteen days. A glance at the wall display showed it was lunchtime.
“Simple. Now to find Lieutenant Carew.”
In a casual, entirely natural manner. Of course.
As if he routinely invited counseling officers to meals for no underlying reason whatsoever.
Flawless.
There were, however, a few minor complications.
One: he had absolutely no idea where she was.
Two: even if he did, there was the small matter of approaching her without making it obvious that he was, in fact, seeking to pick her brilliantly educated mind under the thinnest possible pretense.
Three: she was Lieutenant Carew, which meant there was a very real chance she already knew he was coming.
He didn’t like the third one.
He took a turn toward the main corridor, then hesitated.
Where would she be?
Counseling offices felt too obvious. If she were expecting him, she wouldn’t be there. She knew he wouldn’t go there…
But… if she wasn’t expecting him, she might be there. But then he’d have to walk in, which felt dangerously close to admitting he needed help.
Which he did.
Sickbay?
No. Too clinical. Also, no chance that was happening.
Engineering?
Why would she be there… unless she was looking for him…
She could be anywhere.
Firebird wasn’t a large ship, but it was still large enough to feel like he was looking for a needle in a haystack.
He started walking again, slower this time, letting the rhythm of the ship settle around him. Crew members passed—some offering polite nods, others avoiding eye contact just a fraction too deliberately. He cataloged it without meaning to.
Old habits.
There was a certain irony in all of this. He had spent years avoiding counseling like it was a contagious disease, and now he was roaming the ship trying to engineer a chance encounter like some kind of socially incompetent spy.
If anyone asked, this was reconnaissance—for lunch.
He stopped abruptly.
It finally hit him.
Had he really been in the brig so long that simple logic had escaped him? He lifted a hand toward a wall panel, making sure no one was within earshot.
“Computer, location of Lieutenant Carew.”
<=> Lieutenant Carew is currently on Deck 2, Section C—Hydroponics <=>
“Odd… but easy enough, I guess…” he muttered.
He stepped into the lift and took the short ride down to Deck 2. He was fairly certain he had never been to this part of the ship before. There was always a first time.
Walking through the enormous doors into Hydroponics, he slowed to take in the room, hoping he didn’t appear lost. There were more people than he expected. Good. That made this easier—less conspicuous. Or so he hoped.
An older man stood hunched over a three-tier rack, carefully misting the roots of something he could only classify as… botanical.
The entire room was filled with faint light and soft music, which at any other time might have been relaxing—but in this moment, it did very little to calm him.
He moved past him with what he hoped resembled purpose. There, in the far corner, stood Lieutenant Carew.
He methodically adjusted his course so as not to seem direct.
He selected a nearby plant at random and leaned in, touching it, as if evaluating it. Waiting. Hoping she would notice him.
She didn’t.
He lingered a moment longer—just enough time to suggest he knew what he was doing—then turned, as though only just noticing her.
“Lieutenant,” he said, with mild, professionally appropriate surprise. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Hussa Carew startled, but immediately smiled brightly in genuine surprise and pleasure.
She stood aside so he could see the beautiful long-stemmed blue plant with wide lily pad-shaped leaves that hovered above gravelly soil. She blew lightly toward the plant. The leaves vibrated. They each emitted a slightly different wavering note that combined into an out-of-tune but not completely repellent chord.
She smiled at him as she pulled off her soiled gloves. “A Talosian Singing Plant. Have you ever seen or heard one?”
“Yes, of course,” he said casually, a bit too quickly. He hesitated a moment. “I mean, in a general, theoretical sense... I mean, I’ve encountered references of them. Who hasn’t? Right?”
His gaze moved to the plant and back to her, a sheepish grin across his face. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.
“No,” he admitted with reluctance, “I guess I haven’t actually seen one in person. It’s… It’s fascinating, though.”
The plant warbled softly as Hussa’s smile of pride in her success faded. The ensign had fishtailed through his answer from a dismissive ‘can’t toss a dead Tribble without hitting a Talosian Singing Plant’ to a polite ‘Mm. Yes. Fascinating.’
She realized she’d likely but inadvertently put him on the spot by asking about the plant. She decided that his response could be down to heightened defensiveness. Understandable, given his recent circumstances.
She thought about how he must be feeling anxiety, excitement, and fear to have been imprisoned and then recently let go. She’d closed her hands to unconsciously wring her dirty gloves. The scratchiness of the dirt caught her attention. She looked down at her soiled hands in surprise. “Oh,” she said with a little deprecating laugh. “I’m making a mess.”
She smiled up at the much taller Betazoid. “You know, this hydroponics lab has a little café where you can get snacks and, of course, fresh vegetables grown by your shipmates. They have a sink there, too, so I can clean up. Are you hungry? My treat!”
Brax studied her for a fraction longer than was polite. His expression didn’t change much, but something behind it did.
That was… unexpectedly easy. Too easy. Which as a rule, things had never been made easy for him, especially when it came to doctors and counselors.
And yet, there it was. An invitation. Casual. Unforced.
Which, if anything, made it worse. His anxiety spiked before he forced it back down, exhaling softly as if conceding something internal.
“I see,” he said slowly, tone thoughtful. “Food—I could eat. Your treat. You certainly do know how to make a compelling case, Lieutenant. Sure, I accept.”
He stepped aside, gesturing for her to take the lead. His eyes lingered on her a second longer—watching, measuring, trying to determine whether this was kindness…or professional strategy.
Hussa stepped forward until she was beside him, her shoulder right angles to his. She didn’t like people following her, not out of paranoia so much as not being able to talk with them and see their reactions. Besides, Nevin Brax just might disappear on her, seized by some whim born of too many people around him after a long bout of solitary confinement.
She smiled and waved him along with a dirt-smeared hand. She started talking, hoping he’d keep up beside her. “It’s hidden behind all these tanks and tray racks. A replicator, an actual oven for baking, and free samples, sometimes. Watch out for dribbles and piles of trimmings. Some of it is caustic or thorny. It wouldn’t do to get injured just trying to get to a Tholian flaming ale or whatever.”
A tentative smile crossed his face, and his pace equalled hers. They moved through a narrow path between hydroponic racks, stepping carefully over the piles of trimmings she had mentioned. There was something in her tone that pulled his attention in, something he wasn’t quite sure about.
The pace of their conversation was simple, easy. He could tell just from the way she moved that she, unlike him, was well accustomed to this part of the ship.
She looked up at him. “If it’s hard for you to talk after not for so long, that’s okay with me. We can walk quietly and enjoy all the greenery, and purple-ery and whatever color that thing is.” She pointed a soiled finger at a metal potting table holding a tall, single-stemmed plant with leafy armor up its trunk like scales.
Nevin’s gaze followed the gesture. His expression shifted a little, falling somewhere between surprise and reluctant consideration.
In that moment, his mind tried to do what it always did: categorize her. Counselor. Lieutenant. Starfleet. Authority. Risk.
But this time it didn’t stick. Again, there was something about her tone today that he found hard to reconcile.
“Purple-ery?” he repeated quietly.
The word shouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t precise. It wasn’t correct. It wasn’t anything that would hold up in a report or even a serious conversation.
And yet—it landed differently than anything she had said so far. Not strategic or polished.
Just… wrong in a way that put him at ease. His shoulders eased, and the tension in his eyes seemed to fade away. He let his gaze linger on the plant she had pointed out, allowing the silence to stretch.
“I’m not sure ‘purple-ery’ is a technical classification,” he said with a grin. "But I take your meaning.”
His hands relaxed beside him, and his walk seemed to flow more fluidly.
She’s not even focused on me, he realized in a moment of clarity.
That was the unsettling part. There was no angle he could detect. Just a person saying “purple-ery” in a room full of weird plants and smells.
“I don’t mind talking,” he finally replied. “It’s more that I’ve recently realized I don’t always communicate things in a way that’s easy for other people to understand.”
A faint glance toward her, then away again, as if testing whether his admission landed safely.
But even as he said it, the unease of the spoken words faded. Not because the thought changed—but because she didn’t treat it like something to be assessed. She just kept moving, dirt on her hands, pointing out strange plants like they were ordinary.
And that, oddly enough, made it easier for him to breathe.
[OFF]
Lieutenant Hussa Carew (NPC by Enel)
Counselor
USS Firebird NCC-88298
Ensign Nevin Brax (NPC by Dove)
Matter/Energy Systems Specialist
USS Firebird NCC-88298
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