Settling In Part II of II
Posted on 03 Aug 2025 @ 2:04am by Captain Sabrina Corbin
901 words; about a 5 minute read
=/\= Captain’s Quarters =/\=
The final items in the crate were a set of leather-bound journals filled with unlined linen paper. Three were in various states of use, their corners soft, spines creased, and certain pages dog-eared to mark their importance. All three were full. The fourth was new, its leather unmarred, the pages blank, though she suspected the first entry would be written tonight.
Beside them was a small bundle of pens: black ink rollerballs in her preferred 0.7mm size. Not fancy, but they wrote cleanly, and she liked the way they moved across linen paper. She had once tried a fountain pen. Romantic, certainly. Practical? Not remotely. Ink, she’d learned, should remain in the pen, not on your hands, your cuffs, or your cat.
There were also blank notecards and envelopes of quality card stock in a soft off white color.
Sabrina carried the items into her office, arranging the diaries on the shelf in chronological order. The pens went into a drawer, each tapped gently into place until their heights aligned.
She slid into the desk chair and activated her terminal. A few administrative tasks needed to be cleared before she could call the day complete. First on her list was importing her default file system, a carefully structured setup she used everywhere. Once that was done, the terminal finally felt like hers.
She added two meetings to her calendar: one with her Executive Officer, Adrienne Holt, in the morning; the other, a first official briefing with her senior officers that afternoon. It would be the first of many check-ins, and she was eager to begin seeing them as people rather than just names in a file.
Next, she opened two blank files and began sketching meeting outlines, one for Holt and one for the senior staff. With Holt, she intended to cover expectations, communication preferences, and command approach. It was important to get that right from the start. The outlines weren’t rigid agendas, more guideposts than doctrine. Just enough to keep things focused.
Naturally, she expected the conversations would veer where they needed to. They always did.
With both drafts complete, Sabrina turned to her inbox. A few messages were flagged for follow-up; others were routine and quickly filed. Progress reports were trickling in, and every hour, more systems were marked as complete. It was encouraging.
One personal message sat unopened, from her aunt Judith Reyes. Sabrina smiled faintly. Even in text, her aunt’s enthusiasm needed bracing. Now was not the time. She noticed it had been addressed to "Junie," and let out a soft chuckle before marking it for tomorrow.
Satisfied that her duties were wrapped for the day, Sabrina opened her uniform jacket and made her way to the bedroom. She hung the tunic and stowed her boots, placing them neatly where they belonged.
Ptolemy was curled up on the window seat. She padded by in bare feet, giving him a glance as she moved to the replicator. Her teacup was already waiting. She filled a strainer with chamomile, laced with vanilla and lavender, and ordered 88-degree water to begin the steep.
While the tea steeped, she returned to the office to retrieve her new journal, a blank notecard, an envelope, and one of her pens. She settled into the couch and cracked open the new diary, carefully formatting the title page: assignment name, stardate of beginning, space left for the end, eventually.
Before getting too comfortable, she returned to the replicator and ordered two ounces of whole milk. She lifted the tea strainer from the now golden brew, poured in the milk, stirred carefully, and returned the used pieces to the replicator for sonic cleaning.
Cup and saucer in hand, she returned to the couch.
She took a long, comforting sip and started with the notecard. A simple gesture, but worth the effort. Ensign Quen had impressed her earlier, competent, observant, and thoughtful. A digital message might’ve sufficed, but a handwritten note carried more weight. She composed a brief thank-you, signed it in her best handwriting, and sealed the envelope for delivery tomorrow.
Sabrina sipped her tea, reflecting on the day and gathering her thoughts for the first words in the new journal. When she was ready, she placed the teacup down and uncapped her pen with her teeth, resting the journal on her raised knee as she sank into the cushions.
[Arawyn feels like potential. Like a library before the doors open, all hushed and full of stories waiting to be written. I know she’s a warship in lineage, but she’s also sleek and curious, like Ptolemy, I suppose. I hope I’m the right steward for both.
I will meet Holt tomorrow. I want to make a good first impression, even if we’re both feeling our way forward.
MacLaren’s words keep looping back. "It’s those disastrous days…" She’s not wrong. But the worst day hasn’t come yet. And maybe, just maybe, it won’t for a while. Maybe we get to explore before we endure.]
Corbin hovered with the pen, unsure whether to add anything more, when a paw batted at the nib. A jagged squiggle marred the bottom of the page.
“Well then,” she said dryly, “are you ready for dinner and bed?”
She chuckled and added a final line beneath the scrawl:
[Post Script written by Ptolemy].
Captain Sabrina Corbin
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