Alura’s Bright Idea
Posted on 05 Sep 2025 @ 2:29am by Alura Ryn
794 words; about a 4 minute read
Mission:
Fractured Accord
Location: Arawyn
Timeline: 252429.04
=/\= Coridor on the Arawyn =/\=
Red alert.
The words alone had been enough to set Alura Ryn’s pulse racing. The normally calm, sleek corridors of the Arawyn now blazed with pulsing crimson light, the steady thrum of klaxons filling the air. She wasn’t used to the atmosphere of tension that seemed to seep from the very bulkheads during an alert, and it made her skin prickle.
She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t an officer. She was a Risian civilian who had signed on to help with morale and recreation. Yet here she was, clutching the wall as a security detail thundered past in full gear. One of them slowed just long enough to call over the din, “Ma’am, safest place is your quarters during alert!”
Alura nodded automatically, her hazel eyes wide, her honey-blonde waves bouncing as she turned her head. The sensible thing would have been to retreat to her quarters, seal the doors, and wait until the ship stood down. She almost did. Almost.
Then she heard it, a voice from the group, low but urgent: “Away team’s mustering at Transporter Room Two.”
The phrase made something click inside her brain. It was like watching a star ignite: sudden, blinding, full of possibility. An away team was about to beam out into danger. They’d be nervous, hungry, maybe running on adrenaline and nothing else. They needed something. They needed her.
By the time the first group of officers reached the transporter room, the corridor outside looked less like a sterile deck of a Sovereign-class vessel and more like the staging ground for an impromptu celebration.
Alura had worked fast, raiding the crew mess with a disarming smile and a promise to “borrow just a few things.” A rolling service cart rattled beneath the weight of bottled water, energy bars, and a small stash of wrapped chocolates she always carried “for emergencies.” Colorful pastel ribbons, pinks, teals, and yellows, were tied around the baskets, their soft hues a striking contrast against the stark red glow of the alert lights.
And at the center of it all stood Alura herself, the very image of cheerful defiance in the face of tension.
She wasn’t in Starfleet black. Instead, she wore a flowing top in soft pink with teal accents that shimmered faintly as she moved, paired with loose, fashionable trousers that suggested both comfort and flair. A playful necklace of glass beads caught the corridor lights, and a small hibiscus blossom, plucked from the hydroponics bay with a wink and a promise to “replace it later”, nestled above her right ear. The Risian emblem on her forehead was a delicate crescent, gleaming against her sun-kissed skin.
Her hazel eyes sparkled, her smile dazzling and impossibly bright, the kind of smile that looked too white, too perfect, too determined to be dimmed by something as inconvenient as a red alert.
“Surprise morale boost!” she chirped, holding out a basket as the first members of the away team rounded the corner. “Hydration, snacks, and cheer, everything you need before you beam into danger.”
The officers slowed, exchanging uncertain glances. One of them reached hesitantly for a chocolate, clearly torn between the absurdity of the moment and the irresistible lure of sugar. Alura leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Trust me. Endorphins make for sharper reflexes.”
That earned a short laugh. Not much, but enough. Enough to break the tension for half a heartbeat.
The transporter chief arched a brow but didn’t intervene, perhaps recognizing that, against all odds, this sunny civilian had found a way to lighten the mood in a corridor heavy with expectation.
As the shimmer of the transporter claimed the away team, Alura was already moving, refilling baskets, fussing over ribbon bows, and humming under her breath. To anyone watching, she looked like she was setting up for a beach picnic rather than bracing for a mission that could end in disaster.
And maybe that was the point.
She wasn’t trained to fight. She wasn’t trained to command. But Alura Ryn knew her purpose: to remind the crew of the Arawyn that they weren’t just officers, engineers, or soldiers. They were people with hearts that beat faster under red alert and nerves that tightened before stepping onto a transporter pad. People who needed a smile, a snack, a ridiculous ribbon-tied basket to remind them that even in the void of space, warmth and joy had a place.
If she couldn’t chase away her own fear, she could at least brighten theirs. And that, she thought as she pushed another basket into waiting hands, was worth every hibiscus blossom and ribbon on the ship.
Alura Ryn
MWR Director
(Morale, Welfare, Recreation)
USS Arawyn
RSS Feed