Legal Briefs and Laughter
Posted on Thu May 15th, 2025 @ 7:32am by Lieutenant Serenity Triannth
Mission:
Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: Deck 20 – Family Quarters, USS Elysium
Timeline: MD 4 | 0700 Hours
640 words - 1.3 OF Standard Post Measure
It started with the socks.
Lieutenant Serenity Triannth had barely gotten halfway through her morning tea when her son, Koray, came sliding into the living space wearing only pajama bottoms and an exasperated expression. He held up a pair of socks—striped, fuzzy, and distinctly not his.
“They keep swapping, Mom,” he groaned. “Every morning! I lay out the black ones, but when I wake up—they're rainbow. With glitter.”
From the adjacent room, his twin sister Celene giggled so hard she snorted.
Serenity set her mug down, rubbing her forehead. “Have you checked your replicator programming? Maybe something got reconfigured.”
Koray frowned. “You think I programmed it to give me glitter socks?”
Celene emerged, smirking with her hair in a tangled braid, holding her PADD high. “I got a new one!” she chirped, tapping the screen.
It read:
_“Morning stardust child, your hair sings of nebulae. Do you dream in constellations?”_
Celene beamed. “It appeared when I logged into my homework file. They’re leaving me poems now!”
“Poems?” Serenity echoed.
Celene nodded, completely unbothered. “Green and gold text. Super pretty. They rhyme too. Sometimes.”
Koray crossed his arms. “My PADD just meows now. Like, quietly, but constantly. It won’t stop until I finish my math.”
The JAG officer blinked.
Celene twirled. “Also, my boots dance.”
Serenity blinked again.
“Excuse me?”
“My boots,” Celene repeated. “They do this little shuffle when I try to put them on. Like they don’t want to be worn yet.”
Serenity sighed deeply. “I’m filing a formal protest with the universe.”
Koray’s reply was muffled as he jammed the glittery socks on anyway. “It’s the ghost aliens, Mom. Everyone says so.”
“Zynari,” Serenity corrected, pulling up her casework on her desk monitor. “And they’re not ghosts, they’re extradimensional energy beings.”
“Same thing,” he muttered.
Celene flopped dramatically onto the sofa. “They like us, though. You have to like someone to write you poetry.”
Serenity glanced between them, her mouth twitching into a smile. It had been strange at first—small flickers of light, unusual software hiccups—but now the pranks were personal. Gentle, mischievous, and oddly thoughtful.
Her quarters had become a miniature theater for Zynari play.
Last night, she found her uniform sleeves replaced with shimmering sleeves made entirely of starlight holograms. No one else could see them—but she could. They sparkled subtly until bedtime, vanishing just as she entered her room.
Her replicator had also started offering only chamomile tea—regardless of her request—until she said “please” with dramatic flair.
Her gavel? Which Raye had brought for her when she had become a JAG officer. Still missing.
(Though a substitute appeared in its place: a small rubber hammer that squeaked when struck.)
There had been no harm done. Yet.
Still, Serenity’s legal mind couldn’t help but worry. Where was the line between mischief and interference? What if something slipped—something essential?
And what of Raye?
Her eldest hadn’t experienced anything quite so flashy, but she’d sent a message from her shared cabin with Miran the night before:
_“They filled my entire closet with shimmering fog and confetti. Miran’s shampoo bottle sings now. No joke.”_
The younger children were amused. Raye was… tolerating it.
Serenity leaned back in her chair as her twins argued playfully over whether the Zynari could read minds or just emotions.
She didn’t know the answer.
But she knew this: the ship was alive with magic—chaotic, glittery, poetic magic—and somewhere in the vastness of the Circinus Galaxy, someone (or something) was watching her children and choosing to make them laugh.
For now, she let it be.
As long as the meowing PADD didn’t end up in her Office.
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