"Game, Start!"

Posted on Thu Apr 24th, 2025 @ 5:52pm by Avalon [ADMIN NPC] & Cadet Junior Grade Clary Henderson

Mission: Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: Starfleet Academy Annex
Timeline: MD2 - Late evening
599 words - 1.2 OF Standard Post Measure

Clary didn’t report the rug.

That would’ve been too easy. Too expected. Let security clean it up, throw accusations, cause a stir—no. That wasn't how you won. That was how you showed weakness.

Instead, she took a holopic.

Then she stepped over the soaked mess, entered her cabin, and poured herself a glass of water from the replicator like it was just another night on the station.

The image of the rug—dyed red, carefully placed—stayed with her. It wasn’t sloppy. It was precise. Calculated.

Erisian theatrics.

Amateur move, Clary thought. But bold. And that made it interesting.
She sat at her desk, lit only by the soft glow of her workstation, fingers dancing over her PADD as she began her reply. Not an official one, no. This was something more... elegant.

She pulled up the shared class bulletin—a subtle little app used by cadets to trade updates, assign study groups, or share lab notes. And into the science thread, she posted a message under the guise of helpfulness:

“Cadet Tip of the Day: For those studying alien cultures, remember that overuse of traditional rituals without proper context can cause diplomatic incidents. Especially when one’s planet hasn’t formalized such rituals in Federation-acknowledged law. Cultural arrogance is still arrogance. ???? #KnowYourRoots”

She didn’t name names.

She didn’t have to.

And she added a white heart emoji—subtle Erisian shade. On their world, white was used for shame and disgrace. Miran would notice. Her circle would notice. Everyone else? Just thought Clary was being clever.

She watched the notification pop up almost immediately: "Post seen by 14 cadets."

Good.

Then came the second strike: a private message to Gérard Dirsye. Innocent. Light. But sharp.
Clary H: “Just checking in—are you still leading the second-year quantum ecology study session next week? There’s a rumor going around you’ve been... otherwise occupied. ???? No judgment, of course. Just wouldn’t want your academic rep tarnished by proximity.”

She added a smirking face for effect.

Because rumors didn’t need to be true—they just needed to feel possible.

And Gérard would panic, or get defensive, or maybe even talk to Miran about it. Either way, Clary won.

Then came the real fun.

She replicated a small envelope. Cream-colored, traditional. She wrote Miran’s name on it by hand. Elegant cursive. Inside, she slipped a single pressed flower—a snow lily, Erisian in origin. A symbol of mourning.

No note. Just the flower.

She left it on the console outside Miran and Raye’s shared quarters early the next morning, long before any sane cadet was awake.

A gift.

A whisper.

Let Miran wonder what it meant. Let her think it was a warning. Or pity. Or some twisted game.
Because that was the beauty of mind games—they didn’t need to make sense. They just had to unsettle you.

And Clary was a master of it. Clary smiled to herself.

It was all about momentum. And right now, she had it.

Let Miran flinch in every hallway. Let her second-guess Gérard, or Raye, or herself. Let her wonder if Clary was bluffing, or planning something worse. Let her tiptoe around the fear that she’d started a blood feud... and that her opponent wouldn’t fight fair.

You brought the dagger, Clary thought, slipping on her uniform jacket. But I brought the scalpel.

And in her world, the scalpel always won.

TBC