Trial by Fire: The Coy Method pt I

Posted on Tue Sep 2nd, 2025 @ 5:39pm by Commander Rosa Coy

780 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: USS Sunfire

The hum of the Sunfire’s shuttlebay greeted Commander Rosa Prilen Coy like an old friend, a sound she knew as well as her own heartbeat. The place reeked of ozone and lubricants, of ships hot from training cycles, of youth barely restrained by protocol. It smelled like her element.

She walked in at a measured pace, posture erect, chin neither lowered nor raised. No swagger, no fanfare, her stature alone didn’t invite it. She was diminutive compared to the bay’s bustle, but her presence was all bite, like a knife hidden in a velvet sheath.

Ahead, a familiar figure crossed her path. Commander Ramthorne, already in flight gear, was boarding a separate shuttle with the ease of someone who belonged to the sky. Rosa’s eyes flicked over, just long enough to catch Jenna’s nod — professional, crisp, pilot-to-pilot acknowledgment. No words. No warmth. Just recognition of breed. Rosa returned the nod, equally terse, and pressed forward.

Her cadets were waiting.

They stood in a crooked line near the runabout’s nose, nervous energy leaking from every shift of their boots. Six of them. Six faces that Starfleet had deemed worthy of this particular crucible. Rosa stopped a few meters short, arms folded behind her back, gaze sweeping over them one by one. She said nothing. Not yet. Silence was the first test. She quickly sized them up.

Arven. Human, broad shoulders, cocky smirk barely restrained. His eyes wanted her approval, demanded it, as though skill were already proven. He reeked of someone who thought the stars owed him.

"Oh, he’s already picturing you clapping when he pulls a barrel roll," Coy’s voice drawled in her mind, warm from last night’s echo, low enough to curl her ear. "He’s a show pony, Rosa. Bet he calls himself “Ace” when nobody’s listening."

Her lip almost twitched. Almost.

Threx. Andorian, antennae stiff with tension. Her stance was sharp, military, but underneath it Rosa read the hunger to dominate, to win. Aggression wrapped in regulation.

"Now there’s a fighter," Coy purred. "Look at her arms. She’s itching to wrestle gravity into submission. You’d like her, Rosa, fiery under all that ice. Ready to be whip trained."

Rosa ignored the heat those words stirred in certain bodily areas.

Jeyna Rel. Trill, joined. Perfectly straight posture, hands too precise, like she’d rehearsed the act of standing still. A mind full of checklists and contingencies. Rosa could smell nerves hiding behind professionalism.

"Stiff as a bulkhead," Coy teased. "Imagine loosening her up. A shame to waste all those lifetimes on anxiety."

Rosa’s teeth pressed together. She kept her silence. It was difficult enough facing another joined Trill, let alone training one.

Dalkor. Tellarite, shoulders squared but with a frown carved into his face like it was permanent. He already looked ready to argue with gravity itself. Bluster, Rosa knew, usually hid something fragile beneath.

"Oh, he’ll argue about the shape of the stars," Coy said, laughing. "Keep him around, he’ll make your briefings fun. Grumpy little piglet."

Rosa nearly exhaled harder than she meant to. Almost slipped.

Veylin. Vulcan. Serene, unmoving, hands folded neatly. He looked above the need to impress her. Rosa recognized skill there, but also the dangerous naïveté of thinking control would hold when adrenaline surged.

"He thinks he’s unshakable," Coy murmured silkily. "Bet I could make him sweat in two minutes flat. Discipline’s just another word for denial."

And finally, Sira Lenar. Bajoran. Young, maybe younger than the others by the look of her face. Hopeful, with that Bajoran mix of resilience and raw faith shining through. She wanted this. Needed it. Rosa’s heart tugged once, sharper than she expected.

Coy noticed. He always noticed. "Careful there, Rosa. You’re looking at her like she’s porcelain. Don’t go soft on me just because she’s wearing an earring. Or do, you know I don't mind a good romp with something so..."

Rosa’s jaw tightened. "Enough."

She stepped forward, closing the space with three precise strides. Her voice snapped when she spoke, sharp as a disruptor cut. “Cadets. You are not pilots. You are not warriors. You are liabilities until you prove otherwise. My job is to make sure you survive long enough to become the first two.”

Their spines stiffened. Their faces sobered. Good.

“Follow me.”

Without another word, she turned toward the runabout entrance, leaving them scrambling to keep pace.

TBC

 

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