[ussbansheec] The Crew

"The Crew"
Ensn. Moria McEntire

Week One:

Standing in one of the classrooms set up in the building that housed the 
younger of New Zealand's inmates, Moria looked around at the art supplies and 
shook her head. How long had it been since she'd stretched a canvas? Mixed 
paints? Picked up a brush over even a pencil? Not since before the accident, 
she reminded herself. And now the Major had her working with a group of young 
men and since she had a vast background in art the Major felt this was the 
perfect gateway. Moria shook her head again as she looked at the rows of 
easels. 

A burst of snickering and laughing from the door made Moria turn around. 
Standing there with two of the guards was a group of seven men, though since 
their average age was eighteen and half, it was more like a group of boys. 

"Check it out dye done send us a little girl." One boy jeered. 

Another one thrust his hips forward. "Always wanted me a piece of Fed. Breed."

"Knock it off you slags." One of the guards barked as he pushed a tall clearly 
Klingon/human hybrid into the room. "Find a seat and sit in it."

No one moved. Moria looked at each of their faces carefully as one of the other 
guards ordered them inside. A tall dark skinned boy who looked all of nineteen 
was checking her out as intently as she was looking them over. The look in his 
eyes and on his features told her what she needed to know. "Tell them to sit 
down." She told the boy as she looked him in the eyes. The firmness in her 
voice felt odd against how she felt inside. 

The young man smacked his lips a little and crossed his arms. 

"Tell the others to sit or all of you can spend the next hour and half locked 
down in your cells." She repeated to the single youth. 

Again the young man parted his lips a little and then closed them again. 

"Fine." Moria looked at one of the guards. "I'm not here to play games. Get 'em 
back to their cells." 

Week Two:

The easels, canvas, and paints still felt wrong to Moria. Somehow she didn't 
think that art history and painting bowls of fruits was going to fly with this 
bunch. Sighing she turned around and leaned on a stool. This time was going to 
be ready for her students. She was facing them as they were heard in this time. 

"Hey look Fed. Breed's back." One of the boys piped in. 

Moria ignore the boy and looked at the tall dark skinned boy she'd picked out 
last week. "We gonna play games this week or are you going to tell them to sit 
down." 

The young man started at Moria. He was a good foot and half taller then her but 
as thin as her cousin JD. The nodded ever so slightly and the other boys all 
fanned out and took seats. 

"Good." Moria replied, her eyes never leaving the young man's. "That'll be all 
C.O Thomason, C.O. Rivers." The guards looked as if they were going to protest. 
They both had that 'there's no way we're leaving this little girl alone with 
the slags' look. Turning hard grey eyes on the men Moria repeated. "Corrections 
officers may not be Starfleet but you do fall under the chain of command while 
our departments are working together. So, as I said, that'll be all." 

The guards scowled but left. Once the doors closed the boys all roared and 
laughed. "Busted screw balls!" One called out. "Big bad Rivers got his fat ass 
chewed by Fed. Breed." Another nodded with a smirk. 

Turning back to the boy Moria lifted an eye brow and once again addressed who 
she knew was their leader. "Fed. Breed?" 

"Federation born and breed." He replied. "Means you ain't got no idea how the 
real world works, little bit." 

Moria sighed inwardly but outwards she rolled her eyes. "According to all of 
your files every one of you was born within the Federation." 

"But ain't any of us sittin' there in that pretty ass tight blue uniform with 
the Federation and Starfleet silver spoon hangin' out our mouths." The young 
man said as the boys around him added their comments. 

One of the others nodded his head. "You fuckin' sex as hell, Fed. Breed, but 
you reek of the imagery utopia." 

She couldn't argue with them. She did come from the utopian side of life in the 
Federation. Starfleet officer parents, never having to need or want for 
anything, a home with the top of the line everything even if her mother did 
hardly use them. "Fair enough. Your right I am Federation born and breed."

"Then you'll understand when this don't work." The young leader said. 

Again Moria brow went up. "Oh and why is that?"

"Cause we knows what the real word is like." A young Latino boy with an odd 
Kiwi accent said. "So we ain't ever gonna fit into your world." 

The young leader nodded his agreement. "You ain't gonna teach us to be like you 
so why bother?" 

Moria smirked and chucked a little. "You want me to teach you how to be a 
short, redheaded, half Australian, half Californian valley girl with a major 
league case of middle child syndrome, and who gives knew meaning to the term 
Mummy's Little Girl?" 

The leader of them looked at her for a few moments. "You ain't gonna try and 
turn us into Federation drones like all them other blue uniforms?"

"The only thing I'm here to teach you is the difference between aquatics and 
watercolors, and to listen if you ever wanna bitch about the guards and the 
other 'fleeters. This is all about expression, not about turning you into 
drones. If I turned you all into Fed. Breeds like me I'd be out of a job."

As she watched the boys mulling it over the knot in her stomach loosened. She 
couldn't tell from looking at some of the others but the when grey eyes locked 
to brown ones, she at least knew he'd help her try. 

Week Ten:

Standing in the now empty mess hall of the youth building Moria fussed around 
with the supplies she'd brought with her. Some of the boys, despite a lot of 
moaning, bitching, teasing, and jeering, had taken quickly to her basic art 
methods. But there were still several, including Jamul the young leader of the 
group, who wasn't buying into her 'high class art shit'. This ain't real work 
art. The young man, who Moria had discovered was half Vulcan once he put his 
long hand in a pony tail, had said to her two weeks before. It had taken a 
better part of week to figure out how to fix this. 

"What's up Doc lit' bit." Antonio cheerfully called out as the group was lead 
in. "What's we doin' in heres? You gonna cook for us? Or maybe replay a scene 
from Redheads in Prison part 4 for us? I get to be the screw who bends you over 
the table top!" 

Rivers smacked the boy hard in the head and Moria had to bit back the remark 
regarding the size of his penis and his inability to fulfill the scene himself. 
She did however make a mental note to speak with the Major. "Sorry, Antonio, 
but I don't have enough silicone in my body to play out scenes like that." 
Turning to the guards she dismissed them, a hardness in her eyes made them as 
dark and as stormy as her mother's were when she was angry, as she looked at 
Rivers.

"So what are we doing in here?" Jamul asked. 

Moria moved over to a box and picked up a couple of cans of spay paint, tossing 
them out to a couple of the boys. "You wanted real world art." She explained as 
she laid out the masks.

The boys all roared with laughter. "Hey! Doc lit' bit's gonna teach us how to 
tag!" 

"I hardly think I have to teach you how to tag." Moria said with a grin. 
"Besides, I'll working my own block." She waved at the walls which were all 
separated into individual blocks. "Rules." She continued. "You each get your 
own space, keep your work in your own space. Have some respect for the others. 
You can do whatever you'd like except..." She smirked at the groans. "Nothing 
sexual or perverted and no tagging colors and symbols for any of your factions. 
This is a neural place and we keep it that way. We clear?"

Some boys nodded, others verbally agreed, Jamul smirked. "Ya know lit' bit, you 
can't tag with brushes and paints."

Moria smirked as she pulled a soft leather pouch from her pocket, opened it and 
then upended it's contents into the palm of her hand. "No you use these and can 
of spray." She held out a verity of aerosol triggers and then dumped them back 
in the old pouch. The look on Jamul's face was almost challenging so Moria 
slipped off her uniform jacket, pushed up her sleeveless and slipped on a mask. 
"Computer, increase ventilation to this room, authorization McEntire pie three 
zeta. Play preprogrammed music tracks."

The room filled with all the latest rap, hip-hop, and alien styles of music she 
knew her group enjoyed. She gave one last smirk to Jamul before placing the 
mask over her nose and mouth and stepping over to her block of wall. 

Week Twelve:

Stepping back from her block of wall at the end of the two hours they normally 
had Moria looked up at what she'd done. A large MC with a 5 set a little lower 
centered the piece. Around it orbited five very different symbols, each her own 
design, but clearly Asian inspired. The whole thing was engulfed in swirls of 
various hues of two central colors, though one was clearly more predominate 
then the other.

"Your good." Jamul said as he came up to stand beside Moria. 

Moria looked over at the work Jamul did. "Your better." 

Jamul shrugged. "Does it matter?" 

"It should." Moria answered. 

The two were still for a moment when a loud whistle from behind them made them 
each turned. Juan came strutting up his eyes taking in the work. "I know this 
tag!" He blasted out. "It's all over the place in the central coastal valleys 
in California. I've even seen it as far north as San Francisco." He looked at 
the piece a little longer and then turned to look at Moria. His smile was wide 
as he threw his arm around the small woman's shoulder. "Shiit crew! Our 
shrink's three-five!" He cheered. 

Jamul looked at Moria with his brow raised. 

Moria laughed. "I had a rebellious adolescence."

Week Seventy-two:

The classroom was full of long faces and hands clutching paper cups of punch. 
The boys had thrown together a thanks and see ya party for Moria. She sat next 
to Jamul and sighed. 

"Don't." Jamul said. 

Moria blinked. "Don't want?" 

"Your getting out, but act like you don't want to." He replied. 

"I was never sentenced here, Jamul, and I will miss all of you." Moria told 
him. 

The young man turned his head too look at the woman. "You put in your time 
here, lit' bit. Time to move on." 

"It's time for you to move on to, Jamul. Take the early release. Go to 
university." Moria retorted. 

The tall dark skinned young man stood and hugged the small redhead. "That ship 
your goin' to ain't gonna be like this." 

Moria hugged the young man back. "Yeah, it won't have my crew."

Jamul smiled as he pulled away. "Shoulda let me tatt you." 

"Yeah and my mother would have come up here and kicked your ass." Moria 
laughed. "She nearly killed the one who did do my tattoo."

"I ain't afraid of no body's moms." Jamul teased.

Moria laughed harder. "You ain't never met mine."

"Good luck, lit' bit." 

"Good luck, Jamul."

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