Reader has a slight southern accent, is tall/broad, and positive.
This is more of a get in the mindset Chapter.
This might sound a little bit "Little Mermaid" esq. but just bear with me.
Chapter 1: Intro
The sound of the cargo door hissed as the metal sheeting slid open. Men scrambled this way and that as they brought toward empty cartons to be exchanged with supplies from the port. The ship came to a still as the large locks clicked into place on the delivery hatch outside of Yorktown. You and a few had survived the events of the Nebula realm, despite being a black-shirt. Hey, you weren't complaining, it could be worse – you could be security. Nevertheless, there is no rest for the wicked. The Security team, the Communications, Sciences, Medical, hell even the Captain had time off once you'd come back to 'shore leave'. However, being a black shirt, you and a skeleton of crew were in charge of getting the ship back in order for the next half of its five-year voyage. (In addition to, keeping Chief Engineer Scott and the Captain away until then.)
Your PADD "clipboard" magnetized back onto your belt as you moved to help the men carry a hefty steel box, "Put'er down slow, there's sensitive plutonium for engineering in there!" Your chastising fell on apathetic ears as the burly men shrugged you off. Rolling your eyes, you moved on, ignore the grumbles of "bitch thinks she can control everything just 'cause she's a damned woman." You had been here three years. You were assigned halfway through the first journey - soon after Captain Kirk took leadership actually - and you worked hard to earn your place in this "Man's World". You were as tall and as broad, and in some cases stronger, than most of the men here. At least enough to not be bothered with physically. "You're doing a great job guys!" you called out, hands around your mouth to amplify the call.
But that didn't stop you them from making remarks. "You're a woman; you can't; you'd look fine bent over a table, but that's it" etc. Especially when you were promoted to Coordinator. It wasn't your fault that they didn't do their job, or that you took the time to learn what items were and where they were supposed to go. Maybe it was just because you were an avid learner. But you'd become such a "Calamity Jane" amongst them, the place finally started running right, and that was enough for you. Besides, it wasn't men you had a problem with – you made better friends with men anyways – it was THE men you worked with. "SEAN, how many goddamn times do I gotta tell you? Medicinal Chemicals like Cryoneugentic pseudophills do NOT, sit by the food compression replicator units. Do you want people passing out in their soup? Y'know what? It's okay, it's fine, just check over everything before you clock out."
Regardless of not graduating from Starfleet with a high degree in any predominant field on the ships, you loved to learn. You had gotten a two-year degree with the basics and found yourself a slot in the least high-end job that there was. A black-shirt was almost like a black sheep among Starfleet crew. The burly and strong that didn't have the brains for Medic, Sciences, or the likes; and didn't have the quick thinking agility of Security. You were replaceable and yet needed to get everything in its place, like the motor oil of a classic vehicle. You didn't even get a color, but the optimist in you said that it was just because you get a lot of stains due to the various alien and non-alien things you need to move and fix and such. Despite your gloomy, rude, and surly coworkers, you tried to be a ray of sunshine. The black was too depressing of a color for you so you always tried to make sure you had a bright smile, and a positive tone.
Picking up your PADD you began swiping off the items that arrived and took note of any you couldn't find. A loud note came quickly from the overhead speaker, signaling that your workday was through. The men began to drag themselves out one by one as they scanned their entry tags and headed toward the Mess hall for some much needed fuel. Your job was technically done but you knew the night crew was not going to have any fun with this mess before you. Ensign Burron, or Russ, as you knew him, was an older man coming to the end of his service – surprising himself that he's lived so long in it. He was the other Coordinator, and was a reasonable man in most aspects. Therefore, you tried to make it easier on him if you could. After all of the files are put into place, you let your "clipboard" snap back into place as you began your work.
You may have had the nails of a lady, (though never painted – who has time for that?) but that didn't mean you worked like one. You just took care of your health, but did the work of the men (better than them if your boss had anything to say about it) to spite them, and you kept yourself reasonably together to rub salt in their wounds. You were passive aggressive. Your hair was almost always clean, your skin was reasonable; your nails were strong and medium length, and you were even given a black-shirt dress rather than pants (along with an odd look from the clothing distributor and some problematic conversations with your coworkers). You weren't the only girl on Shipping and Cargo. There was one on your shift and three on night shift. However, their health was that last of their concerns.
One was so overweight she would wheeze while working, albeit the nicest of the three. A redhead with goggles named Mildred. She worked your shift, but you two could never really meet on any grounds to spend time outside of work. One night shift lady was Audrey. Short, stalky, mean, covered in beautiful tattoos that you had complimented her on, and received a spit in the face for mentioning. Menduja, a quiet, dark, silent, Arturian. The last night girl you know little of. She was friends with Mildred and Audrey, T'ghdaiia. She was a second, almost third generation Orion. Her children had all grown and died in a war and she had nothing left to do with her remaining years but to help the "Army" that saved her planet. She had a good heart but, like the rest, you couldn't quite talk over a cup of something that wouldn't get you shitfaced in 3 sips. These girls drank Andorian ale in their coffee. You admired their tenacity and could handle a drink yourself, but they were not as willing to befriend as you as you were them.
Moreover, you hardly ever went "up top" unless you were doing a delivery or fixing laundry or coffee machines and such. Only if they needed another hand. The south end of the ship hardly had visitors from North end as well. The girls up there were usually far more delicate than what you were used to, and the straight men – you guessed – expected the same of their mates. You could never really say for sure, you had too little experience in that department; and though you wanted to explore that and learn that life, you knew your place was here. Grunting you moved another load of Xenolinguistic diction electronic storage files back in their place between sets A through K, and stood up with a huff.
Your whole life you were told that you were smart, or had the opportunity for greatness, from, friends, family, and even old bosses. You were a good kid, a little overly curious, but good nonetheless, and your rebellious side was always with good reason. Nevertheless, your commitment issues always got in the way before you could finish anything fully. You were a "Queen of all trades". You'd have said "Jack" but you were awful good at learning things. The U.S.S. Enterprise was the perfect place for you. Not only were you constantly moving from place to place exploring, but you were always challenged with new knowledge to learn. What was in each box, what that alien creature needed for safe storage, the names of all the Medical supplies, which places on the ship sleep the least due to the amount of coffee they need brought from Cargo.
You stood back, now stained with oil, dirt samples, slobber from that man-eating plant from that class O planet, as well as various other elements, but the storage was all in place and the floors were mopped clean. You placed your hands on your hips and smiled at yourself. You nodded and let out a tired breath as you gave everything one more look. Turning you went to scan yourself, the clock saying you'd been there 3 hours longer than you had to. But hey, that overtime goes into your retirement – if you lived long enough to receive it – and that would make for a swell stay anywhere. As the door swished open you headed to your shared room with Menduja, for a quick cold shower and a few hours' sleep before breakfast and another day.