[Nysinrin, Lyrilla]
Shiarrael dipped her head in a respectful half bow "thank you." It had been a long time since she carried herself with elegance but oh could she be elegant. She was the daughter of S'Rehu, part of the highest order of Romulan aristocracy, whenever she felt the need she could be as elegant as any empress in the galaxy.
Lt. Leon Athalla stood quietly in a pocket of relative quiet and obscurity sipping on a sparkling glass of champagne and enjoying the night's festivities from afar. He had secretly slipped off of the Charon despite the doctor's insistence he remain due to recent medical problems he had experienced. A party seemed like excellent treatment to help take his mind off of the past. The lone pilot didn't really have too many friends aboard he could call close and thus kept himself away from the main festivities. He was content to watch from afar.
He drained another glass of bubbling alcohol one of many. His usual rigidity was dulled by intoxication. He knew it, but then again, this was a grand celebration. Someone nearby grabbed his shoulder and shoved a glass of something into his hand. Athalla smiled, toasted the loud individual, and drank down something surprisingly good and surprisingly strong. Brandy of some kind. Wow.
Heading over to a table filled with all sorts of tasty foods, Athalla needed something to eat to offset the alcohol coursing through him. Another blast of fireworks lit the sky catching his attention. He looked up. It was then he saw her.
His eyes widened as his dark pupils dilated. "Who was that", he asked out loud.
"Who is who", someone nearby asked the starstruck pilot.
Athalla didn't reply. He was too transfixed. Fireworks exploded in the air above her only adding to her beauty and obvious refinement. He grabbed another glass of whatever it was they were serving and quickly swallowed it in one gulp. The dropped the glass to the ground without any hesitation as the alcohol crushed the nervous trepidation within him. He had no idea who she was only that he hadn't seen anyone so captivating in quite some time.
Pushing the crowds out of his way he moved toward her. His weapons were all charged and the pilot had his sites locked on target. Pulling his uniform and adjusting its folds he approached then took a detour. A nearby band was playing something. He didn't know what. He wasn't sure he even heard it. He grabbed one of the musicians and asked for something slow. His request was made and in short order a slow, waltz he guessed was floating over the crowds. He wasn't a musician, but he knew what he liked and what he wanted.
Back on his target's six, he headed in with afterburners at full. His HUD beeped indicating the target was in firing range. His heart skipped a beat.
"Excuse me", he said with quiet, but firm resolve. "May I have the pleasure of your hand for a dance madam", he said with a bow. He stared at her emerald gown. The alcohol had dulled his target identification systems. He had no idea who he was asking to dance. Had he realized this, he quite possibly might have gone down in flames. Instead he looked on with a compassionate, warm gaze and a genuine smile. He fired he torpedoes. Would they hit or miss?
"Leon Athalla." Shiarrael let the name roll off her tongue easily recognizing the pilot. His expression was clearly influenced by alcohol but nonetheless he looked like a backyard fvai set to thrust itself upon one's leg. She returned his smile and with the chorus of testosterone laden whelps cheering she could not embarrass the man by refusing his request "one dance."
"What a crying shame that Shenn isn't here." Nils sighed as a glass of brandy found it's way into his hand. "He would have loved this."
"Mrow?" M'Riarr emptied the last of the bucket and grinned at her human friend through a warm haze of alcohol mixed with just feeling damn happy.
"Take a look." Nils nudged his friend and finally decided to just grab her muzzle and turn it in the approximate direction of the vision of beauty that just so happened to be their very own Commodore.
"Mroooooow."
"Couldn't have said it better, Ria. Couldn't have said it better. Cheers."
"Take a look." Nils nudged his friend and finally decided to just grab her muzzle and turn it in the approximate direction of the vision of beauty that just so happened to be their very own Commodore.
"Mroooooow."
"Couldn't have said it better, Ria. Couldn't have said it better. Cheers."
Athalla stared dreamily into his target's eyes as she accepted his request. He nodded taking her hand and led her out to an open area where others were dancing to the music. To his surprise, the woman was quite adept and graceful in her movements and dancing. This only served to intrigue Leon more as the dance continued. The waltz played out and the song ended far sooner that he would have liked.
"Thank you for the dance", Athalla said with a smile before releasing her hand. "You are truly a rare jewel among many." He lightly kissed her hand before stepping back. "Could I buy you a drink sometime aboard the Charon? I know this quiet, out of the way table, on the Eris deck." He waited for her response.
Shiarrael gave Leon the most sympathetic smile she could muster "I'm sorry mister Athalla but I am certainly beyond you." She nodded her head as several of the people gathered laughed. She gave them a moment's glare silencing the laughter in an instant "I did enjoy the dance however." She turned and made her way further down the beach to enjoy the other sights.
"I see. Well the invitation is always open." Leon bowed slightly not wanting to take his eyes off of her. He turned to leave, but stopped and turned back. "Excuse me, I never caught your name?"
"Shiarrael. That's such a pretty name", he answered without pause. "Well, perhaps I'll see you around. Enjoy the evening."
Moving off Leon headed toward some fellow pilots he spotted nearby.
"Whoa Leon! Who's the babe you were dancing with? Is she taken or free?"
Leon grabbed a small finger sandwich from a party tray and slowly devoured it. His head was spinning. He needed something other than alcohol in his stomach for a change.
"She acts like she's taken, but she was very nice about it", Leon said between bites. "Name's Shiarrael. Great dancer. I asked her out. I dunno, perhaps we'll meet up back on the ship sometime."
The nearby pilots suddenly froze like they had seen a ghost.
"YOU ASKED THE COMMODORE OUT", the pilots said in concert their faces white.
"Well duh. She's the best dressed woman out here and she is really quite…"
Leon stopped talking. The half-eaten sandwich in his hand fell from his hand and hit the grass at his feet. The realization of who he just asked out and who he just danced with suddenly hit him like an angry Klingon with a grudge.
"I just asked out the COMMODORE?" His head really started to spin. "Oh waiter", he said his legs unsteady. "Check please." He suddenly fell backwards as his fellow pilots caught him.
"Mayday, mayday, pilot in distress. Someone get him some coffee."
"Forget the coffee", the other pilot shouted. "Get him another drink. Better yet bring him two! He needs to keep this buzz for as long as he can! The less he remembers about tonight the better!"
Whiskers tingling from bubbly drinks and roaring laughter, M'Riarr sauntered over to the stricken pilot with Saurian Brandy in her paw.
"Don't worry boys, I got just the right medicine."
"Don't worry boys, I got just the right medicine."
[End Log]
Commodore Shiarrael t'Rehu
Commanding Officer
Commanding Officer
Lt. Leon Athalla, Pilot
(apb Tav)
(apb Tav)
Ensign M'Riarr
Assistant Helmscat (apb I-Chaya)
Assistant Helmscat (apb I-Chaya)
Petty Officer 3rd Class Nils Olafsson
Scientist's Mate (apb I-Chaya)
Scientist's Mate (apb I-Chaya)
(As well as some other flyboys who shall remain nameless. Really, they should. Trust me.)
USS Charon NCC-80111
