Thursday, October 8, 2009

[USS Charon] SD240910.08 - Personal Log | CHO - Sakarra Tyrax

<<A slight BackLog, taking place before the meeting with the Counselor >>
[USS Charon, deck 3]

With several hours yet before she was expected back on the bridge, Sakarra walked through her soothingly warm, dimly lit and really quite spacious new quarters.
The lights with their slightly reddish tint cast warm shadows on the young woman's long and heavy rust-colored robes as she swiftly crossed the room to return a book to it's place on the shelf. The scent of spice tea still lingered in the air, mingled with a hint of something floral - a Vulcan's sensitive nose might just have recognized the characteristic freshness of small desert flowers that sprang up wherever a mere drop of water found it's way into the soil - and the warm, heavier notes of sandalwood and meditation candles.
Her abundance of black curls fell freely all the way to the young woman's waist, flowing behind her like a silk curtain as she moved lightly and without a sound.
Humming a tune she was particularly fond of, she rose on the toes of her bare feet and reached for the top shelf that held the small jewelry box which had traveled with her across countless light-years since the day she had received it as a gift.
Neither Vulcan nor Betazoid in design, the dark wood with it's silver inlays nonetheless blended in with the other few personal items that decorated these quarters and only a human looking very closely might have noticed something familiar about the small box in the dark eyed woman's hands.
She settled on the charcoal colored couch, larger and thankfully much less soft and fluffy than the one Commander Tisdale had insisted on setting up in her old quarters, and opened the lid with slow, almost languid movements.
If any of Charon's crew had seen her now, they might have just wondered whether hell had recently frozen over, because for several seconds a small, tender smile appeared on the stoic helm officer's face. Slender fingers traced the lines of silver strands, braided and twisted into intricate designs and decorated by small emeralds that seemed to twinkle back at the young Vulcan. A small piece of paper rustled as she brushed against it, summoning another memory.
She did not need to unfold it to know the words, written hastily in a language unfamiliar to her when she first had laid eyes on it. It had taken quite a bit of research and involved a few rather comical mis-translations before the meaning had become clear. 
Humming the soft tune again, Sakarra closed the box and returned it to it's place before quirking an amused brow at her self-indulgence.
Settling comfortably at her new desk, the young woman took a moment to appreciate the view of stars dancing outside the large windows. Chin resting on her steepled fingers, she felt her breath slowing and a sense of most welcome peace and serenity settling over her.
"Ho there Wellington!"
Sirta waved towards the tall human who was navigating his way through the throng of people inside the 'Drunken Spaceman".
"Get some more ales while you're at it!"
James gave his 'target acquired' sign and steered towards the bar while the Andorian returned her attention to the small, curly haired woman next to her. She still looked like little more than a girl and a damn Vulcan at that. But this tiny little thing had potential if Sirta was any judge, although someone should probably teach her that there were limits to both the amount of punishment a fighter could take and to the ground crew's patience. Then again, the Andorian mused with a smirk, this kid not only pushed limits, she simply ignored their very existence. Damn Vulcan or not, she just might turn out to be worth her time.
"So what's it gonna be, SnowFox?" Moshe "Daddy Chicken" Astrun inquired while eyeing his empty glass.
"Considering that we can now finally petition for an extension of our runway and all… "
"Yea, how about that, SnowFox? What in the name of the Great Fire…?" Kolan "FORD" Bex laughed and drained the last of his ale, seeing as Wellington was already motioning to Mr. Brel's grandson to hand over the next round.
"Just another tiny misunderstanding with WrongWay. Here's the good news though. One: the trees are pretty much done for so as I said, new runway should be a done deal. Two: I learned that our little Vulcan got fast reflexes and can't be trusted with live weaponry. Three: our fighters may be old but they're much more sturdy than they look.  And last but not least, …."
"Our new pilot has earned her call sign."
"Let's hear it, then. No, wait. Ales first."
Sakarra sat with elbows propped on the table, chin resting on her slender hands and a tiny smile on her face as she cocked her head to the side.
"You think you can stomach Andorian Ale, girl?" Sirta asked as Wellington finally pushed his way through the crowd and set the tray on the old Betazoid Oak table. Three glasses for everyone, the man was thinking ahead.
"We'll find out, no?" the young woman with the elegantly pointed ears winked at her new mentor, prompting the Andorian's antennae to shoot up and twitch in genuine surprise. "As long as you don't end up like FORD here it'll be all good. Then again, you don't look too heavy anyways."
"Right then." Wellington turned his chair around and sat down before reaching for one of the glasses with amazingly dark liquid that to Sakarra emanated a quite intense but rather pleasant scent.
"SnowFox?  Do the honors."
As the other pilots followed suit and grabbed their favorite drinks from the assortment on the table, Sirta grinned and raised her glass with the ice-blue liquid "As you all might know, there is a creature inhabiting the same planet that has brought forth our new little pilot. Commonly referred to as 'Vulcan Teddy Bear' , it looks cute but should not be trusted with fragile items in the vicinity. Let it be known then that Jewel Three has acquired it's very own 'Sehlat'!"
"May the Four Deities have mercy on us." Mira 'WrongWay' Rixthen almost fell of her chair laughing but a quick intervention by Moshe prevented the little mishap.
"Sehlat it is. Cheers."
For some reason, the human's amazingly green-blue eyes remained on the young half-Vulcan and she couldn't help but notice the warmth and humor they radiated. There was Wellington's floppy-eared Tracehound-pup look and then there was this. No wonder the female populace of Betazed was practically lining up to widen their interspecies cultural horizons.
Chuckling quietly, she drained the last of her Andorian Ale and blinked just a bit as a tingling sensation in her nose nearly prompted a sneeze.
Leaning back in her chair, Sakarra breathed the warm air - dark, old wood, a dizzying blend of alcoholic drinks and humanoid (or close enough) species mixed with the sweet and heavy scent of potted plants and the deep, warm undertones of the happily blazing flames in the bar's large fireplace.
Just as she was about to close her eyes and drown out at least some of the noise that was beginning to hurt her ears, she felt the cool brush of human fingertips against her hand.
When she looked down in surprise, there was a folded piece of - real paper? - resting against her palm. Her bemused glance at Wellington earned her another one of those smiles that would brighten even the rainiest of days
"You'll figure it out."
And so she had.
Slowly unfolding her steepled fingers, Sakarra exhaled softly.
A light touch produced a low hum and then the appearance of a screen as the young woman returned her focus to the here and now.
Just a few more reports, and she might actually still have some time to meditate before going back on duty.

[End Log]

Lieutenant Sakarra Tyrax
Chief Helms-Vulcan
USS Charon
… I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
--James Joyce "Araby"