<<Takes place shortly before all Vulcan hell breaks loose and after our beloved Captain has tossed the ancient armor to her marine commander >>
=/\= USS Charon, unknown location =/\=
The room was dark, but his thoughts were not. Fate had dropped a gift into his lap, unexpected and all the more fantastic for it. After the terrible setbacks in the past, he had barely dared to hope something like this might happen. Resilient the Tyrant of Charon may be, more so than anyone had anticipated, but even she would one day have to succumb to one of the snares laid into her path.
The Vulcan. Of all people, it had to be the Vulcan. What beautiful irony.
He had told the oh so smart guy to use her. Sure, not as perfect a candidate as Cole had been, or that idiot who ended up skewered by the Romulan bitch. At least not on the surface.
But he knew from experience those 'I'm so logical' pointy ears could be pushed too far, one only had to know where to apply the pressure. And even if the Romulan's favorite pet would prove stubborn to the last, it would be all too easy to plant the seed of doubt in Rehu's mind.
It would hit her, oh it would hit hard and he would relish every second of it. And if things went well, the Tyrant's ranting might just do the rest of his work for him. No one had caught on to it yet, fools that they were. Not even Rehu herself, paranoid as she was, realized just how close that Marine had gotten to her little loyal pet. He had already broken bones and sent that pathetic yeoman scrambling, just how might he react if his dear Captain turned on his sweet little bedwarmer?
But before one could plant the seeds, one had to prepare the field.
Laughing quietly to himself, the man in engineer's gold let his fingers graze over the screen on his desk. Another unexpected favor granted by the gods, with the distinctive scent of those Tal'Shiar dogs on it, was the last piece he had needed to put things in motion. Oh, he had a good idea who had planted that little gadget in the ops console and taken such pains to keep tabs on the crew, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had gotten his hands on the information.
He would not give everything away, like Mr super smart Del who had treated this like a game and probably had lost. Big time. No, if you wanted a harvest, you had to give the lethal plant time to grow. Water it, tend it, not dump everything onto it in one go and think it would work.
Obscuring his tracks was child's play. Figuring just what to put into the message needed some thinking. In the end, he settled for an image of the good Marine kissing the Captain's pet in the hallway - he was hardly surprised she seemed quite into it, for all the icy façade she liked to put up – and added a well meaning comment regarding discretion and "well, some people might not take kindly to this going shipwide" just to get the guy's attention.
The interesting part came after that. Classified files, or tidbits of them – no point in leaving the man no irritating questions to ask, was there? – about an interesting encounter some little Vulcan fighters had with Rommie Warbirds during the last war. And the hint that his sweet playmate had damn near been reduced to atoms right then and there. For good measure, he added a file picture from the Vulcan archives - she did look pretty hot in that uniform and it wouldn't hurt.
Let him make of it what he wanted, this time. The reaction would show which way to go. He briefly thought about sending the Vulcan a little gift as well but decided to keep her in limbo for a bit … they were crafty, those shellmouthed green bloodeds. No need to set her on any trail but the one he wanted her on, not yet.
The screen blinked, confirming the message had arrived.
Now to wait .. and see.
=/\= Deck Ten =/\=
"More goddamn inventory," Brent muttered under his breath as he set down a ham sandwich and began to work on his next PADD. Apparently some of his men had misplaced a box of boots. Boots of all things. He told them that he would ask the captain to reinstate flogging for such negligence and until that time they would all be on triple PT until Brent said otherwise.
He took another drink of his lemonade while scrolling down on his PADD. Brent smiled as he looked at the lemonade. The taste brought him back to the first time that he had spent with Sakarra. That silly chef decided to send him a large lemondrop martini instead of actual lemonade. He shook his head at that before he polished off the lemonade and picked back up the sandwich. Just as he began to drink again someone had apparently decided to contact him. The Marine Lieutenant cast an annoyed look over at his console before he put down his PADD and clicked the accept button.
At first he was confused. Someone had apparently decided to take a picture of him and Sakarra. Then he was annoyed letting out a sigh, that was before he noticed that there was more to the message. A quick cursory glance over what was in the message drew out the last emotion. Anger. Rage might have been a better word for it. His fists clenched up tightly and before he could stop himself he brought his left hand down in a blur into the top of his desk. The top of the desk immediately went concave, shattering the top of the desk in that area as a nice fist sized hole appeared.
Someone would pay. They would pay a great deal. Be it with pain or some other method, they would pay. But first. "Lieutenant Warren to Commander Tyrax," he said as calmly as he could. "Could we please discuss a bit of business? I could use your input on something in my office."
=/\=
There had been something in Brent's tone of voice that had made the young Vulcan depart the meeting with the stellar cartographers rather sooner than she had anticipated. Not that her presence had been paramount in any case, but she cherished the opportunities to be there in person and appreciate the displays.
Striding through the barracks with little more than a face set to unreadable features giving a clue to the silent thoughts floating behind her night black eyes, she acknowledged the amicable greetings and evaded a few well meant pats to the shoulder by means of a raised brow, and in one case, exceptional speed.
The first thing her eyes settled on after entering the Marine Commander's office were the storm clouds in those of her Companion. Always such a marvelous deep blue, they seemed darker still and Sakarra was at once spellbound by it and found herself calculating the odds for survival for the individual who had caused this.
The second thing that caught her attention was the sizeable dent in the once pristine desk. Input indeed.
"I assume this 'bit of business' is of a rather unpleasant nature?"
For a moment, she stood still in the middle of his office, regarding Brent's face with an inquisitively tilted head, radiating little more than serenity and mild puzzlement. Another Vulcan would have appreciated her ignoring any visible sign of anger, but in this case she was uncertain what to do. Slowly, the raven haired young woman made her way to Brent's side and after offering her paired fingers in greeting, placed her hand lightly on his shoulder, feeling the heat of his anger cascade off him in resounding waves.
She wasn't at fault here, her calm demeanor though immediately set him down a few notches in his rage. He smiled as he saw her and especially as she offered him the greeting that they had become so accustomed to doing. He gave off a sigh and returned the gesture, his finger tips touching hers with the same wonderful results as he moved his hand into hers, his common response to the mental embrace that they had begun to use. His fingers entwined with hers he nodded. "Here," he said and motioned at the message that was still on his display.
Both elegantly slanted brows climbed at the sight – and then it was Sakarra's turn to experience definitive displeasure. She was not angry, not quite yet, although the potential was there and gaining steam. Not only was this highly inappropriate, but childish and pointless.
Shipwide? What would anyone hope to gain by such behavior?
"The question is most likely redundant, but the sender has not seen fit to identify him- or herself, yes?" The comment regarding discretion hardly deserved to be acknowledged, it was clearly meant to nettle the recipient. But it still did not explain …
"There was nothing else?"
She could not help it, her analytical mind and curiosity had already overtaken the annoyance, although by a slim margin. "It seems … illogical to send such a message when the obvious result would only be to incur the Marine Commander's ire."
Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander
Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Chief Helm
& one shady individual
USS Charon
