=/\= T'Shen monastery, Shi'Al province =/\=
17th Day in the month of et'Khior, YS 9022
"Every decade?" Brent said a little bit disbelieving. The result only reinforced his idea that he really didn't think he had any desire to stick around on this planet for very long. What an utter dustbowl. While the people that lived here were quite interesting, one in particular. Brent realized that he would get far too annoyed with the heat and the dust after a while. Even right here, in the mountains... He smirked ever so slightly. Good and proper mountains. Ones where this rain would probably be snow. Yes that's what he needed. The amusing thought of Sakarra bundled up in several layers and still asking him to make the fire hotter in the fire place amused him to no end until he saw the new visitor in the room.
Ah it was the cranky not-pregnant one from earlier. Quiet bastard now wasn't he. He studied the man for a moment, and saw the brief flash of what could only be... Jealousy. Really now. Just how many others had wanted her and were denied. Brent decided he would have to ask Sakarra if she had any other psycho ex-boyfriends that he would need to be on the watch for. He gave the newcomer a slight nod, one that would have been noticeable to any human as an indication of hello, or greeting. Whether or not the Vulcan caught it was beyond Brent, or really beyond his caring. The newcomers look had already given him insight into how he felt about the young Marine with his hands on Sakarra.
It took him a moment to process what he had asked, and just before the young healer was about to speak up, Brent did. "Still in the healing trance. Steady progress in terms of healing, but everything indicates that she will be resting and recuperating for some time."
V'Ley looked between the males and just so held back the sigh and the brief flare of indignation. Not that she was immune to the inherent … well, romance, of this ancient ritual. And as long as the men had enough sense to no start fighting without approval, she had little reason to chide them. But truly, they could at least wait until the t'sai was conscious and able to declare her favor.
Males.
"Sochya, nu'ri-S'haile. Pudvayh'lerel iy-veh."
"Faih-tor."
Not that the young healer had in any way the inclination or authority – let alone necessary upbringing – to favor the tall one with the stern look he deserved but he was skimming the edge of rudeness rather closely. At least until he belatedly acknowledged the human's courteous nod with an elegant, sweeping half-bow.
"I greet you, Brent Warren." Perfectly expressionless in both face and voice, it might as well have been a walking and talking rock that was now soundlessly floating into the room. Firelight glinted off the silver V'Shar insignia on the matte black tunic, and rather than return to the bedside as he had during his previous visits Sovar moved to the merrily blazing flames and settled down to add some fragrant conifer branches.
"Yes. I am aware."
Just as I am aware you understand more Vulcan than you care to let on. Unspoken, but there, in a flash, then gone.
For long moments it appeared this was all the tall, lean Vulcan was going to say as his attention seemed occupied by stoking the fire and listening to the raindrops sizzling on stone, rustling the branches and dancing on the small pond where an ancient carp was still living in the cool depths.
"The mystery, Lieutenant," no shift in position, not even any discernible breathing, Sovar could have been mistaken for a statue squatting in a leisurely pose before the fire, sitting on his heels in perfect balance as he stared into the flickering light "is how she came to be in this state, no?"
If he was at all taken aback, amused, angry or experiencing any emotion whatsoever over the fact he had now twice been told to keep his peace in the human's presence, it would have taken a Kolinahr Master to see it. And even so, the chances would have been … slim.
And if there was a silent challenge in the words, it was veiled enough to be ignored by any who chose so.
V'Ley's minutely creasing brows made quite clear that her preferred choice would be planting the heavy copper bowl by her knees squarely on the male's head.
Brent could scarcely believe his ears. Really. He wanted to do this right here, right now. While Sakarra was still in her healing trance and very critically injured. Brent had half a mind to stand up and simply demand that the Vulcan produce his manhood immediately, to avoid this stupid dance and hopeless course of action. They could use the young healer as an unbiased arbiter to see just indeed who's was longer. A slight chuckle came from Brent before he seemingly ignored the response for a few minutes. Instead he focused on what he would be doing anyway, attending to Sakarra. The water soaked cloth around her neck had become dry again, and so with careful and loving care he drenched it in water before applying it to her neck. That taken care of, he brushed some of the hair away from her face, his fingertips brushing over the tips of her ears.
Having finished that Brent had adequately thought up of a response. "Ah. My apologies. I had heard that you were... Well informed on many matters. I apologize if I was mistaken in thinking that," he said looking over at the Vulcan leaning near the fire. Brent didn't wait for any subtle response. No instead he simply told the story briefly of how the Charon was captured. That there was no surrender order given, no fight put up. That Brent had taken to the hidden ways of the ship, massacring those who stood in his way. Eventually the story wound down, and he told of how Brent pushed his way onto the Away Team to retrieve his beloved. Making sure to use that word. The eventual sight of seeing Sakarra so gravely wounded, and his actions, again going into incredible detail, of how he prolonged the Vaek'Riov's death, until he himself ended the life of the Romulan Admiral.
"As for after that. I eventually tracked Sakarra down after my own wounds were tended to. I came here, and the old monk noticed that she and I shared a bond." He paused for a few moments, again letting that word sink in. "Using that bond the healer and I were able to call her out back to the spiral of death she was headed into, and brought her into the healing trance. And well. Here we are."
V'Ley for her part had half a mind to call in a senior female, and while she was at it an honor guard to stand witness for the duel. What were these males thinking? Now, the human at least had the excuse of being from a less subtle race and was likely unaware … well, most likely. The way he touched his t'sai, in company of virtual strangers no less, was quite intimate. Alright, very much so. Enough to let the young healer's eartips flush a faint shade of emerald.
His body language was that of a Sehlat who was not quite angry yet but was looking forward to becoming so. But that was nothing to the squarely leveled insults and not at all veiled … warnings.
And the possessive gestures that left no room whatsoever for misunderstanding.
Naturally, every Vulcan studies alien cultures in school and while V'Ley had always been more interested in the medical aspect she knew very well how humans threw a proverbial gauntlet. To a Vulcan, the Marine had squarely planted the gauntlet in his rival's face before insulting his parentage. And that of his horse.
Usually, this was the point where both males would require a stern reminder on how to behave. Unfortunately the one who could stop this with one word was … unavailable due to being too injured to even move. And V'Ley for all her romantic soul had never been in a position where she'd been forced to deal with ... this. Adding her growing irritation to the already sparking fires would not be helpful, nor would giving in to her protective impulse towards the human. He had saved her, hadn't he? Attended his t'sai in the best manner one could ask. Not even the Perfect Companion of the old stories could have done better, of that much V'Ley was convinced. Challenging that was not only illogical, it was … ridiculous. Her golden amber eyes fixed on the motionless V'Shar, the healer wondered if throwing the jar of ointment at his head would even elicit a reaction. Well, other than him picking it out of the air.
"Here we are." The subtlest of nods seemed all the reaction Sovar was willing to grant after listening impassively to the human's words, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes until the flames seemed to dance on the gray storm clouds. Nothing. No shift of muscles in the closed, marble face, no tension other than the one that seemed to permeate the air itself.
Nothing. Until long, supple fingers reached for the basket with fragrant herbs to toss some onto the fire, immediately filling the room with their fresh, spicy scent.
[To be continued …]
Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Executive Officer
Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander
USS Charon
