Thursday, December 2, 2010

[USS Charon] SD241012.02 || Joint Log "The Bright and the Dark" Part XIII || 1st Lt Brent Warren, LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax

=/\=  Sas-a-Shar (The Forge), T'Karath Sanctuary =/\=

9th Day in the month of T'lakht, YS 9022


Content to bask on the warm stone under his belly the Sehlat had stretched out by the pool, a ball of fur with massive, muscular legs extended, and heaved a deep sigh. By his reckoning she was doing well enough by now to not require constant vigilance and Warya felt his old bones more keenly than he had in a long long while. Gone were the days when his fearsome roar had been backed by superb strength and endurance, when he had chased vile intruders from his pack's territory, crushed their bones as easily as one snapped a twig. Gone were the days when he had followed this unruly little cub into the mountains and carried her back home in a single day without ever falling short of breath. It was fairly done, the Sehlat pondered, as all things must age in their own way. He no more grieved the loss of youth as he grieved a ripe fruit dangling high in a tree, out of reach. Things were, or were not. And right here, right now, one of his favorite cubs was splashing in the water with joyous abandon, still hurting but he knew she would heal and return to the pack. She had brought home a mate whom Warya judged to be good for her and capable of holding his own which was not a quality Sehlat saw in many bipeds.

It was good. Here and now.

Giving a colossal yawn, Warya closed his amber golden eyes and dozed off.


Sakarra for her part had dunked her head under water and came up splashing, a little Vulcan water nymph with Betazoid eyes and finely tapered ears, heavy black hair plastered to her temples and shoulders as she made a cautious attempt to wash some stubborn sand off her arms.

Her myriad wounds were itching still, but the warmth was doing her a world of good.

"Honker? Sniffer? The human capacity for metaphors never ceases to amaze." It was a good natured assessment, and she wrinkled said nose not in disapproval but genuine amusement.

"But tell me, beloved. You spoke of … a Safety Agency? Are there any requirements to visiting your home that I should be aware of?"


Brent had paused for a moment before he had seen Sakarra leap into the pool, completely devoid of clothing.  In the middle of some kind of sandfire storm or whatever it was.  He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his head before he finally stripped down of his own clothing and jumped into the hot spring as well.  He made a rather eloquent splash, having decided at the last moment not to cannon ball his way into the hot spring that no one had ever discovered. He swam over towards the side, finding a rock that rather fortunately left all but his upper chest mostly submersed into the water and let out a sigh of contentment.  "Nothing like running for your life, and then relaxing in a large undiscovered hot springs.  Right my beloved." he asked her with a smirk.


"Oh indeed." Paddling about the pool as if it were in fact the completely natural thing to do under the circumstances, Sakarra quirked an amused brow at her Companion. She knew all too well when she was being teased "It should in fact be made mandatory."

"The Safety Agency?  Yeah they effectively ban most travel to the planet unless the person was born on the planet.  It's a colonial institution that's backed by the Federation Council amongst other things.  It wouldn't do to have people wandering down to the planet only to wind up dead in two weeks due to organ failure.  Or even the shortening of someone's life by the stress that a high gravity world can place on a body.  There have been a few Vulcan delegations that have come to the planet.  The colonial governor normally throws a big to do when that happens, since it's rare we have off worlders come and stay with us.  A few other species as well, ones that can survive the gravity without dying.  They normally wear the belts the entire time they are planetside.  With that in mind I can probably get you on the planet for a week maybe two.  They're going to tell you to take it easy, and that you shouldn't try to physically exert yourself too much.  Which I'm sure you will promptly ignore and try to help me when I get drafted into farm chores," Brent said perhaps stating the obvious.


Her hair floating on the water, Sakarra swam with languid, slow strokes, letting the warmth permeate her body. "You are quite correct in that I should appreciate a chance to learn about the workings of a farm"

There was a thoughtful shadow over her exquisite features, lingering in the depths of unreadable obsidian eyes. She might have been one of Vulcan's legendary desert spirits appearing to the unwary traveler, a Siren not born of waves and shoals but cruel sands and relentless heat. A face that made heat-dried eyes weep for its sheer perfection, beauty keen as a blade and no less dangerous. For if you strayed from your path to follow the vision, it would leave you to die with musical laughter ringing in your ears.

Her cruel wounds mercifully hidden by the gentle mirror of the water, Sakarra drew close to her beloved and watched his features, bathed in the soothing crimson light. "But I would be willing to 'take it easy' as far as possible. After all, it would be terribly rude to force your family to look after a sickly outworlder, no?"


"Well it's winter back home, so you couldn't learn everything. But I'm sure dad, James, and I could show you around the pens where we keep the beasties and other such things at. Dad might even have some of the grain left in the silo so you can have some freshly made bread. My mom does a really good job with that," Brent replied as he looked over Sakarra stalking around in the water and over to him, making him smile. He pulled her in close again so that she could rest against him.  "And if you're good. I can show you my room and perhaps we can let my bed see a little bit more action again," he winked at his beloved, pressing a kiss against her neck.

"But first we should survive this lovely planet of yours," he said dryly.


"Beasties?" the little Vulcan allow herself to be pulled against her Companion's muscle armored chest and let out a soft breath. She had to admit it sounded … idyllic. Snow and clear, crisp air, the scent of fresh bread and crackling wood in a fireplace. Fragments of memories floated at the outer regions of Brent's mind, freely shared. His parents, his many siblings. Lush, green fields. The same scenery, covered in a blanket of purest white. Animals, small and large, their breath leaving little clouds in the still, frosty air.

His worry what the planet's crushing gravity might do to her was ever present, lingering. Casting a shadow of almost palpable weight to the images, though in his memory everyone walked with ease. Sakarra wondered what a Gilgamite bovine might make of a Sehlat and chuckled silently.


His room. The bed. Flashes of … she almost laughed again when all of a sudden the images … not ceased. Retreated. Sunk deeper.

More action indeed.

"It seems somewhat illogical if I have to be 'good' in order to be 'bad', no? However I do agree that surviving is a reasonable priority at this point."

And speaking of … as much as she enjoyed the warm, soothing water, it had begun to soften the scabs and several of her wounds were trickling droplets of emerald.

Highly inconvenient, but there was naught to be done about it.

Heaving the softest of sighs the young Vulcan disentangled herself from her beloved, though not before pressing a lingering kiss to his neck, and emerged from the pool. The bandages were far from impeccably clean, but they would do.

"On the order of survival – I will admit to being intrigued by the idea of exploring these tunnels. However, some more rest might be advisable perhaps?"


"Yeah. Apparently that was what I called them when I was a little boy. Beasties.  My mother never let me live it down. You will probably hear her say it to me when we go back home." he said with a frown.  And she would probably pull out the baby picture book. Him eating dirt... Amongst other things. He nodded as she mentioned that she needed be good in order to be bad. "Well just healed up. I don't know if good is the correct word," he said with a smirk as she slowly left the pool of water. "Rest and then a bit of exploration? I can live with that. Then hopefully afterwords we can make our way back towards the surface and get back to the monastery."




It wasn't the most pleasant of ventures to get back into her sandy clothes, but if anyone could manage it with a measure of stoic grace and dignity, it was the little Vulcan whose bandages sat just a tiny bit askew. She did not look forward to being confined and once again fussed over by a flock of overprotective healers either, but there was a good chance that even if she could persuade her Companion to make the journey to Kir, grandfather would simply pack her off to the monastery again. And in this, he would defy his mate as well.

Vexing, to say the least.


Sakarra watched her beloved dress and allowed herself a moment to appreciate his tall, muscle-armored frame before she simply curled up next to the Sehlat, nestling against his warm and soft belly fur as she had done countless times since she was scarce old enough to crawl.


"There is no need to act the nursemaid, Warya. I am well aware that … ah, hiyet. Ritor'sa. I am beleaguered by impossible males."

Of course it was quite futile to swat at the massive paw urging her to get comfortable and sleep, but the little Vulcan found it satisfying to at least express her annoyance this way.

"Brent, will you please come here and settle down so he will believe me I truly intend to rest?"



=/\= To be continued … =/\=


Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax

Executive Officer


Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander


USS Charon