[USS Charon, Deck Ten]
Brent moved over to the table and poured them both a glass of wine before he offered her the glass. "Hmm. How about this time," he said with a mischievous smile on his face. "To gorgeous blue dresses and the women who drive us mad wearing them," he said before touching his glass against hers before he took the drink. When they had both done so he offered her some of the cheese and crackers. When she had taken some he pulled out her seat for her and finally received a view of the back and had to clear his throat a little bit. He took extra care not to let his fingers brush over her skin as the transmission of his thoughts would be quite blatant and on a 'one track' so to speak.
When he sat down he smiled at her. "I was thinking that we could listen to a little bit of the Vulcan music you had been telling me about, and maybe have you translate a song or two."
So, her attire had met with approval - and that had been before he had seen the … more interesting part. Barely contained delight shining in her eyes answered the mischief in Brent's smile and Sakarra was more than happy to give the salty crackers a try – cheese on an empty stomach was rarely a good idea for her – and then nearly coughed at the intensity of the taste. But they went quite lovely with the wine.
"Of course." She nodded at the suggestion and pondered an appropriate choice – something that might not lose too much meaning in translation, and perhaps not all too unsettling. That certainly ruled out a good number of the more ancient pieces, although the young Vulcan suspected Brent might not be disinclined to hear a few of the old warrior poet songs at some point.
"There is the Tale of T'Thelaih and Mahak. Have you ever heard of the 'killing gift'? Though perhaps it should be more appropriately named a curse."
Brent shook his head at her question. "I have not. Although the name you just gave me seems to indicate that it is a quite interesting tale," he sat down. "Is this an older piece," he asked as he took another drink of the wine. He looked over to the console nearby wondering if the Federation databases had a copy of what she was talking about. "Do you have a copy of it or would the computer have it on file," he asked.
"The computer can easily access the music from my personal files." There even was a choice of performers from centuries old to modern. But the best performer unfortunately was not available –nor had T'Leia ever cared for a recording of her voice, much to the chagrin of many Vulcans who appreciated music above all else.
"It is an ability that lies dormant within many Vulcans, to be able to kill another being with no more than a thought. However, every once in a while this 'gift' will surface in unrestrained force in an unfortunate individual – T'Thelaih was one such. Her first husband, who was not of her choice but the Clan's, died for it, though she had never intended him harm. Today, such a Vulcan would retreat to a monastery where she might learn to control the burden, and at least be surrounded by those who might aid her when it becomes too difficult. Back then, it was different."
Sakarra took another sip of her wine and then rested her chin against steepled fingers, an inscrutable expression clouding her dark eyes. She told him of the woman shunned and feared by her own kin until a powerful Matriarch of another Clan's High House made a bid for a union – offering her son as bond-mate, and how T'Thelaih contemplated falling into a sword rather than suffer the same horror again. She told him how Mahak came to love this shunned one, and persuaded her to live, willing to stake his own life rather than see his beloved perish. And how against everyone's expectation, Mahak lived after the union was made – all except the Matriarch who had known the 'gift' ran deep in her family's line and had gambled – and won. There was to be a child, and it would have the gift for certain, to be used as a tool to increase the Clan's power. But Mahak, who had served his purpose and fought against being separated from his bond-mate, was slaughtered by the Clan's warriors even as T'Thelaih learned of the Matriach's plans. Mad with grief and fury, she sent every last man and woman within the house into an agonizing death without ever laying a hand onto one of them before ending her own life and that of her unborn child, hurtling herself from the tower to where the slain body of her beloved lay in the courtyard.
After a brief pause, Sakarra instructed the computer to play the music, and retold the tale in Vulcan, her clear soprano floating over the haunting melody of a Ka'athyra.
When the last note faded into silence, she was mildly exhausted from the emotional toll such telling tended to exact, but oddly at peace as well.
Brent stayed silent during her explanation and then when the song came on. He closed his eyes during the music listening to it although it was for the first time he already could tell that he liked it. When the music was done he opened his eyes and smiled at her. "That was beautiful. As horrible as it may sound, tragedy almost always makes for the best music," he said quietly. "Would you like something else to eat," he said motioning at the cheese and then at his replicator. "Not the most romantic of things I know but you wouldn't like my cooking. Trust me," he said.
"I do." She tilted her head to the side, nearly prompting her heavy curls to dislodge the comb of Gespar wood that held them in place, and gave a small, good humored smile. "Trust you. And yes, if your replicator could be persuaded to make some Kleetanta, I would appreciate a small … no, actually, a regular sized dish."
In the meantime, Sakarra settled for inflicting severe damage on the crackers and the quite aromatic cheese with more obvious enjoyment than she would ever care to show in public.
"And if I might trouble you for a glass of water as well? There is quite a bit more salt in this than I usually ingest in a week."
He chuckled as she did trust him. "Good," he said and noted the order before he moved over to his replicator and repeated the order to the infernal contraption. Brent ordered himself a large chicken Caesar salad and a glass of water as well. He sat Sakarra's tray down first before then setting his own down in front of the other seat before having a seat. "This was an excellent idea you know," he said as he waited for her to take the first bite. "Me owing you dinner in my quarters," he said. "I'll have to carry water around with me more often so this can happen again."
"Oh?" her raised brows clearly conveyed that he might live to regret such an idea, and that she had not forgotten he was still owed retribution for past mischief. "I can see how the idea might be appealing, at least as far as dinner is concerned."
The casserole had the unfortunate bland scent of replicated food, but the texture was quite agreeable and Sakarra was hungry enough to not be deterred by such minor issues. Strangely enough, her body seemed to react rather favorably to the recent increase in food provided, putting most if not all of it to good use. Her much too lean frame had almost returned to its lithe, balanced shape with unexpected, perfectly rounded curves in the appropriate places – all that was missing from making her feel as comfortable in her own skin as she had back home was a slightly better physical form and the tan that was unavoidable when one lived under Nevasa's glare.
The latter was unlikely to happen. The former however…
Halfway through her food, the young Vulcan had to blink to stop herself from laughing. How was it that the innocent thought of scheduling extra time in the gym had sent her down a completely different road again? When she looked up into Brent's sparkling eyes watching her, the gaze so intense she could feel it like a gentle touch traveling across her face and down towards a partially exposed shoulder, the silent amusement manifested itself in a smile.
"As long as your cold water plans do not involve soaked uniforms in front of the crew, you might in fact not face too harsh consequences."
"I'm far too greedy to do something like that. If I ever do throw water all over you, it will be in the privacy of my quarters or perhaps your own," he said with that same evil looking smirk crossing over his face as he thought up of a few times when it might be appropriate. He chuckled ever so slightly at the ideas but kept them to himself as best he could. He ate his dinner, wondering if she would continue to say that he would not face such harsh consequences if he actually started to do it. "Mmm. I will have to put that into practice some time I think. Hopefully when you least expect it," he said.
[To be continued ...]
Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander
Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Chief Helm
USS Charon
