[ USS Guardian ]
After three days basically barricaded in her temporary quarters, Natasha was feeling like she had swarms of ice bores crawling under her skin. After having packed, re-packed, and then /re/-packed her duffel for the nth time, she didn't care if the ship was full of redbats, she was going to get a bite to eat and then get /off/ this rust-bucket. She looked in the mirror that hung over the sink in the closet-like bathroom. Her uniform was perfect, even though it'd been a while since she'd worn regulation Star Fleet togs. Her white hair, chopped in an asymmetrical style, she tucked behind her ears. She stared at her reflection, lips in a thin line. Her brown eyes, atypical for Andorians, stared back at her. Anyone who mentioned her lack of antennae /today/ was getting an earful and would be lucky if they weren't bleeding at the end of it.
The door opened and Natasha walked out, head held high, hiding the fact that her anxiety level was approaching critical, with her duffel over her shoulder. Why no-one had told her that she'd be sharing the ship with a bunch of high-nosed Vulcans .... Speaking of which, two of them were standing further down the corridor. Natasha frowned and continued walking as the two stopped speaking to stare at her, frankly curious. With good reason, actually, Natasha was not your run-of-the-mill Andorian. Her skin was obviously a lighter shade of blue than her full-blooded counterparts, and the lack of antennae fairly shouted her difference. If she could've gotten away with wearing a cap she would have, just to keep the curious out of her business.
As she approached the Vulcans, who were partially blocking the corridor (small ship = small walkways), Natasha's frown deepened. Finally she was forced to either run into one of them or stop. So stop she did, aggravation and paranoia tickling her thoughts. "You are blocking the passageway," she said without preamble, dropping the duffel to the side to free up her hands.
"Yes," said the male on the left.
"We would like to speak with you," said the one on the right. "I am --"
"I doubt I need to know your name," Natasha said, head held high. "Since we won't be speaking long enough to develop a /relationship/," she added caustically. She looked from one to the other. "Go ahead," she prompted impatiently, throwing a glance over her shoulder to make sure no-one was coming up behind her.
"You have been sequestered in your room for quite some time," the one on the right said. Natasha noted that he was tall, even for a Vulcan. She stepped back instead of tilting her head back to look up at him. "Have you been ill?"
Natasha started to answer and then stopped. "Do I /look/ ill?"
"You are ... rather pale," the one on the left said -- and he had a large IDIC pinned to his lapel. Natasha thought wearing symbols like that was idiotic. Why advertise your beliefs? It only gave others ammunition to use against you.
"Pale." Anger flared in her heart -- and an angry Natasha on the inside was an obviously angry Natasha on the /outside/. "Very funny," she snapped.
"It was not meant to be humorous," Tall Vulcan said calmly.
"I'm sure you're /concerned/," Natasha said. "I'm not sick, and I certainly don't have to explain myself to you two. Now let me pass."
"We are ... merely curious," IDIC said. "Our intention was not to offend."
"Unintentional offense is what you Vulcans are best at," Natasha said. She knew her history, knew it well. She'd just spent the better part of 5 years on Andoria, searching for her mother, and the extended family members who had accepted her had found her lack of knowledge horrifying. They'd told her everything every proper Andorian should know, even ones with a Pink for a father.
"You are a Star Fleet officer," Tall Vulcan said, apparently deciding to ignore Natasha's insult. "It is said that you are to take a post on the Charon when we arrive."
Someone had been talking about her. Probably, these guys had been asking questions about her. Natasha didn't like that, not one little bit. "Someone on this ship has been speaking when they should have remained silent," she said, her voice low.
"We asked to be informed about anyone traveling with us," Tall Vulcan continued, "it is important to our mission that nothing interfere with it."
"Far be it from me to interfere with you in any way, shape, or form," said Natasha. "In fact, I'd prefer it if you just let me pass and we can all pretend this conversation never happened."
"I fail to understand why you are taking such offense," IDIC said. "I would think that you would be used to --"
"/Used to/ people prying into my private affairs? /Used to/ Vulcans accosting me in hallways and commenting on my skin tone? /Used to/ being detained when I obviously wish to pass and go on my way?!" Natasha glanced over her shoulder again, even though she /knew/ she was being paranoid, she had to check to make sure her 6 was clear. "You think you can get away with anything by saying it's 'just curiosity', when it's really just an excuse to cover up your bad manners and even /worse/ interspecies relations."
Tall Vulcan raised an eyebrow, stepped back out of the way, and motioned with one graceful hand as if to say 'please proceed'.
Natasha didn't say another word. She hooked her duffel with one finger, never taking her eyes off IDIC the whole time, and returned it to her shoulder. Head high, spine straight, she lithely slipped past them and strode down the corridor. Feeling their eyes on her, she nevertheless did not look back.
Finding the galley was easy. She got her food without incident, ate it similarly, and was drinking a cup of iced coffee when the COMMs announced the rendezvous with the Charon in approximately 10 Earth Standard minutes. Relief swept over Natasha in a wave. She sipped her coffee, watchful eyes peeking over the rim of the cup to watch several of her fellow passengers -- all Vulcans -- leave the Mess. Were they going to get off on the Charon too? Gods, she hoped not.
Ten minutes later found Natasha walking toward the airlock, where the last of the Vulcan Science Council members were making their way through the 'lock. Natasha hung back until they were gone, then she approached and spoke to the officer on the Guardian side. "Lieutenant Natasha Segurev," she said.
"Aye. Hope you had an enjoyable trip." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.
"Thanks." Why even get into it? She stepped through the lock and emerged on the other side, in Charon's part of the joined airlocks. "Lieutenant Natasha Segurev. Permission to come aboard." Only to find herself facing another Vulcan. Sort-of.
Lt Natasha Segurev
CCO
USS Charon
