SEVEN: Ruse
The Canadian, having surreptitiously switched to fruit juice long before Thelen and Shral decided to get well and truly plastered, was the most sober of the trio she was currently carting around downtown San Francisco –which, naturally, left her to shepherd the pair home. So it was with the umpteenth long-suffering sigh of the evening and an arm around the pair of willowy aliens that the Canadian steered, stabilized, and supported the aide and security officer through the alleyways and around the street corners. And all the while, they both complained about the heat –the humidity ! Spirits, how did Humans survive?- and the architecture –Andorian construction is vastly superior!- and the smell –we're too close to that damned sea of yours!
Dagmar, with the long-suffering internal monologue that had started sometime after the Andorian drinking songs had started and a little bit before Shral's neighbour –a tall, gorgeous Andorian woman- started hitting on her, endured.
It wasn't that she was homophobic, as a side note, –even in her time, she'd regarded that mindset as inexcusably ignorant- but having her hair compared to a red, bat-like creature from Andoria was not high on her list of flattering things ever said about her. Also, there was a slight cultural faux pas thrown in there when the female had struggled to find a suitable comparison for the lone Terran's skin; Andorian ghost-stories centered around figures pale and devoid of any of the blue-pigments so characteristic of their species (which, incidentally, was a symptom of serious illness in living Andorians.) As Dagmar was of Northern European and Celtic descent, she was rather fair-skinned (bordering on pasty, to be honest) and...Well, needless to say, that hadn't gone quite as well as the Andorian woman had probably planned.
But Dagmar endured –largely because the female wasn't trying to be insulting (and it was rather funny, actually; "You are attractive for a Human! Your hair is like a Redbat –very fetching, despite your ghastly skin!") and because she genuinely liked the Andorians she was swamped with in that little booth. She was fairly comfortable with the lot of them -even Shral, whose wobbly antennae were still making a valiant effort to do that weird pointing thing now and then. As usual, the redhead ignored the antennae-gesture, and found that the aide was actually fairly pleasant company, if a bit formal.
"Come back with us to Andoria!" Thelen suggested suddenly, antennae wobbling about as they staggered towards the Andorian compound. He was probably trying to look at her, but with his drunken dual vision problems and balance issues, the Andorian ended up gazing beseechingly at a nearby lamppost instead. Dagmar fought not to laugh.
"Seconded!" Shral agreed, regarding the bush on the opposite side of the street intently.
The suggestion surprised her. Andoria? She'd never even been off-planet. Frowning, the blue-eyed Terran considered the prospect of leaving Earth for the first time. The idea was not as intimidating as she thought it should have been. If anything, there was a sort of relief that came with it –to be away from the modern Terrans who knew what she was and didn't care for who she was. But, at the same time, what if she made a mistake over there? What if she embarrassed her Andorian friends, or offended someone important? She understood the language perfectly, yes, and the culture in theory, but what about in practice?
"Did you hear me?" Thelen asked, though not rudely, fixing the lonely lamppost with a concerned look. "Do Humans suffer hearing problems when drunk? I can't remember."
"No," Dagmar answered with an amused sort of fondness colouring her tone. "We tend to lose our balance a bit and speech is affected –usually with slurring- as well as reaction-time and reflexes. Also, inhibitions are lowered, but I think that's universal. Some people get very sleepy, too."
Shral narrowed verdant eyes at the bush and said accusingly, "Your speech is fine -and your balance!"
"Maybe I'm not drunk, then!" The Canadian retorted cheerfully as she tried to get the three of them moving again; they were heavy, and she didn't fancy standing on a street corner with the pair of them all night. "Someone has to look after you two!"
"So come back to Andoria with us!" Thelen repeated enthusiastically, with a soft-eyed Andorian smile and bowed, if unstable, antennae. He leaned a bit too heavily against her, and the Canadian had to fight not to stagger and send them veering sideways. Fortunately, Shral was taller and heavier than the security guard and happened to be leaning in the opposite direction. The overall result was that Dagmar felt squished and the three of them were moving in a mostly straight line.
"Maybe I will." Dagmar answered, surprising herself. Grinning, she steered the pair onto the final stretch to the Andorian compound. "Spirits know what sort of trouble you'll get into if I leave you alone for more than ten minutes at a time!"
Wow. Apparently, she was subconsciously picking up their slang.
Shral gave the Andorian equivalent of a frown at another lamppost. "No need to be insulting!"
"We'd last a week at least!" Thelen agreed, coming dangerously close to laughing. Dagmar watched the security officer curiously, wondering if her earlier –slightly drunken- hypothesis of wobbly Andorians would be true.
Sadly, it was not to be. If anything, the man seemed to be sobering up a little –pun absolutely intended.
Waving to the guards on duty that night as they passed through the compound entrance –some she recognized from the Embassy and others she didn't- the twenty-first-century woman found that suddenly, the Andorians weren't leaning on her nearly as much as they were before. In fact, they were standing and moving pretty much under their own power, with only the slight wobbly now and then being any indication (antennae aside) of their plastered state. They still kept in contact with her, Thelen with his arm around her shoulders and Shral with his arm around her waist, but the ruse was apparently dispensed with and Dagmar belatedly realized she'd been duped.
Bloody cuddly aliens.
Even so, she found herself reluctant to remove her arms from their waists –mostly because their balance, at least, was genuinely faulty. She'd feel terrible if she let go and one of them went careening into a door or something –or worse, if an antennae was bruised in the process.
