Author's Thanks: to eScapefreak!
• eS - I hope so. Thanks for the vote of confidence. :)
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Author's Reminder: don't blaspheme or swear, but do tell me your thoughts & do put a smiley after jokes!
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Author's Note:
Sorry for the late update. I've been sick since Christmas, and still am not completely well. :)
Criticism is greatly appreciated. I'm not ignorant of the time it takes, I assure you.
Enjoy! :)
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6: First Impressions :6
- - - Deep Space Nine - - -
The architecture took her breath away, it reminded her so of--
Why think on that? She dismissed her previous musings and focused on the artistic aspect of Cardassian design. Lovely in its grim way, it struck her fancy. Built for quick, unquestioned use--much like--
Ah, girl. You must be getting old if your thoughts go so easily awry.
A self-conscious smile made it to her face. Her, old? It wasn't the first time she'd wondered how much time she had left. Decrepitness would descend quickly when it came, as it did for all her people.
Unless that which she could not think upon formed a greater part of her than believed. Then she might get a few gray or white streaks in her hair, first.
Her smile turned wry as she brushed her hand over her cropped pate. As if I'd be able to notice...
A passing red uniform and its owner caught her eye. She quickened her pace to catch up. "Colonel, do you have a moment?"
The striking Bajoran woman turned, facing her, eyes measuring. "Yes?"
She hesitated under that /projecting.../ gaze, almost putting a hand to her face. Could the woman tell? "Hi," she said timidly. "I'm Jer. I purchased the promenade's souvenir shop... Elim Garak's old tailoring shop--I think. I just wanted to introduce myself and ask if there's a subject of painting you'd prefer."
The Colonel nodded sharply. "Colonel Kira, but you already know that. Images of the wormhole would probably sell."
"Pardon me, Colonel. I'm not asking what would sell." She smiled timidly. "I'm asking what you'd like."
As her mind's hidden section had suggested, this gave Kira Nerys pause. Her brown eyes grew distant--guarded. "Something of... the Founders... maybe..." She rethought what she'd just said and shrugged. "The Dominion War--"
"Of course," Jer hastily interrupted. "Of... former Chief of Security Odo, perhaps? Weren't you two good friends?"
"I don't buy paintings," Colonel Kira stated gruffly.
Jer shrugged. "If you say so. Good day to you." She turned and swiftly headed to her shop. It needed to be set up by morning. /Turn around./ She idly followed the strong instinct.
For a moment, the Colonel stood as she had left her before continuing to her quarters. /heartbreak--self-recrimination--resignation--loneliness.../ Jer quietly analyzed her readings. She's never gotten over Odo.
Her smile slowly grew to a grin, which she hid with her hand. They'll kill me for this.
But it would be worth it.
What they didn't know was that Odo'd never gotten over her, either.
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- - - Deep Space Nine - - -
"Julian..."
"I know. I need to watch my hours." He rubbed his temples. "The unidentified sample is so fascinating, though..."
Ezri Dax just glared at him.
"Sorry."
She relaxed, smiling. "Set an alarm if you have to. What if there's an emergency?" Her smile grew, and her eyes twinkled. "Besides, you're no fun fatigued."
Doctor Julian Bashir snorted. He waved at a nearby server. "Romulan ale."
"Til'amin froth," chimed in Ezri with a smirk.
The server promptly left.
Ezri frowned, turning around to search for him in the crowd. "Did he take our orders?"
"I think so." Puzzled, he looked around. An accented strong-winded "dabo!" caught his ear. He turned towards the nearest table.
A new girl was there, half seated on the gambling table's edge, leaning on her hands. She was an unusual alien, but his doctor's eye noticed several probable signs of malnutrition. "Ezri." He nodded towards the object of his attention. "How old do you think that gray-skinned dabo girl is?"
"Gray-skinned...?" The counselor twisted to find who he was talking about. She started upon spotting the girl. "I don't know," she quietly replied, leaning towards him. "Sixteen, maybe?"
His eyes narrowed at that--and something else. He blinked, surprised. How...
"That's pretty hair."
Nodding at Ezri's comment, Bashir started getting up, but he was interrupted by a drink being placed in front of him by the earlier server. He glanced at it and took it. "Thank you," he murmured distractedly, and headed to the dabo table.
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- - - Memory - - -
He patiently listened to the security chief's tirade. The woman's fury against mixed-bloods and mixed marriages turned her face as red as liquid stasis.
When she ended, he smiled wryly. "Do you feel that threatened by children?" he asked. "What can we do that you cannot?" He paused. "Or are you jealous that we are in some ways better?"
- - - Deep Space Nine - - -
A frown passed over her face. Lathin. He suffered still for that incident...
In her musings, she lost count. She shifted her weight forward so she'd have to move her hands. She felt the slot.
"Sorry... Karjinko."
The gambler groaned. He nudged her. "Eh, me bar, huh?"
She graciously inclined her head, leaned forward, and kissed the strip of gold-pressed latinum. She preferred this good-luck custom to that of her previous job at an ahska counter.
Her dabo smile dropped, her face blanking at that thought. No, she wouldn't recall that. Later, perhaps; but not now.
She assumed a smile. "Dabo," she said strongly, but her statement not suffering for her lack of excitement. She leaned towards the player. "Congratulations."
"That's fascinating."
She nearly lost her balance in regaining her former position, startled by the statement. "I beg your pardon?"
"How you read the table."
She allowed a humored smirk to surface. "Can I help you, sir?"
"I don't believe I've met your species."
"Probably not," she admitted. Lathin! She was having trouble locating this one...
Human male, brunet, thirties, Starfleet medical uniform... An image of him flashed in her mind.
She turned towards him. "Is there a problem?"
"How old are you?"
She stared at the spot where she knew he was, unflinching.
"...No offense," the Human continued blithely after a moment. "You just seem a little... young to be running a dabo table."
Her expression didn't waver. "Visit an ahska counter, sometime," she responded, voice flat. "This is child's work."
She turned with finality to the table and resumed her job.
Baffled, the man left her alone.
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- - - Cardassian Shuttle - - -
Elim Garak cleared his throat.
The Bajoran woman didn't move from where she'd sat upon entering the shuttle. She hadn't spoken since Cardassian reconstruction workers had found her in an abandoned lab, besides to warn them against disturbing the Bajoran relics found with her. Only one had she called 'not of the Pah-wraiths'--and that one had caused some fascinating circumstances.
"You have the apologies of all of Cardassia, I assure you."
Though she'd spent hours in that position, she didn't twitch. "An unnecessary overture."
Garak nodded to himself. Of course she was bitter. "I understand you have received poor treatment at the hands of some of my people--"
"Not yours."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My condition is unrelated to your people."
He frowned. "Why were you in a Cardassian lab, then?"
No reply was forthcoming, and he looked at her. After a long moment, she turned towards him and stood, pushing up her sleeve. A bright red scar circled her wrist as a bracelet. She stilled, staring out at the viewscreen's lines of stars. "I knew they would not seek me there," she murmured.
He understood enough of her statement to realize removing her from his world most likely put her in danger. "Do you not want to return to Bajor?"
"Mind your own affairs," she sharply replied. "And I will manage mine." She returned her to her seat. "...Bajor has no gate."
"Gate?"
"Protector," she abruptly addressed. "With what are you going to destroy that lab?"
"A proton blast--"
She shot him a look that called him stupid. "Use this," she lightly offered, and took an actual bracelet from her other arm underneath her black cloak's wide sleeve.
He examined the thin item curiously. A glowing blue stone set in a plain metal band.
"Transport it to the exact center of the lab. Clear a six kilometer radius, first."
"Six kilometers?"
"It is the least destructive way of disposing of the place, I assure you."
She returned to her old position she'd held for hours previously, and he accepted her unverbalized desire for silence.