AN: No, the time line will not be significantly speeding along for a while yet. There will however be a style change, at some point, away from mostly drabble-ish to … something … not … mostly drabble-ish…

Quaff: 2 4 2


Part 2: Fascinating

A part of Spock, a part that shall be fondly referred to as Spock's Eyebrow, ever so dearly wanted to twitch. Given the sentiments of the owner however it settled for moving only a fraction of an inch - perhaps less - higher. Anything more would be a clear demonstration of his (brief) surprise and, dare we suggest, incredulity.

Spock, The Whole that is, took this (brief) moment to collect himself. It would not be appropriate to give into his emotions (and really, even if he did, he wasn't sure if he was perturbed, confused, surprised, angry, all of the above, all of the below, or actually just plain ol' fashioned fascinated - Humans, ya'kno?).

The human female before him did not appear … typical for her species. She was dressed neither in a Star Fleet uniform nor the clingy materials seemingly favored by female cadets while not in uniform. Indeed, even in uniform Terran females had a tendency to reveal more skin than the female of unknown origins before him. Instead, she was dressed in a simple flowing garment that reached just past her knees and a light covering, both with simple embellishments that were not displeasing to the eye. The restraint in both color and extravagance had an oddly calming affect on his Vulcan sensibilities.

[The Eyebrow wondered if it was capable of raising an internal eyebrow at Spock's subconscious reaction. Sensibilities huh?]

He was sure she was wearing what was generally described as a dress, though it bore similarities to what females sometimes referred to as a tunic … or perhaps it was just a long shirt? The complexities of Terran female dress escaped him.

Not that he found the topic particularly appealing or relevant to the performance of his duties. Or even the situation at hand.

[Eyebrow: Not. at. all.]

Yet it had not escaped his notice that the entire ensemble seemed organic in nature. Even her footwear (what remained of it) seemed to be woven of some material not readily known to him, not replicated or mass-produced.

'Fascinating.' Perhaps she could be convinced to submit them to study? He considered which protocol would be appropriate for making the request.

He would need to ascertain her origins first. If she had indeed been trying to communicate using the archaic language, he had not understood her meaning. Of course, it was possible English was not her preferred mode of communication. There were several Earth communities that persisted in preserving their cultural heritage by emphasizing a different linguistic tradition during the earliest stages of compulsory education. Yet her accent did not match with any earth dialect he had yet encountered. There was a slight hint of an English accent, yes, but she spoke as if she had not spoken the language for some time or had perhaps acquired the skill from a British national.

With some reluctance, he conceded his lack in expertise on the matter and resolved to seek a more qualified individual to question. He was mollified with knowing for a fact Latin at least was (still) a dead language.

The words however were important. On this both The Whole and The Eyebrow expressed their confidence. She was more than likely trying to replicate the event from earlier. Perhaps the action of verbalizing was meant to aide in achieving focus?

Humans were typically unable to manipulate psionic energy without external assistance and had a low awareness of psionic energy in general. Telepathy amongst humans who were not hybrids was thus exceptionally rare. Was she part Betazoid? Perhaps she had utilized some form of device?

'Fascinating.' He was unaware such a device yet existed. And where did she keep it? How did she activate it? Would she be adverse to his examining that item as well as her clothing?

[The Eyebrow considered raising an eyebrow at this but decided Spock was simply too busy being fascinated to understand the meaning behind the action.]

In the inconceivably short amount of time it took for him to consider all of this, the woman in front of him, for lack of a better word, deflated.

'Fascinating.' He finally understood how the term could be applied to one's physical appearance. Human. Physical Appearance. If she was human, to which there was a 98.4 percent chance she was at least a hybrid, her appearance would also reflect her mental status - a status he had yet to ascertain.

Past interactions with Terran females had also taught him questioning her mental stability directly would not be well received.

Was this a human display of fear? His time amongst humans would not suggest that such an action would be abnormal. It was very possible she was externally reacting to an internal manifestation of emotion. 'Intriguing.'

… Perhaps the device was experimental, in which case, he was obliged to bring it to the attention of his superiors. There were other options -

"Look, I really can't think like this. I'm lost, confused, its raining," it wasn't, but Spock wisely chose to keep this bit of information to himself "and I can barely stand. Can we at least discuss this somewhere I can sit down and not feel like you're about to cart me off to some lab and dissect me?" Her accent was made more evident during the now clear display of emotion. Exasperation, he believed it was called. Or was it irritation?

"That is not my intention." Her reasoning was sound and the request was not unreasonable. He didn't quite know how to handle clear displays of human emotion (for all that he still found their various combinations and manifestations fascinating). He brought himself to his full height and gave the slightest of nods.

"There is a location that will serve our purposes nearby. I will even be able to supply you with some tea. I have often observed its calming effects."

Her face reflected an emotion he could not properly name.

'Fascinating.'


Harriet stared blankly ahead, mouth open wide, eyes watering. Honestly, she was torn between being relieved at the thought of finding a more discreet location to rest and distressed at the reminder of her loss. Eventually she worked her mouth into asking, "Is it far?"

"Approximately 0.176 miles from our present location."

"Right," she said in a small voice. Rallying, she gave a brief, determined nod before bending to remove her shoes. For a moment she contemplated putting them into her bag. 'No, don't want him to observe anything else that may be classified as an anomaly' … like an undetectable extension charm. O~r a featherweight charm. Or the fact that the satchel was really made from dragon hide, moved like dragon hide, and was only charmed to look like something the locals wouldn't think twice about. Which was apparently leather. How … Muggle.

She settled for carrying them and squared her shoulders. "IF you would lead Mr~?"

"Spock." 'No rank?' He was giving her a look that said she was being assessed. 'Probably calculating my flight risk.'

"This way." Hands still clasped behind his rather straight back, he began walking. Harriet kept pace - for the most part (Merlin, his legs were long). Her survival instincts told her keeping just within his periphery would help soothe over some of the worries about her disappearing suddenly. Every little bit counted at this point.

"As to your previous query, I am a Vulcan."

"A what?" 'Were Vulcans a subset of elves?'

"A Vulcan." 'Talkative, this one is.'

"And I suppose that means you're from Vulcan."

"Indeed." 'Couldn't even give a simple yes?'

"Have you ever met an elf?"

His eyebrow twitched. "I cannot profess to such an encounter." Harriet resisted the urge to pinch her nose.

[The Eyebrow wished it were capable of snickering].

Fine. She could play this game too. She began to pointedly glance at his ears every thirty seconds or so, bare feet unbothered by her inattention. As they continued walking, a few passersby sent them a glance or two of their own.

After two full minutes of silence, she caved. "Does everyone from Vulcan look like an Elf?" 'Was that a stutter step? Ha! It was!'

"I assure you there are several races throughout the Federation who possess the attribute you are inquiring about." 'Don't tell he's sensitive about it. Maybe it's just a pride thing. I certainly wouldn't be quick to claim Dobby as a cousin. Specially not to a stranger.'

Two more minutes passed. 'How far was this place?' Harriet had to assume they were almost at their destination. They were approaching a tall but somehow less imposing building than the one she had seen with all uniforms coming and going. If she had to guess, the building either wasn't intended for student use or the upcoming entrance wasn't often used.

"May I make an inquiry of my own?" They had just reached a set of sturdy glass doors with a strange symbol emblazoned on them.

'Why not? I've already learned some (read: a very miniscule amount) new information. Appearing helpful and compliant may soothe over any ruffled feathers (Merlin knew the hair wouldn't dare to even consider ruffling).'

As the Vulcan entered a passcode to presumably allow them access (something the multitasking side of her made note of), he considered how to word his question. At least, she assumed he did, the elf, or ah Vulcan?, no male (because he still hadn't given her a direct answer), displayed the emotional range of a suit of armor.

He held the door for her. "Are the ornaments attached to your ears edible?"

Harriet's eyes brightened with mirth as a wry grin graced her mouth. "Vegetables, actually." She stepped through and the heavy doors closed with a click.

"Fascinating."


Ever wondered how often Spock actually says fascinating?