Honed, Hemmed In II

Posted on 30 Apr 2013 @ 10:35am by

2,971 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: LTjg Maenad Panne's Office
Timeline: MD6 1930 Hours

ON:

Maybe, he repeated dryly in his mind, shaking his head. He unfolded his hands and came around the small table to sit down next to her.

She knew that he had been very angry when Naskisem was here with him before. She also knew that he didn't like people prying into his personal business, especially if it had to do with his mental well-being. They had spent many totalled hours talking about it, and Maenad's thoughts drifted back to when they were at the hospital on Vega. But, if Naskisem said she could help him, or that she wanted to, then why might he doubt it? "Is it possible that she thinks you don't like her?" she asked. "It's pretty obvious to me that you don't."

He leaned forward on the couch, balancing his elbows on his knees, staring at the glass

tabletop. "It is not about like or dislike," Liyar finally said quietly. "I doubt her intentions. I believe she is here for a reason that she will not name. She initially refused to tell me that my family contacted her. I pressed the issue. She admitted it. Beyond that, I do think her offer is genuine. Nevertheless, I could not accept. That type of thing is not done, not between strangers. I did try and explain," Liyar told her. "I do not think that she understands." He could not compromise himself that way, not even to assure Naskisem of his feelings about her, which should have been clear to her during the meditation session. "What is it you are reading?" he asked after another long moment of silence, indicating the blank book on the table.

"Oh," Maenad held back from laughing at herself. "That is a collection of love letters from the eighteenth century." She turned her head to look at Liyar beside her. She watched him for a moment. Maenad thought of recommending he humour her, but she thought that that might be more harmful to a Vulcan than it was for humans. "I'm sorry she upset you," she set her hand on his knee. "She might be a Vulcan, but she doesn't know you," she smiled gently. "Not as I do."

18th century. In the 18th century he suspected his people were much the same as they are now. Vulcans were not a very prolific species, in the grand scheme of things. Love letters. Terrans kept those immortalized. He wondered why Maenad was reading them now, all these years later. Well, she certainly did not enamor herself of the present. As always, her choice of work was some obscure historical document. It was familiar. He didn't understand it, but it was reassuring. "No," Liyar agreed. "She does not." Boundaries were extremely important to Liyar. She had not respected his. If she had, he knew there would be no issue. Even Anera had learned more about him in two days simply because she approached it in a non-threatening manner. He had control of the situation, he could choose what to say and do. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of opening up. He just had very specific ways of doing so. He mused on his conversation with Anera idly, but found that it didn't feel unpleasant or awkward to be in Maenad's presence even now. He wouldn't push the issue, not yet. He still hadn't been able to properly understand it, understand himself. Until he could meditate and really hammer it out, he would leave it alone. He was, however, insatiably curious. "What is a love letter? Why would one write such a thing?" he asked aloud.

Maenad sat quietly for a moment. It was a good question. She didn't know. She had never written one, nor had she ever received one. But she could imagine a situation when she might want to give one to someone or, better yet, receive one from somebody she loved. "It's a letter that you write, by hand preferably, to tell someone that you love them. When you write something out, you can express it in ways that you can't just by telling them," she explained. "And having the letter is a way of holding onto somebody's words. It's there, it's them. It's like having a part of somebody you love with you." She thought of T'Yron and removed her hand. "Do Vulcans not have anything like that?" she asked. It was probably a stupid question; of course they didn't.

Liyar didn't know the answer to that, not in the historical sense. Neo would've been a better source of information. He wandered back to the archives he'd studied as a child. His eyes flicked up from the table to her, and caught her hair. He hadn't ever seen her wear it down. She didn't expect she would be interrupted. It was a private thing, to be at ease, alone. To let others into that space, it was a sign of comfort. He preferred it down, he realized, but he would never tell her that. He studied her inexplicably, felt the weight of her hand before it left. "In ancient times, there was what you might call, poetry. Most of it was about the subject of affection, desire, longing. They were prevalent in emotional works, but I suppose you are already aware of that. What you would call love, what we feel, is known to one another without the need for words. You simply know. It is biological. They are part of you."

"Ah," she mouthed, but didn't say. "Having something in your hand, though; it makes it tangible," Maenad offered. "Seeing the handwriting of someone you love, it puts them in the room with you." She made a small smile. "You can touch it, feel it. For those of us who are psi-nulls it, well, it connects us in an intimate way." Maenad reached for the book and picked it up. She turned to a random page and put her finger to a line, but looked at Liyar. "It's as close as we can get to each other when the other's not around," she said with a shrug. A joking grin she could not hide. She was up to something.

Maenad looked down to where she'd placed her finger. She broadened her shoulders and made a playfully stern face. "February fourth,1706. May angels guard my dearest Fidelia and deliver her safe to my arms. If you could but believe how entirely you possess the empire of my heart-"

"Empire -" Liyar interrupted dryly, pursing his lips.

She looked up at him, holding her place with her finger, then read on. "You would discredit me when I tell you that I can neither think nor so much as dream of any other subject than the enchanting Fidelia." She pretended to make a desperate frown. "Figure to yourself what tumults there will arise in my blood, what a fluttering of the spirits, what a disorder of the pulse, what passionate wishes," her voice rose and became deeper as she went on, "what passionate wishes! How unfit shall I be for business!" She reached one hand in front of her and grasped at the air, pulling it into her chest slowly, as in agony. "O! The torture of six months' expectation!" She closed the book and cast aside into his lap, then pretended to collapse onto him in a pretend sobbing. "Pray, think of me!" she said into his armpit. Her right hand set gently on his shoulder, her fingers gripped only tight enough to keep hold. "And believe me when I say that... I am entirely and eternally yours!" A few seconds passed and Maenad turned her head out of his side. She looked up at him and a big foolish grin was on her face.

The corner of his lip tweaked down, but his eyes smiled up at her. The benefit, she said, of holding something tangible in her hands. Perhaps that was why the poets of old had written such extensive epics, to immortalize their own feelings. To cast them into the world. Was that not an action in and of itself? His head drifted to the side as he watched her, leaning back against the couch cushion. He thought of picking the book up, but he left it where it lay, instead returning her dramatic production with a citation of his own. "Ekon crouching at the labor of us / ourselves, with iron rods sewn / inside our clothes to keep glass bodies / from breaking. Listening shivers at / the nerve endings / as a gown of waiting. I am melting. / And what arms have lain / under my head / but the rain / is full of ghosts / that tap and sigh / what loves have come and gone / only that spring sang in me / a little while / that in me sings no more. / Where shall we be, / (she whispers) where shall we be / when death strikes home, where then? / Who were you and I?" He rested his arms behind him, stretching out like a cat and knitting his fingers behind his head, watching her as he spoke, low and weighted and calm. Kusilaya by Turan always came first to mind describing affection, obscure as Shakespeare might be to a Terran, but the meaning had always resonated with him. The words were worn and often contemplated. "Not there but here, / (he whispers) only here, / as we are together, / always you and I. / Moon-fingers lay down the same routine. / Bruised by threads, I want to be strung up in strong light / I want to be stretched / like music wrung from a dropped seed / the glance brief / if through my singing slips / the very skilfull strangeness in your smile / the primeval silence of your hair / lady whose profound and fragile lips / the sweet small clumsy feet of Karil came." The amused frown returned. "The Vulcan version of a love letter," he explained simply, arching an eyebrow up at her.

Maenad was sitting up again, properly now. She crossed her legs and fixed her skirt by her knees. "Now that you have told her no, then, what did she say?" she asked soberly.

"I do not know," he answered. "I do not believe she truly understands my reasons. In fact, I do not think she was aware of my condition at all. Now that she is, she gave the impression that she would acquiesce to my wishes," he said, returning to the scene in his mind. "That she would leave me alone," he clarified, "as she termed it."

"She said that?" Maenad raised her eyebrows. That was a bold statement for a Vulcan. Either she was just really mean, even for a Vulcan, or Liyar had somehow greatly offended her. "Was she upset?"

"She thought it. Loudly." He let out a long, slow breath through his nose, that didn't quite become a sigh. It was a complex web of history, the subtle, intricate folds of society, of people, small things, too small to lay out. The reminders had him on edge. "I do not know. It is possible, but there is nothing I can do about it." He had tried, and failed. He could not condense his raw experiences into something that Naskisem could understand, he did not even know if Maenad would understand. Perhaps they both viewed him as a monster. Maybe he was. "I explained my perspective very clearly to her. She refused to accept it. She is now aware that I have Veren. I suspect she is displeased with my family for giving her the impression that she can fix me."

Maenad sat back into the cushion. She leaned her head to one side and rested her cheek on her fist, the other hand in her lap. "Well," she said, "Maybe she is." It seemed odd to her, though, that Naskisem would come all the way from Vulcan just to 'fix' him. Liyar said she came to speak to her, but Maenad really had never heard of her before today. It was a very strange that was going on. It didn't add up. "Is she bonded?" Maenad was staring off into nowhereland now, trying to make sense of it all.

"It makes little sense," Liyar said. "She would not elaborate when I requested it. She insists that she is here solely for the purpose of speaking to you. That her attempt to fix me was serendipity. She incidentally was contacted by my family, as well. It is all a very plausible sequence of convenience," he muttered sarcastically. "Bonded?" He didn't know. He hadn't seen a mate in her thoughts. His face clouded over. "My family would know better." It seemed that everywhere he went, a trail of Vulcan drama followed along. He rested his chin in his hand. "I apologize for her rather abrupt presence. I had assumed that this was arranged, that you knew her." Apparently not.

Maenad smiled to herself for a second, but then made it go away. "No, don't apologise," she told him as she gave him a dismissive nudge on the arm with the back of her hand. "If what she says is true, then I should be flattered. No one has ever crossed the quadrant just talk to me about... anything." Maenad shook her head. "What do you mean your family would know better?"

Liyar only hoped that Naskisem would restrain herself from her obvious prejudice, that she had not come to denigrate Maenad's work. Liyar had read some of it, but his opinions were varied. Largely, he found the subject irrelevant to everyday life. He did not spend a lot of time thinking about ancient Vulcan history, or Surak. He lived his life in accordance to a set of beliefs that he personally found fulfilling, not that he felt were in accordance of some man who had been dead for thousands of years. Of course, he believed in the Kir'shara, but he believed it for himself. Like Maenad, he suspected his conclusions about Vulcan society would not be met with open arms. He hoped that Naskisem was different. That she had not come here to insult Maenad, to demonstrate a perceived sense of superiority. He did not want Maenad to be subjected to the stifling ignorance that the Vulcan people were capable of. It would displease him. Granted, she would be used to that, if her work was as popular as it seemed. But she should not experience it. Aware that his mind had gone off track, he spoke. "Than to make that choice for me," he responded quietly. "Sending an unbonded woman here, to think they could make such a decision."

Maenad inwardly sighed. Something in her chest jumped, or hit her ribs from the inside, or something. Liyar seemed wholly disinterested in the idea, but Maenad couldn't help but feel like she were about to lose something she cherished. It was similar to feeling like she had to go somewhere she didn't want to. Like going to the movies or a dinner but someone else taking the seat beside her friend, but worse. She pressed her tongue against the backs of her teeth. "Would they really do that?" she asked, turning to look at him. Maenad wondered whether Liyar could take Naskisem. She was pretty, Maenad thought. She was intelligent. She seemed stable, like someone who could provide the stability that they both knew he needed. In the way that only a Vulcan help him, the words replayed in her mind. She remembered feeling defensive when Naskisem said that. Maybe his refusal was what made her angry at him. Maenad didn't know; she didn't play those games. "What if they did?"

His forehead creased, ears drawing back. He wished, that he could be left alone. That he could breathe on his own, that the weight would disappear from above, it was crushing. He would float, he knew, if it were gone. It was gravity. Trapped, forces in motion. He didn't want to play a game. He didn't want to be part of the parody that his life had become. He didn't want a bondmate. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay here. With Maenad, he realized. It certainly wasn't the job. His words to Naskisem surfaced again. His life. His choice. Was that so offensive? Piqued by the strange feelings across from him, Liyar tipped his chin up to look at her. His eyes were unblinking, something unfathomable lurked under his placid demeanor. "It is not for them to decide. I am not a child. They have no right to force the issue."

"That's true," Maenad said softly back to him, but it didn't change how she felt. "You should ask them first, Liyar. I can't imagine any reason why Naskisem would lie. It wouldn't benefit her, and even if it did she is Vulcan enough to know that the repercussions of lying, which would eventually be found out, would not be worth it."

"I asked what her intentions were. She made no mention of bonding, but if my family sent her here, they are undoubtedly aware of her unbonded status," Liyar conceded gloomily. "I will be certain to discuss this with them in the immediate future." Not a discussion he was looking forward to. He extended his hand, watching his fingers unfold, and let Maenad's emotions drift off back into the void. "You are unhappy," he said, describing the mixed regret and loss settling like dust around them.

OFF:

Lieutenant (JG) Maenad Panne
Chief Science Officer, SSC
USS Galileo

Lieutenant (JG) Liyar
Diplomatic Officer, VDF/SDD
USS Galileo

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