A Casual Chat

Posted on 05 Feb 2015 @ 2:12am by Seleya Qellar Ph.D. & Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D.

1,950 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: USS Galileo - Deck 4, Multi-Purpose Laboratory Alpha
Timeline: MD42 - 10:00hrs

[ ON ]

Seleya had been working calmly at her research station for a good five minute since entering the room. They were both aware of one another's presence, of course, but despite spending what seemed like every waking moment her life for the past few years searching for the very man that currently occupied the space with her, she was in no rush to tip her hand. She was the embodiment of grace and composure, like the still surface of an alpine lake.

She leaned forward against the console to get a better look at the sensor data she was observing - a detailed analysis of the disease resilience of a minor grass on Celon II - and finally decided to speak up. Her voice was measured, reserved, and, as ever, carried the faintest note of disdain.

"I thought I heard you were posted to this ship. You certainly get around."

"Mmm..."

Oren was sitting at his own console, his back turned to her. After weeks of evading Qellar, he felt tired and worn from looking over his shoulder all day. Hours ago, Oren had signed in to the ship once more, officially finishing his shoreleave and alerting Seleya of his presence.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" he replied calmly, his own voice as calm as if speaking to an old friend. Years ago, that's exactly what he would've been doing.

"I know many things," Seleya admitted, carefully. She recalled a similar scene many years ago in the Romulan Star Empire: two researchers sharing a space in the dusty research colony on Al'Asayan. But things were different then, much different. "I'm a resourceful individual. Then again, aren't we both? And haven't we always been?"

"Some longer than others," Oren said, a note of warning brushing against his tone as he glanced over his shoulder at her. Seleya felt like a shadow of her former self to Oren, cautious and reserved rather than the ambitious, lively girl he'd once cared for.

She heard him turn and leaned back from her observation of the sensor data. It was a controlled movement, like something one might expect to see if danger was afoot. Seleya had never considered Oren to be particularly dangerous - if anything, he seemed to be almost completely harmless - but she'd spent so much of her life looking for danger that it could seem to take form almost anywhere. Eventually, sensing no more movement, she relaxed and turned in her seat to face the back of his head.

"Yes, but we don't all have such a luxury, do we? I recall my complete surprise upon finding out. Fifty years old, twice my age, hidden in the body of someone seemingly my junior. At first, it shocked me. But eventually I think I was more surprised by being surprised than anything else. Even in those days it took a lot. But I suppose if you reflect on it anyone would be surprised to find out someone is not who they appear to be; I know it's worked to my advantage on more than one occasion."

Hearing her turn, Oren did the same, finally meeting her eyes. She certainly had changed, he observed as his eyes took in her appearance but her body language even more so. She was guarded, as if expecting Oren to pounce at any moment. He tilted his head as he watched her every move, not saying anything for the moment.

Seleya observed him likewise, noting that virtually nothing about him had changed. In fact, except for all the Federation equipment and her own aging, they could be right back in that lab on Al'Asayan. How could someone live for decades and always look the same? Except... Except for the eyes. There was something different there. Experience? Pain? Trauma? A decided lack of happiness and fulfillment? She snorted at her own thoughts, wondering briefly if she was looking into his eyes or her own.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He knew that they were both very aware of the exact circumstances that led to them being in that room together, more than twenty years after their first meeting. But, of course, neither would actually say it.

"I like your hat," Oren suddenly said, his eyes falling from the accessory don't to meet Seleya's eyes.

Seleya's lip curled slightly, as if he'd made some incredibly audacious statement. She analyzed every word of it - I...like...your...hat - and wondered at its meaning. It was a nice hat, but their relationship was way beyond petty compliments and small talk. They had no use for wasting their breath like that. She gathered he liked her hat because she never wore hats in her youth, at home. It was a different time, a different place, and a different Seleya. But could it be some commentary on why she was wearing the hat? Could he, through empathy and long-experience, be perceptive enough to identify her need for it?

"Thank you."

"It really accentuates your skin tone," Oren pointed out, his expression still pleasant and relaxed. From where he stood, most would mistake the woman for a Human, perhaps a Betazoid if they were feeling particularly creative. But under certain lighting, her flawless complexion had an unmistakable emerald tint to it. It made her look more regal in Oren's eyes, almost ethereal.

"I make an effort to be coordinated," Seleya said, crossing her legs and smoothing out the fabric of her dress. Thus far she'd managed to avoid wearing the civilian uniform on board the ship, likely because she'd also managed to avoid Lieutenant Commander Stace since their unpleasant encounter. "You're looking...youthful. It's nice to see you've held up so well after all this time. One might have expected some wear and tear, given your lifestyle, but your skin remains flawless. Curious, isn't it? The genetic secrets to defy the most immutable force in the universe..."

Oren smirked, but deep down he didn't appreciate her comment. Six years spent sharing close quarters, Oren was aware that Seleya may know his better than even Pieter as far as the Galileo crew was concerned. He definitely didn't like the idea of someone who didn't like him knowing him best. Luckily, he was certain she didn't like him knowing her either.

"Careful, Kelly." The name was a bit of a low blow, Oren knew. A reminder of their past when Oren, bright eyes and awkward, couldn't pronounce Romulan well enough to save his life and repeatedly butchered Seleya's last name over and over until he finally declared to just call her Kelly. Much to young Seleya's dismay. Later on, even when Oren's language skills improved to the point of fluency, the moniker had stuck, more as term of endearment for her.

"Your mad scientist is showing," he warned.

Seleya almost rose to take the bait and managed only at the last minute to fully maintain her composure. She knew that he knew that she hated the nickname, hated all nicknames. They carried an implication of familiarity and informality, even where it was crystal clear none should exist. Like here, in this lab, between two people staring one another down like enemies on their respective sides of a mutually agreed upon border.

Morever, the 'mad scientist' was an insulting implication, and one he knew she could never quite shake off. She wasn't exactly extreme in her approach, given some of the truly mad people in the galaxy, but she was unorthodox and relentless in her approach. It was enough that someone might be tempted to rightfully call her mad, though she considered herself to be saner than most.

"Clearly you've been spending too much time with these insufferable humans," she said, declining to elaborate. They were almost universally juvenile, jovial to the point of being unbearable, and had an annoying tendency toward sarcastic humor. "If you'd had any sense, you would have stayed in the Empire."

"Strange," Oren replied, his hands resting serenely in his lap. "You had that sense and, yet, here we both are." Deep down, Oren sympathised with the Romulans' loss of home world but, unlike most of his kind, he felt no personal sympathy. To him, the loss of El Auria and Romulus were at the same level of tragedy. Sad, but something that happened to someone else.

"Besides, I don't think staying on A'Asayan was doing my health any favors."

The commentary on Romulus was a deep cut, though her controlled nature didn't crack. Inwardly, she briefly relived the experience of losing virtually everything overnight - her career, her family, her cultural identity, her entire nation - but she would never given someone like Oren Idris the satisfaction of knowing the depth and freshness of that wound. Instead, she took her eyes off him and tugged at the hem of her skirt while smiling. To anyone entering the room in that moment, she would have looked like a pleasant, friendly, well-dressed woman.

"Oh, it wasn't all that bad, was it? You're still alive, after all, and in good health if the scans are any indication."

On the outside, Oren smiled nonchalantly. "I hope you got my good side," he said. On the inside, he was more than a little unnerved at her having such ready access to him.

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything otherwise, dear," Seleya said, staring directly at him. "So, have you enjoyed your time aboard this vessel? You seem to have made quite the impression on the crew that I've spoken with. It warms my heart to see you've maintained your irrepressible charm." For a moment, she appeared concerned and tilted her head ever so slightly to the side. "Tell me, do they know?"

Oren narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his mind immediately on alert. "What?"

"Why, who you are, of course. Who you were. What you are. What you have been," Seleya said, feigning shock as she sat back in the chair. Her actions seemed to indicate she thought the answer to the question had been self-evident and provided a good cover for her bitterness. "Or are you the same Oren, making the same mistakes with just a change of scenery?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Oren said. All of the playfulness and underhanded politeness had rushed out of his tone. Immediately, as his voice echoed in Oren's ears, he knew she'd won this round. After the events of the last few days, he was in no state to battle wills with someone like Seleya. A graceful retreat was his only option.

Seleya's lips stretched and drew upward extremely slowly. She wanted to enjoy the feeling from the movement of the muscles, one pulling the skin taut, another guiding the shifting of her lips, until she was smiling. It was a smile of triumph: smug, arrogant and self-satisfied. It gave her a warm feeling, especially after recent less-than-pleasant encounters with Stace and Benice. That she relished it so much probably said a great deal about her, none of it flattering.

"I'm sure you don't," she replied politely, nodding her head as if she was accepting his defeat as gracefully as he'd conceded it. Finally, she turned away from her colleague and swiveled back to her console, pretending to busy herself with sensor data again. But when she spoke, the smile was still in her voice. "Perhaps this ship will be an opportunity to start over - for both of us."

[OFF]

Oren Idris, Ph.D.
Archaeologist/Anthropologist
USS Galileo

Seleya Qellar, PhD
Biotechnologist
USS Galileo
[ PNPC - Mott ]

RSS Feed