[Lt. Zephyr Praise | Time to Remember | Making Memories | First Dates | No Awkwardness]
He seemed pleased, by the fact that she had been a raging tomboy as a child. Of course, Zephyr loved dresses and getting pretty as much as the next girl, but when she had her choices she preferred dirt under her fingernails, grass stains on her pants, and a wealth of work done. It was the right way to be and Zeph had always been fairly true to herself. When Ethan had crushed her heart, she had decided not to hide herself any longer, not that she really had but she realized how dependent on him she had become. Now, without him, she had built herself up from the group upwards and found out that she didn't need a man beside her for anything, it was just that she wanted to share her life with someone when possible. It was nice to have someone there to talk to, to vent to, to cuddle with, to share experiences with. She didn't need it, but she liked it.
She already knew his name, but the fact that he had no middle was sad. However, he was kind enough to tell her that his mother had wanted a middle name but ultimately didn't go with it. A small smile crossed her face because Zephyr knew that she would probably use it anyway when he wasn't behaving. There were many times she had to bring him back to normal because he was in over himself too much. He had been named after his Uncle even though his Uncle had hated it. She was glad that they hadn't named him Khorvan, it wouldn't have fit him at all. She couldn't imagine him being called anything other than Khorin, and even then most of the time she called him Khor at least when he was being good.
"I, for one, am glad you're not called Khorvan." she chuckled softly.
His mother was human and his father, Klingon. He has a half brother who was the trouble maker of the family. She smiled softly, wondering how precious little Khorin would have been. He probably would have been amazingly cute, with his little ridged forehead, and his little angry tantrums when things didn't go his way. He loved to go to the beach when he was little, but he never swam because he was too dense. Zeph answered that with a wry smile, and he assured her he didn't mean fat. Causing the young Betazoid to laugh whole heartedly for a moment as they continued their dancing. The song ended but their food hadn't even been delivered yet and so they continued to dance. He inquired about which Zeph came first and she smiled.
"Well it wasn't the doctor, that came a few years later. I knew I wanted to be a Botanist at a young age and that was what I did. Despite people thinking it was a useless science there is so much more to life .. to science than technology. So I did that for a while. I was with a guy .. his name was Ethan. Thom introduced us back in the Academy and we had been dating a long time. Some.. things happened.. and I decided to change my course."
Her voice at the end had been filled with sadness that she didn't really know if it was good to talk about here on a date especially with a man that would probably hunt the universe for the asshole that had hurt her so deeply she had thought some very bad thoughts for a while. Softly they continued to move, the music played around them, and Zeph pushed the thoughts of Ethan and his being a prick to the back of her mind again. "So, I decided to go back to the Academy, to train myself to utilize Medicine and Botany together. I also had some ideas of hybridizing some plants after a horrible and scarring laboratory incident. But, I wanted to study how I could turn the plant cells into human cells to mimic the human in need of healing and so forth." she told him softly with a shrug. "So Doctor Praise was second." she chuckled.
"How did you know you wanted to fly? When was the first time you just.. knew that was what you wanted to do?"
Last post by BZ -
[LCdr Blue Tiran | Foolish Fuckery | We Strike for More Gummies! | Bring Me the Colorful Bears or I'll Fucking Hack Your Shit! | Don't Leave, I'm Threatening You!]
No new gummies. No more booze.
Blue watched the back of the Security officer fading down the hallway and called him as many bad names as her drunken mind could come up with. "You fucking mother fucker! Your mother gave birth to you in a piss pot that stank of three day old shit. That's why you're face is so fucking nasty!"
If the man heard her, all she got in response was a laugh anyway, and she wasn't actually being truthful, but she was mad he wouldn't help the two of them having any more fun. With a large pout Blue threw her head on Cross' shoulder again snuggling in as though it was a pillow even though the skinny Vulcan fucker didn't have much padding she would make do with what she had. He began to ask if she remembered what they had done with the useless fucking space waste on her deck. A grin slowly crossed her lips as she thought back to all the fucking beauty of knowing that until that fucker figured it out he would be showing up to work with his shirt inside out. And she was so fucking going to ream him for that. This was going to be an ongoing affair and it would be beautifully brilliant. It wasn't the initial pay off, on this particular prank, which gave her the thrills, but the longevity of being able to stretch it out for a while afterwards.
"That fucker deserves it. I should have put some tracking shit on him so that I can find out where the fucker goes to take his little naps." she grumbled, knowing that that fucker and Stevens disappeared all the fucking time and the shit list they needed to get done didn't get done.
"If there are two fuckers I'd like to lose from my fucking deck it's that fucker and Stevens." Blue said each word almost a curse in it's own right just from the tone of her voice.
Blue and Cross were taking rides in turbolifts. Racing across decks from one lift to another, all over the ship. As soon as the door opened they were in and the first stop they were out and running through the ship. Pelting each other with gummy bears and leaving a trail of crushed sugar bear guts all over the carpeting as they laughed themselves silly. Blue sometimes wished that she had her marker back because she could draw some more awesome artwork about Cross' love for V, (really, it had to be known), but she didn't and so they played their game of cat and mouse. Turbo after turbo, they road in them, laughing and shoving bears in their mouths. At one point one of the Civilian officers stepped on board, and Blue giggled crazily.
"Man, that chick had a lot of tattoos." Blue said as she leaned back remembering zyrao.
"You licked her!" Cross burst out laughing.
"I did not! You mother fucker, I just checked to see if she was just one of those people that likes to draw on theirselves. Shut up you fucker."
"You got the hots for Tats!" Cross teased and began singing some stupid made up song about Blue liking ink and how he was going to tell Ducote her secret so he could get some until Blue clamped her hand over his mouth.
"You want me to tell the boys out front you need a visit from your friendly neighborhood handjob? Because.. you're starting to look a little fucking pasty Cross, you might need medical attention. She'll have to check you everywhere." she grinned as she watched him shake his head. "Good boy."
For a long moment the two of them sat together, side by side, resting against one another and silence descended. It was kind of odd, and Blue felt as though her eyes were growing heavy as the booze that she had consumed began to lay waste to her small body. Only it was Cross that spoke again a moment later bringing her eyes to snap back open. "Hey do you think the Wolf has had her shower yet?"
Blue didn't even answer she just burst out laughing.
The two of them swirled around in his office chairs laughing as they did spinning contests to see who could spin the longest. His legs were longer, but hers were stronger, so it was a pretty good competition. On the wall across from his desk were a long line of gummy bears. Blue for her, Green for him, and the blue line was equal with the green.
"Do you remember how tight the crawl space was?" Cross asked in a whisper.
"Mother fucker I work in those fucking spaces often." she said without moving her head from his shoulder.
"But it's kinda pretty in there. All the colors."
"You're such a fucking romantic. It's just wires and shit." she reminded.
"But, pretty!" he reminded.
The crawl space was tight, but neither of them had much extra weight on them to worry about. As they slid across the metallic floor supported by the ceiling beams of various Quarters, they giggled and drug the gummy bear bag along. Occasionally stopping for a snack. Still, they finally stopped and Blue put down her PADD.
Isel padded across her quarters, the clawed feet of her Natural form making almost no sound as she made her way to the head. She'd had a decent day, all told. Hit the gym, had a drink in the lounge, had a good laugh at some highly intoxicated morons who also happened to be senior officers.
==Isel written by Fife, and Zyrao written by me.==
[ Lt. JG Izar Bila | Bellow Desk Lounge| Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
@Juzzie @Nolan @DaValle @lisavw
Oh boy. Bila knew better than anyone else when people tried to look more confident than they really felt. Not that Rhys was giving a particularly brilliant performance on the matter in any case, if he was honest with himself. The human seemed to be agitated and so frightened that he seemed able to jump out of his own skin if Bila or anyone else in the room pushed him in any way. He wasn't sure if it was fear, nervousness, or something inherent in the counselor. He wasn't even sure if he had triggered that reaction with his words or if the brief conversation had just added more fuel to a fire that was already blazing within the human male, but the fact was that Bila seemed to make him uncomfortable in some strange fashion. It was something that couldn't keep worsening. After all, Rhys was the host of that meeting and Bila was a social butterfly. Clearly he would never manage to make Williams become the soul of the party, but he was going to make sure that the human, at least, felt at ease in the meeting he had arranged. By the Prophets, he sure would. Unconsciously, the hybrid raised his hands to touch the d'ja pagh that adorned his right ear. The delicate chain on the earring jingled musically with the little gesture.
Meanwhile, Rhys was praising him for his lack of squeamishness with regard to therapy. A hearty laugh erupted from the hybrid's chest at the statement. "Williams, I assure you that someone who has become a citizen of the UFP as a refugee after the camp and everything else has had to deal with counselors enough times to throw away any fear about deal with therapists" he teased him a little. "Leaving aside the slim chance I had to find a counselor of my father's specie," he continued somewhat more seriously but never letting the smile leave his lips. "I think I know better than anyone else when to ask for help. I' ve never understood that reluctance to do so, the mere fact to have around professionals who have decided to dedicate their lives to trying to solve other people' problems is a blessing from the Prophets in my opinion. You should be proud of the career you have chosen." He flattered him. "Your patients, however, should be grateful for that decision," he added, winking at him in complicity.
BAD OMENS, WORST BUSINESS.
March 25, 2381
Jahak pressed the case against his chest, leapt forward and ran even faster. The hybrid knew that he didn't look like a particularly swift, he was lanky, aparently starving, bookworm-like person who obviously had a deep need of a week's worth of hot meals in order to operate as he was supposed to. However, those who thought like that about him were utterly wrong. If there was one thing that Jahak excelled at outside the intellectual field, it was his ability to FLEE. The hybrid had found himself running away more times than he would have wanted to and he was an EXPERT in the matter. That was why he ran several meters ahead of his partner in crime, tracing the route that, hopefully, would get them out of that tricky situation. As long as none of them stumbled and dropped the suitcases they were carrying (which would reduce a few city blocks, at the very least, to a toxic wasteland and wipe them and their pursuers off the map) and as long as their persecutors didn't reach them.
The Orion were still quite far from his partner when Jahak looked over his shoulder, but they were considerably closer than they had been the last time he spotted them. "I knew it, I KNEW you were trouble," he snarled at the woman who was on his heels. "After all those years of listening to the bird-brain stories I should have KNOWN that behind all that nice and friendly and... whatever façade you have, your mere presence means TROUBLE," he grumbled bitterly. It was unfair. He knew it. The woman wasn't to blame for the fact that EVERYTHING had gone SO badly. The folks who had agreed to the trade with were as fishy as one could ever picture. And maybe, just maybe, he had also played a part in making that deal go as poorly as it had. Just a little bit. Just a tiny little bit, just something marginally noteworthy. At the end of the day NOBODY could blame him, he had only tried to save the situation as best he was able.
However, before he could say anything else, the hybrid stumbled. His heart halted in his chest as he staggered forward, clinging to the case as if his life was in it. Because, in fact, his LIFE was in it. Jahak stumbled, rushed, swayed from side to side, and finally, after a few terrifying seconds, he regained his balance. Safe. For the moment. The hybrid leaked air between his clenched teeth and endeavored to keep running, THIS TIME without looking back. At least not until he was sure he wouldn't stumble again...
Bila sipped his infusion loudly and leaned comfortably against the back of his chair. It was a drink of clearly unpalatable quality but it was obviously the best that that neighborhood could offer him. It was one of the most impoverished quarters of Aldea Prime far from the areas where pure-blood Aldeans, Klingons, and the myriad of alien visitors to the system frequented. This district was populated primarily by Gestalts, Orions, and people who were obviously not experiencing their finest hour. The hybrid knew from experience the face of the misery, poverty, and the questionable deals one engages in when life is at stake and there is little to lose. He recognized the elusive glances, the way people leaned forward pretending not to be interested in other people, the stares over one's shoulder looking for someone who could follow their footsteps. It was all too familiar, too close to his past experience... and it made the scales that ran down the sides of his neck bristle a bit.
Last post by Griff -
[PO3 Lillee t'Jellaieu | Main Shuttlebay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Stegro88
Lillee knew better than to say anything more. She didn't even know what to say, It was deeply off-putting to actually meet a hybrid, a child of a slave. Samala was so rebellious, so lacking of deferrence to her superior, so different to what one might expect given her heritage. Few Romulans liked to think about that dark aspect of the Empire, after all. It was all neatly set aside, far from the gleaming cities on the capital or the countless beautiful worlds that made up the Empire. How did one deal with someone who despised Romulans so much? And with such good reason?
The answer was logical, if irritating: it wasn't Lillee's place to do so. Thus she simply left the shuttlecraft, walking (and not quickly either, no need to appear to be fleeing) past the other shuttles to the bay exit. Her back ached, but nevertheless, Lillee's thoughts were disturbed. She was annoyed by the girl's unthinking threat; what kind of fool needlessly attacked someone like that? But her reasons, her past...what was a girl like that even doing on the Theurgy? Why stay?
If she hated Romulans so much, could Samala hunt her down in the days to come? Walking to Sickbay, that thought burned Lillee's blood. It was, she was forced to admit, not impossible. The girl was on a hair trigger. It would be insane, and she'd be caught, but it would hardly matter if Lillee was dead by then.
No. Avoid the fool girl and continue about life. With luck, nothing more would come of the incident. If not...well, Lillee would simply have to sleep with a dagger. Just to be sure.
[PO2 T'Kolla | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @BZ @Brutus
The longer the conversation took the more uncertain the Petty Officer got. After some years living among them, he was completely aware of the fact that Starfleet Officers had some sort of natural issue with authority, but nevertheless to see such a difference by two commanders aboard the same ship was... something new for him. Even the Interceptors crew had some sort of unspoken chain of command between Officers of the same rank.
Commander Stark answered his question first and told him that he should probably not kill the quartermaster and despite that this option was available the Devore hadn't planed to do it. He just thought that using such an expression would maybe break the metaphorical ice. Anyhow the human Commander obviously knew how to handle such kind of situation and simply requested the PADD in the hand of the Devore. "Of course, Ma'am." He handed the PADD over and Stark loaded something down on it. After some moments he got it back and Stark informed him about rank privilege and that he should talk to someone called Savali if he had still some problems or needs. "Alright, Ma'am. I'm sure I'll not border Mister Savali, but good to know just in case."
His attention snapped back from Stark to Blue the moment she started her next volley of curses. In the end of that the human Commander explained her attitude a little bit to the Devore. That again wasn't expected by Taa'gur in that moment. Thus far nobody of his superiors has tried to explain themselves or their attitude and only to be a little bit more blunt and rash than the normal Starfleet Officer wasn't actually enough to shock the Devore. "Alright, Ma'am. I'll just pick my stuff up and bring it to my quarter." Then he straightened himself and saluted while saying a short "Ma'am." to either of the Commanders in the office.
Last post by fiendfall -
[ CPO Morgan Song | Engineering -> Bridge | IKS Kut'luch ] Attn: @Stegro88 @Numen @BZ @RyeTanker
The ship jerked beneath his feet as they were hit again -- dammit, he'd not been done with the shields! They'd absorbed much of the hit but not all, and were now completely drained; when they started to recharge, they got stuck at 5%. Too little power spread too thin. If the ship was hit again, it'd take nearly full damage.
No time to try and deal with that, though: the captain wanted him on the bridge. For what, he couldn't help wondering. Varnac was already down one man in Engineering and now almost everything was broken and needed urgent fixes. What could he do on the bridge that he couldn't do better down here?
But it wasn't his place to wonder. Clearly there were repairs to be made, and the captain knew his ship better than Morgan did. He just... Engineering was the most familiar place on this ship, he didn't much fancy... But he was being stupid.
'I'll be back as soon as I can,' he said to Varnac, pointlessly; the Klingon waved him off with a grunt that could have been acknowledgement or just as easily could have been 'I never want to see you again, idiot'. Morgan opted to believe it was the former.
He left Engineering for the dimly-lit Klingon corridors of the ship, focusing on moving quickly and Not Thinking about anything in particular beyond the fact that if he didn't get whatever it was needed fixing done they'd probably all die in space and none of it would matter anyway. So quickly now, Chief.
Reaching the bridge, he was just in time to see Lieutenant Praise threaten the captain. Wait, what? He knew Klingons did things differently, but like she'd said, Praise was Federation, this was hardly... Well. This wasn't his place either. After a second of standing stunned in the doorway, Morgan remembered himself and followed directions to the damage. It was hardly his job to gawk at his superiors.
The bridge control systems were on the fritz -- explained why he was needed up here, at least, although the damage seemed to be relatively minimal. Maybe? It was hard to tell with Klingon tech. This was so far out of his line of experience... He just had to follow his instincts, get stuck in, and hope he wasn't making it all worse.
Bila stretched the hem of his jacket for the umpteenth time, trying to keep the garment correctly in place as it moved across the Promenade. However, the garment was determined to make that brief trip to the surface into a living hell, out of some bizarre textile conspiracy over some crime against fashion that he had committed years ago. Not only did the hybrid feel uncomfortable and awkward about the odd shape of the Cardassian outfit, but it, far from fitting his body, made him look even taller and more slender, converting him into a sort of grey and annoyed depiction of the grim reaper. Furthermore, for some unknown reason, the garment was itchy, and it was causing rashes in places where the chemist NEVER thought they would appear. All this made him feel unsociable and cranky, and he just wished he could finish that off as soon as possible and get rid of that fiendish garment. A part of him had begun to realize why Parnak seemed to live in a perpetual state of anxiety and grumpiness. Probably his clothes made his life as miserable as it was for the hybrid at the time.
At least the day was lovely, and the temperature surprisingly pleasant. The twilight sun warmed the few patches of skin that the wicked garment left in sight. It was nice to feel so warm after the permanent chill sensation that had always accompanied him on his space adventure. Yeah, the starships internal temperature had been adjusted to the needs of most of the humanoids on board, and of course, he wore the extra layer that the regulations required so as not be uncomfortable, but it was always that sensation that his face and hands were excessively exposed to some weird wintry environment. In contrast, Aldea resembled a resort town. Regardless of the itchy fabric and the reason he was there, Bila looked up and smiled, enjoying the pleasant afternoon and the leisurely atmosphere. He could get used to that.
The locals themselves also contributed to his peace of mind. Bila, unlike many of the other crew members, couldn't pose as an Aldean, but he had opted to pose as a half-Cardassian, originally from the Union, since it kept him away from involvement with Starfleet. The hybrid had only had to get rid of his earring and wear that annoying outfit to walk freely in the streets of Aldea Prime The Aldeans had not reacted the way Bila had feared. They hadn't exhibited suspicion or disgust or... anything that he had expected. He was simply another passerby, minding his own business. The shopkeepers had offered him their products, people had walked quietly by his side, immersed in their own affairs, in their lively conversations, in their peacefully wander. Bila was just an ordinary, faintly exotic-looking visitor, with his gray face and nose ridges, but neither threatening nor shady nor noticeable enough to merit a second glance. The chemist was just another face in the crowd and he was starting to enjoy the experience.
He was having so much pleasure in this, that for a few minutes he forgot why he had come down to the surface and the tracker that was buzzing silently in one of his trouser pockets. After a few minutes, however, the humming became so insistent that he had to take notice. Bila stepped away from the main avenue and into a small alleyway obscured by the adjacent buildings. He took the small device out of his pocket and switched it on, the light flashing like a beacon in the shadows of the small alley, blinded him briefly. Bila blinked a couple of times, as he got used to the dimness, narrowed his eyes and...
...of course he didn't hear her coming. Those damn Cardassian ears. She hit him, he lost his balance, the tracker flew out of his hands and rolled down to the main avenue where it got lost in the crowd's feet. Bila hissed, between pain and surprise. No, mostly in pain. What had bumped into him, a cannonball in humanoid form? The hybrid looked at the woman and yellow eyes stared back at him, surveying him with an intensity that claimed she could reduce him to ashes if she wished. Maybe she REALLY could do it.
"I... I'm ok. Mostly. Yeah," stammered the chemist as a reply to her inquiry, frightened out of his wits. He swallowed, mustered up some nerve, and tried to speak again. For her part she seemed more interested in peeking into one of the bags hanging over her chest. "I-I was looking for you, I..." he started to say before the words died on his lips. Bila looked over the woman's shoulder and frowned his eyeridges. He raised a hand and pointed to something over the woman's side. "Em-uh-- those are your friends? Because they don't seem very friendly," he mused as he recoiled slightly and tried to get back on his feet. "By the Prophets what were you..."
[ Y'Lev | Divine Delights Bathhouse/Brothel | Red Light District | Ibai Besi Promenade | Aldea Prime] @fiendfall
That was perhaps the best word he could find to describe the situation he was immersed in, a grimace on his face all the while, the circumstances unraveling into a downward spiral that only drew further and further from what he would have expected their confrontation to be. Such breeziness; it was almost Human like. No urgency to her words or actions, no real concern in her face, no twist of anxiety in her tone, as though the stockpile of problems awaiting her was all beneath her... Not quite how it ought to be.
But that was perhaps the thing he found the most curious. There was nothing untoward about her. Yet at the same time, everything was just inexplicably wrong, every single thing about the whole situation.
She spoke... Oddly... Addressing him as 'darling' and 'kitten' as she teased him and flicked her hair all over his face as she turned to stroll back to her office, a rancid little sweatbox that was begrudgingly causing him to miss the comfort of his climate controlled quarters upon the Theurgy. Her green hands pawed at his face and neck temptingly, but the force of her warmth upon his bare torso was designed to promote distance; her gestures conflicted, they presented a lie to him on a silver platter... Only, he could not identify which was the lie.
As he still choked at the stagnant air of the sweatbox, she had already poured herself a drink and reclined onto her cushion swathed bed, as though she were dealing with some Adisian governor whom she could beguile with her allure... She afforded him not the slightest modicum of respect; unthinkable, given the circumstances she was in... And to top off the affront, her oafish slave accompanied them into the room, as if some brutish half-wit 'muscle' had any right to be privy to anything that either of them had to say.
Nothing she did was behaviour befitting a member of the Syndicate, least not one who had a permanent stationing on a planet... To achieve those sorts of promotions and patronages from one's superiors, there was a certain attitude that one needed to foster. This woman before him behaved more like a celebrity, someone on a holovid advertising shampoo or perfumes or the latest narcotic craze... There was nothing specific lacking to her... Yet he also understood that there was something fundamentally off about her...
The woman before him had just botched a kidnapping on a Starfleet officer, yet she behaved as though she'd spent her morning out on a sunny veranda, basking in the supple summer glow as she sipped on cocktails. Perhaps she was unaware of the Catian's status as a Starfleet officer? That made it slightly more palatable as a blunder, he supposed... Or perhaps she assumed his gender meant that his rank would be superseded by hers on default? That she was one of those bitter crones who believed that males only served to be manipulated by their 'betters'? He had to fight off a snort.
If that was the case, she was both archaic, and despicable.
Whether it was that she believed her issues to be trivial if a man had come to collect her punishment for them. Or perhaps it was simple confidence beyond her means? Or even narcissism to the point that she was incapable of realising her own inadequacy? He almost snorted again. It was objectively clear that he was vastly superior to her on all accounts.
Yet she continued toying with him. And as much as he desired to slip a blade somewhere deep into her chest cavity... He had a niggling instinct in his gut to continue the game...
So when he replied to her, he glanced deliberately over his shoulder, looking pointedly at the oaf of a bodyguard who lingered in the doorway to the room. Y'Lev didn't feel even moderately threatened by the brute; he'd still have been happier if he had been armed to the teeth with bioweapons, but he still expected that the green chunk of muscle would put up less fight than a Deltan with an eating disorder.
"Boring?" He questioned her with a lilted tone of voice, before performing a half-grand gesture back towards the door to the office that she'd led them into. His disapproval for her description of him, in light of the ramshackle attempt at an establishment she'd been running, went without saying. "Remind me to aquaint you with a Human proverb advising not to throw stones in houses made of glass..."
He allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, pacing towards a cabinet lining one of the walls of the room and pretending to admire a soft glass bottle containing a pale blue liquid with concern in his brow.
"I truly hope that this isn't Andorian Ale of all things..." He posed a look of dire concern in her direction. "You are aware that you're not living in a Risan Fraternity? I suppose this, fragrant, aroma, might be confusing." He twirled his finger into the air as he spoke, whimsically insulting her as he bought himself time to think... Stabbing her bodyguard in the throat would be possessed of a delightfully dramatic flair... But it ran the risk of not ending in the death of his actual target. He fought off a slight grimace. How dry... "But in the interest of getting on with it, I suppose we should address your little hiccup with the Catian... Word travels so very fast on back -planets like this, I'm surprised that the Aldean authorities aren't already at your door. Perhaps your receptionist bored them to death with a litany detailing your establishment's sercives..."
He granted himself another humoured chuckle. That, was an especially amusing jab. He considered keeping one of those Starfleet 'logs'.
"In all seriousness, a botched slave-taking isn't a stellar first impression..." He strolled lithely forwards, gesturing to himself tamely as he spoke, deciding to play the part of a disappointed Syndicate representative trying to make light of the situation. "But I'm willing to overlook it... Might even help you salve your reputation, if you haven't already reported it to your superior?"
It was definitely bait. If she had reported it, he was in dire circumstances...
He brought a slender green digit up to his lips, distractingly toying with them as he anxiously awaited her response.
Last post by Argyros -
[ LT JG Derik Veradin | Public Baths | Deck 06 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Sqweloookle
[Show/Hide]"Who says I want them back?" He started. "I like to give my partners the opportunity to get up nice and close. Let them do a thorough..." The hand on in his hair trailed over the back of his head, finger tips softly pressing into the skin as his hand moved down onto his neck, "...inspection...." that same hand came over his collar bone onto the trail of spots along the right side, "...of anywhere they might want to explore." He ended the enticing statement by pushing the side of the over his crotch to the side a little. Not enough to expose what was between his legs but enough to expose the faint line of spots moving toward his visibly pulsating organ under the cloth.
"Perhaps they might want to touch..." Veradin dragged his nails gently up his right thigh, "or to taste..." He flourished the last word, making it even more of an offer. Cmon big guy. Get over here and take a peek. I'm waiting. The towel on his groin was starting to slip from all the activity going on down there, barely holding on because Derik's leg was still pushing up against it. "What about you? How do you like to kick off festivities?"