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Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
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There was a solid law in nature, that every force required an opposing one. As there was a law in life, that every ounce of happiness bred the potential for an equal measure of sorrow. That with every inch it lifted you off the ground, elevated you into the spiritual ecstasy of bliss, it brought you an inch closer to falling to your ultimate demise. Such was the principle that ruled mortal existences. Something that had only become clear, once the precipice of contentment numbed your senses to the impending shift, and your being only realized the fall once the frigid claws of hell drew around you, pulling you close, and into the abyss. It was the kind of stain on your soul, like ink dripping on white parchment, that could not be eradicated, but glossed over with more darkness. A guarded demeanor, a coat of arms, or sorts, that shielded you from further defilement. But such resistance too, was worn away on the brimstone of time, laying bare the frail sheets of vellum, that made up your essence of being. And just as the daemons that drew you into the deep, this too crept up on you without warning, until one fateful day you realized, you were as vulnerable as you’d ever been.

Which wasn’t a revelation anyone would’ve been inclined to share voluntarily, giving the enemy the key to the secret passage into their stronghold. Let alone the plucky blonde, whose entire career had been built on coaxing forth that kind of disclosure from her enemies, all while keeping her own walls strong and sturdy. A career that had trickled into her life like molten glass, caking over her softer pastures with scorching eagerness, covering everything in smooth crystal. Melding together the person she was, and the one duty needed her to be, while snuffing out that spark that had made her an individual with needs and dreams. But that sort of armor too was brittle and shattered easily at the succinct application of pressure just in the right way. Another illusion of strength and security, that in itself was nothing more than deceptive bedevilment, by one’s own mind. It was the kind of ailment that needed remedy, but also the kind that eluded common sense and motivation. To the point even of defying any attempts at resolution.

Which was why Samantha had walked away from her first psychological appraisal few days prior, and to a lesser extent because of the company that she had found there. Not only eluding the Assistant Chief Counselor but revelations of uncomfortable nature as well. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe her stronghold couldn’t skillfully deflect the most astute of interrogation, but even the slightest chip at the obsidian walls of glass around her, heralded in a greater dread than the Valkyries of her own undoing. But even while her spiritual defiance was that of which legends were made, her real apprehension was squashed profoundly by the reality of duty, and the chain of command she was embedded in. So, as the summoning had shifted to a higher level of authority, she could not help but answer the call. That was how she had come to stand before the gates of Helheim now. Dreading the ethereal judgment waiting beyond the silvery sheaths. A woman whom she shared a cultural and biological bond with, that only furthered the blonde’s foreboding apprehension, in what deft sorcery Hathev would employ to break down her fortress.

Prompting the door panel to a chime, the diplomat straightened her shoulders and plucked at the hem of her uniform jacket, evocating whatever countenance she could, to strengthen her first line of defense, that perfectly groomed superficial vision of strength. Blue emeralds fell across the opening chasm, onto the chaise-lounge on the opposite side of the room. Perched upon like a baroque sculpture, the counselor herself, wrapped in the same blends of artificial fiber. Albeit with a differently colored tunic. The dichotomy hitting her like a heat flash, how in scenarios such as these the inquisitee, was supposed to take the devout position of vulnerable horizontality, under the watchful towering of one’s therapist. It certainly prompted Sam to cast measurable doubt, across her beautiful features, as to where this was heading. Not disregarding the possibility that whatever witchcraft was abrewing here, was specifically designed to put her at a disadvantage, in keeping up her defenses.

“Commander.” she heralded lightly, letting azure pools shift through the rest of the room to gauge the presence of support or backup. Yet, ultimately, that icy blue gaze fell back upon the Vulcan woman, her delicate features of subdued strength and inherent elegance. “Was there anything I could help you with?” her voice hesitant, the diplomat herself could not adequately gauge the significance of the moment. Which perturbed her, like touching upon the smooth surface of a dark pond, sending ripples across a reflection twisting into turmoil. The revelation on meaning disguised behind one’s own delusion, the blonde’s mind tiptoed around an admission to what turned out to be inevitable, no matter the struggle, no matter the urge to turn and run.

But that didn’t mean her mind could not play around just a little bit longer.

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #1 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust 

Hathev had been reading up on her next appointment when the chime to her quarters alerted her to the new arrival.  The Vulcan had found Lieutenant Foster’s report on the first attempt to be insufficient at first, but after reading the short report thoroughly and taking in her own observations of the patient, Hathev had come to understand that she was not one to willingly open up.  Whether from her training, her own innate nature, the way the Vulcna’s second in command in the counseling department had treated Rutherford, or perhaps some combination of the three, had caused her to close down, Hathev did not know.  Regardless, she would need to break through to her. 

She had been considering her options before the chime sounded and had decided that she would attempt to appeal to the Vulcan in the woman.  Even at only one quarter Vulcan, she would have a strong foundation in logic that would, if properly guided, lead Rutherford to the conclusion that her participation was necessary.  If that did not work, however, she would have to appeal to her emotional side and replace the carrot that was the logical conclusion, with a stick that would most certainly elicit an emotional reaction that would compel her compliance.  The latter option was, of course, the less favorable, but as one of the last dozen of the crew who needed their psych evaluation completed, and the only remaining member of the senior staff, the time for patience was coming to an inevitable conclusion.

She bade her visitor to enter, and the doors to her quarters parted on cue as her guest stepped in.  As Hathev had come to expect, the Diplomat presented herself impeccably. She was a picture of beauty by almost every definition, save perhaps for that of the Ferengi.  Her uniform, although fundamentally the same as that of every other crew member aboard ship struck Hathev as particularly clean and crisp and the Diplomat radiated a demeanor of confidence and control that Hathev would have come to expect from anyone who made a career out of the diplomatic arts.

Which told her that Lieutenant Commander Samantha Rutherford would not be an easy appointment.  The Vulcan was not herself a diplomat, of course, but over the decades, she had come to realize the art of diplomatic negotiations relied not just on the knowledge of what your own side was willing to agree upon, but also a sense of the psychology of the party sitting across the table.  What could you push for?  What could you potentially say that was untrue, that could get you closer to your goals?  What could you demand?  What were non starters?  How could a positive or negative rapport affect the willingness to negotiate. 

Hathev shifted in the chaise, letting her feet drop to the deck as she tried to sit upright enough to stand.  She had been released from sickbay for almost a day and a half now and the stiffness in her abdomen still gave her pause.  The wingback chair, the second piece of furniture Cross had helped Hathev replicate and place was a much more fitting place for her to be for this conversation.  The chaise, was far too informal.

“For now,” Hathev said in reply to Rutherford's query on how she could help, “I would welcome your assistance in helping me to stand as I am not yet fully recovered from my injuries and transitioning between seated and standing positions remains a challenge.”

OOC - Also tagging @Ellen Fitz given the reference to Cross.

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #2 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
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Sam was rather versant on the mechanics of prying one’s creamy caramel core from that shell of impenetrable hard candy. It was as much an institution in her own career, as it was in Andrew’s, and as it seemed, also that of the raven-haired counselor. The difference being that, in both intelligence and diplomacy, you were trying to break down an opponent’s façade, with peace and prosperity hanging in the balance. Whereas to her understanding that kind of deceptive force, was something akin to friendly fire, when employed against fellow officers and crewmen. There was no strategic advantaged to be gained from having her soul pour out like a sack of Halloween candy, dropped on a cold, wet sidewalk, for Hathev’s hungry hands to sift through it hoggishly, in search of that one little strawberry-pop.

Of course, she appreciated the woman’s duty in keeping the crew on the right side of crazy, helping those on the brink of eating their toothpaste, but there was no danger here. No imminent threat. And frankly, it seemed like an utter waste of both their time. So, in the grander spirit of deflection, the blonde deliberately kept playing along the precipice of courteous ignorance, feigning a sense of naivety in regards to her summons. To gauge how much she didn’t want to do this, right now, she was prepared to throw Fisher right in front of her, to distract the Vulcan’s feral compulsion to fix broken psyches. Surely that would give her enough time to jump ship and hire with an Orion property developer.

Manicured brows rose over azure moons, like delicate cirrus vapors, at the advent of an explanation. Though fluffy strips of vapor soon descended into proper rain clouds, as the woman continued. Knowing the temporary explanation as a measure of biding time, rather than an admittance to an entirely harmless reasoning. Like exchanging traditional Vulcan braiding techniques. And while that sounded downright dreadful, it would’ve been preferable to the iron jaws of reality. Thus, sucking in a deep breath through grinding teeth, the commander took a decisive step forward, as if stepping over an invisible threshold, reaching out to lift Hathev off the chaise lounge.

“I could …” Sam started out, her voice strained, before temporarily succumbing to a tense groan. “… I could quickly hop over to the nearest nurse’s station for something to help numb your …” ‘agenda’ was the word that teetered on her plump lips like a seesaw. Restrained by the gravity of her diplomatic schooling alone. “… ailments.” was the more diplomatic way of ‘hemming the hog’. Releasing the slender figure into a somewhat upright, yet slightly crooked position, the blonde took a step back, brushing her golden curls behind her ears. Rose petals brushed together, like evening dusk, eyes wide and pondering like a full moon over lush gardens, the woman looked at the other in abject silence, not befitting over either skill or eloquence.

Yet, as she even just attempted to turn to the door for a quick escape, Hathev chained her to the floor with her voice speaking up again confidently. Making the commander’s attempts look like nothing more than a gentle twitch towards the exit. A modicum of defeat and embarrassment visible on her delicate features, as blue eyes searched for a sense of concession, within that little stalemate they had going.

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #3 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust 

Hathev nodded in appreciation as Rutherford helped her to her feet.  Her patient did not seem to know what to do next, offering to help by heading over to the nurses station to acquire medication for her.  It was a kind offer for sure, but one shrouded in deflection and obfuscation.  Even so, Rutherford required somewhat of a more direct approach.

As she crossed the room, she noticed Rutherford turning as if to make for the door.

“That will not be necessary, Commander.  Please sit down and make yourself comfortable..”

She moved gingerly over to the replicator. 

“Vulcan tea, and…”

She paused and turned back to Rutherford.  “Something to drink?”

Turning back after her colleague gave her response, Hathev completed the requested to the replicator.

Carefully, the wounded Vulcan crossed back to the sitting area and served Rutherford, setting her order down on the coffee table.  Hathev set her own drink down on the tray set by the side of her seat and slowly lowered herself in.  It was perhaps more grandiose a statement to be sitting in a wingback armchair.  But considering her current state, the extra padding and support was a welcome relief.

“We both know why I’ve summoned you here, Commander,” Hathev said after a sip of her tea,  “I have had the next hour and a half of your schedule cleared so we may take care of this requirement.”

She paused for a moment, to let that settle with her.

“So, how have you been, Commander?”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #4 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
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There was a fable, in earth’s folklore, that described a woman, locked away in a high tower, deep within an enchanted forest, where no one could find her. And even if one could master the treacherous challenge through the cursed thicket, slay the demons and shadows within, they would still run into high walls with no doors or stairs, to lead the heroic champion into the sanctum of her chambers, unless she willed it so. At the last barrier of her charm and wit, conversation spun like cotton-candy spiderwebs, even the almost steadfast soul would be enchanted by her siren song into complacency, starving to death in utter bliss, at the feet of her ivory fortress. Bones piling up against the barbican like thorny underbrush. Only at the behest of her golden tresses, braided into a long rope, would anyone be allowed into the inner realms of her being. The most private refuge of her thoughts and emotions. Where all the memories and experiences of her life were cast against the walls of the rotunda, flickering past beams and brickwork like a nightlight, as she marveled over the torment in its midst.

Alone.

There was no accomplishment in letting her hair down for Commander Hathev, so to speak, as she stood there at the foot of her tower, wailing against the timbered masonry. In her career the blonde had gone through many an appraisal of her mental state, and never had it wielded any merit but the satisfaction of bureaucracy and a job well done, for whatever poor schmuck had been tasked to pry the vestiges of suffering, from her mind’s cold claws. An experience almost traumatic, in its own right. The effort ironic, against the backdrop of a far bigger plight, in the realm outside her mementos. Yet, if anything, the diplomat understood the call of duty, and how it posed almost a siren’s song itself, to whatever unsuspecting princess it enchanted. So to satisfy at least such a notion, the most she could do was stay put, at behest of the chief counselor, to see how she’d be able to squirm her way out of this, once more.

“Vulcan tea will be fine.” the blonde replied almost automatically, words dripping from plump lips like cogwheels from a production line. Yet the mere comment posed a far bigger dilemma than she had intended for it to. The other woman’s heritage not exactly being a secret, in her pointed ears and inclined brows, the officer in red was faced with the dichotomy of her position, against the stoic nature of her logical ancestry. A being trained on repressing the very notion she was tasked to understand and validate in others. Like a fish expected to understand the plights of a bird. When the most logical thing, not only in this very instance, would’ve been to sweep everything under the rug and move on with your head held high. Yet as it seemed, that mantra was far more natural seeming to the one-quarter Vulcan in the room, than the full-fledged one. But even as far as blocked passions and rational inclinations went, the diplomat had to withhold her passions, when faced with the meddling of her calendar and her duties, without prior consent. No matter how much Starfleet regulations officially inflated their shrinks’ authorities. 

“I see.” she replied pointedly, like a dagger stab in the dark, as blue eyes fell victim to a cover of lashes, atop plush petals of rosé brushing all that was left in pink vigor from moist pillows. Lowering her delicate frame into the tendered armchair, like silver poured into a mold, Sam crossed her legs gingerly, holding their precipice in place by the stranglehold of both hands, cupping her knee. Letting the last measure of words sink in, however, as if an echo on the desert winds, larimar ponds soon fixed their frozen sparkle on the visage of her counter, conveying all the defiance her stronghold keep could convey. After all, there was no case to be made if evidence could never be found.

“I have been most productive, Counselor.” the woman replied in the typical fashion of her part lineage. “How about you? I understand how irritating physical discomfort can be, even to a Vulcan. All that extra mental discipline necessary to keep going in an orderly fashion. Even more so with the added weight of a recent traumatic experience.” she narrated, a delicate segue around the previously proposed issue. “I am sure you have been evaluated to return to duty in full form, yet, and that your judgments are sound.” A daring glimmer, cast across the brim of a tea mug, as it dipped towards lush pillows of flesh, bedewing them with the bland flavor of steeped root. Revelling in the momentary comfort of her own requiem, the decadence of her own terms. None other refuge availing her.

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #5 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust‍ 


Throughout her career, Hathev had dealt with patients one might describe as ‘difficult’.  Hathev, of course, could recall each and every one of them, remember every word they ever spoke to her and recall every response she had offered in reply, but to bring them to her conscious memory would do a disservice to her duty in the here and now.  Even so, no matter how difficult and stalwart those patients had been in the past, it seemed that none would compare to the woman sitting in front of her.  In her experience, she might describe Lieutenant Commander Rutherford as wound up tighter than a Ferengi’s wallet.

As she had surmised earlier, Hathev concluded that this would take a form more closely resembling a diplomatic negotiation.  It would be a back and forth game of political chess wherein each side would give as little as they could while positioning themselves to gain as much as possible.  Yet despite her stoic nature, the Diplomat had very little leverage over the Counselor.  If she felt it necessary, Hathev would take her active duty and not even Captain Ives could intervene… at least not if s/he still cherished the Federation values and Starfleet regulations that Theurgy fought so hard to defend.

It would not come to that extreme, Hathev knew.  Even so, she was prepared for it.

Rutherfords answer was, as predicted, less than useful and the Vulcan was reminded of a mantra often repeated by one of her instructors at the academy.

While your first question may be the most pertinent, it is also likely the least relevant.*

This exchange here and now, Hathev’s question to Rutherford about how she was doing, and Rutherford’s response followed by the counter about Hathev’s own wellness and ability to do her duty amounted to little more than detente.  A human might liken it to ‘smoke and mirrors’, a metaphor intended to illustrate a diversion from the primary objective.

But in counseling, as in chess, as in diplomacy, opportunities arose wherein detente could be used to ones own advantage.

“You may rest assured, Comamnder, that if my evaluations did not permit me to return to duty, I would not be on duty.  My physical discomfort, while undesirable, is to be expected and thus not worthy of concern.”

Hathev took a sip of her own Tea and locked eyes with her patient.

“As to the trauma of my injuries,” she replied, “I am addressing those issues as needed.”

That would be all she would give on the topic.

“It is curious, however, that you would bring up the topic of trauma, given recent events.  Between the attack on Paris, the destruction of the Spearhead Lounge, and your various away missions into hostile Klingon holdings, both of which could be considered traumatic, to say nothing about anything else I might be omitting, it would be logical…and safe… to say you have seen more than your fair share of physical and psychological trauma.”

She paused to let that settle for a moment.

“It would be Illogical to assume these events had no psychological impact on you, would it not?”


OOC -  *Shamelessly paraphrased/hijaced from Matrix: Reloaded

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #6 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
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Probing interrogation, disguised as diligent concern, had been the whetstone of the diplomat’s approach to this very interaction. A way to deduce what she was up against without outright probing for an assessment. It dawned on her bright mind quickly that this specific instance was not one to be remedied with flamboyant prose and saccharine courtesy. Nothing short of a semblance of truth would suffice. And if that was what she wanted, then Samantha was going to pummel her with the truth, until she was going to wish for the gentility of insignificance to come back.

The blonde let her Vulcan counterpart’s words trickle into her like dew drops from a palm branch. The sweet nectar of life as if molten gold down into the depth of her mind. Hathev wasn’t wrong, of course, it was the logical way of assessing the situation. Just as much as it was her species’ – and in part Sam’s as well – prerogative to measure with different yard sticks, whenever it suited their individual logic. Letting larimar hues sink to the precipice of her legs, where they bent delicately at the knees, the commander endured the enumerations as if struck by a sudden deluge in a jungle deep. Ethereal drops of water dripping from lowered lashes as slices of peach squeezed back the sweet juice of dissent.

Readjusting her stance ever so slightly, hips grinding into the soft cushion of her seat like a pestle into delectable spice, the woman conjured up her own mixture of zest. So, as azure ponds met the counselor once more, frozen over with the determination of a slow-moving glacier, the faintest of smiles shaped rose petals into a curved blossom. “The extent of my psychological trauma is to be expected, considering the events you mentioned, is it not? A logical – manageable - reaction to the adversity and despair endured.” she answered succinctly, harkening back to a rather similar comment extended her way in reply earlier.

“Thus, it is not of concern either, not really.” Samantha shrugged, shuffling her thighs against each other, while plucking the smooth black satin of her uniform jacket back into place around her slender waist. Turquoise orbs trailing the room for a moment, before landing on Hathev once more, like a smith’s hammer on wrought iron. “Why not go back further? I lost my parents when I was twenty-two years old, my husband when I was twenty-six. I served Starfleet in the Dominion War … if you think anything that has happened recently is going to shake me up, you’re a few years late.” she replied coldly, logically.

“I understand the need for formality, why we have to entertain this rehashing of past events, but I implore you to be efficient and not dabble in mission log and personnel file trivia. We both have better things to do.” A gentle dip of her pate, indicating a truth of sorts, Sam reveled in a moment of silence, before letting plush lips part with a barely audible plop. “So, why don’t you go and ask the real questions.”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #7 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust

Hathev suppressed an emotional response to Rutherford’s comments.  She was not the first, nor would she be the last patient who assumed they could out think their counselors in the game.  Show they know how it ‘goes’ in order to indicate and imply that knowledge of how the method worked on their part would render said method ineffective.

The Vulcan had to admit that Rutherford’s confrontational and evasive nature would require an adjustment in the therapeutic approach.  By taking the confrontational approach that she did, Rutherford had, in actuality, cornered herself in this negotiation.  Yes, the commentary regarding the loss of her parents and husband was revealing, a convenient crack in her facade.  One perhaps a little too convenient.  Given those events were years in her past, those wounds had scarred over allowing her to develop an armor and something on which to fall back when pressed, allowing her to steer the conversation into a carefully crafted narrative that would, on the surface, appear as a moment of revelation, an insight into ones own psychie…one that was years old and had long since gone stale.  A lesser experienced counselor might have taken that detour and considered it the cause of a ‘good’ session.

But not Hathev.

The Vulcan shifted in her seat.  It seemed the days when she could maintain a single position for hours without discomfort were, at least temporarily, gone.  Such was the way of injury and she suspected that even after she regained her mobility, it would be some time before she could restore her full range of motion.  But that was a distraction to the matter at hand.

“Curious,” she said, breaking the silence.  “And just what are the ‘real’ questions?”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #8 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
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Has Samantha been somewhat privy to the counselor’s assessments, she would’ve probably had to concede a measure of agreement, with the theory presented. Undoubtedly, her words had been carefully crafted to create a certain narrative aimed at appeasing someone’s interrogations. But where she would’ve had to correct the Vulcan, in that she was in error, was the fact that she assumed those wounds presented were merely scabs, fades scars of a history past, that had entirely healed. Thus, grossly overlooking how plagued the woman still remained by the shadows of these events. Every idle moment of every day. How there were small tokens, littered through her routines, to remind her of that which was lost, all the time. A measure not intended as torture, but as a veneration of the memories that weren’t all bad. A shrine to the things lost, rather than a tomb.

So yes, while the diplomat may have been in err to assume a skilled psychologist, such as the commander, was going to take her bate and move on, Hathev herself seemed to have been mistaken to assume it had all been smoke and mirrors. Blinded by a display of carefully crafted decoy into assuming it was all fake, when the best lies contained just a little bit of truth. Taking note of the woman’s uneasy shift, the gentle wince on her frozen features, the blonde dipped her pate gently, in a measure of contemplation. “You might want to opt for a firmer chair. People erroneously assume that a softer cushion will mitigate their aching. When in reality, a less yieldable base offers more support to strained muscles, especially for the more durable Vulcan physique.” she remarked off the cuff. Having some experience in the requirements for her part alien composition – generally finding standard issue mattresses and chairs way too soft.

As the counselor continued, however, such amicable considerations quickly went under the currents of contempt, for the illogical wasting of time through nebulous digs. “Commander.” She reminded the woman of her rank with a gentle sigh dancing across the word. “Answering me with a question is hardly the kind of guidance this session needs. I am not going to do your job for you. If you were intent on assessing my suitability to lead our diplomatic detachment, our interaction so far should be proof enough that I can … and then some.” Sam explained level-headedly. “Yet if you’re trying to fathom the depth of my emotional distress over recent events, I can only disappoint you, as there is none. And the broken pieces you seek are not there. I have everything under control, and I am sure you, as a Vulcan, can understand that concept.”

Readjusting her slender frame in the soft chair, which was slowly making her joints pain, the diplomat trained her larimar ponds unwaveringly on Hathev. Not quite indicating an intention to leave, but also none to continue indulge such superficial wordplay. She knew the counselor had the tools to pry from her what she wanted to know, she just seemingly hadn’t utilized them yet. “So, unless you ask concise questions that I can truthfully answer, with all due respect, I am not quite sure what you’re trying to achieve.” she attempted to sound diplomatic – and if she couldn’t, who would – after all, this wasn’t personal. Hathev was a smart and formidable woman, she just currently seemed to lack a smidge of that lauded Vulcan directness.

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #9 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust‍

Looking back on it, even just a few seconds, Hathev realized the error in her judgement.  Under many circumstances there existed a certain therapeutic advantage to turn the question back on the patient to see how they self identified in terms of their own mental health.  However, for someone such as Rutherford, with her own Vulcan heritage to say nothing of her formal training in the art of diplomacy, the technique certainly had fallen flat.

But even in it’s failure, there lay useful results.  By claiming to rely so heavily on her Vulcan discipline Rutherford was attempting to use that façade to fully mask her scars.  If the diplomat were full or even half Vulcan, Hathev might have believed that possible.  But in her experience, most patients who were less than half blooded Vulcan, could not fully adapt her people’s mental discipline and adherence to logic.  Considering that her patient was three quarters Human, a species whose society openly accepted, welcomed, and reveled in their emotional selves, Hathev concluded it was more logical that Rutherford was intentionally obscuring the truth.

No Matter.

Hathev took a sip of her drink as Rutherford shifted her own position and continued to explain just how off base Hathev’s approach had been, she calculated her next question.  If Rutherford was intent on displaying an outwardly stoic, Vulcan demeanor, whether in attempt to convince Hathev or herself that she was ‘under control’, then Hathev would have to probe that demeanor in a similar way.

“Very well," she said. “Tell me then about your relationship with Commander Fisher.”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #10 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Swift  mentioned: @Swift
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If Samantha had to grant one token of admiration for the Vulcan counselor, it was in that she seemed quite adaptable for a member of her species. The blonde could appreciate such flexibility, especially in light of her own profession. And just like in any negotiation, she would reciprocate the concession with a little acquiescence of her own. But had she known of Hathev’s doubts over her ability to fully adapt to Vulcan discipline, in repressing her emotions, she would’ve had to counter that only someone who was able to experience emotions, ever truly could master dealing with them.

She had been a child growing up with the ability to develop feelings for the things around her. Emotional attachments and mawkish notions of dependency. Even before she moved to live with her Vulcan grandfather and his ethos. Hell, she had been throughout her entire life. But that did not negate the fact that she was privy enough to the Vulcan teachings to know how to properly categorize and deal with the loss and heartache, such notions could create in contrast. Accepting the shadows as a necessary evil for light to exist, in her psyche. As such, having someone doubt her ability to do so, but to instead assume she would fall apart at the first sign of emotional distress, was almost like a direct assault on her character and legacy.

But the diplomat’s internal simmering of fervent contest were, cut short by a silver blade succinctly placed at the precipice of her throat. A topic raised that she had not deemed possible. The sheer surprise of the notion, however, did not eliminate the almost odoriferous implication of such a question. It did raise an internal dilemma, all the same. Samantha wasn’t going to lie to the counselor – that was illogical - but at the same time almost defied the notion of giving into such a scheme of emotional exploitation. Still, she had no intention to entertain the same limbo of ‘beating around the bush’ as she had accused Hathev of doing, just moments prior.

Pressing her plump lips together for a moment, blue eyes dropping to the table between them as if to take refuge from prying eyes, the commander allowed herself only a split second of yieldable contemplation, before letting pale blue glaciers expand upon the Vulcan’s arid pastures once more.

"We’ve had quite the series of interactions, over the past few weeks. Duty has a way of throwing members of our respective departments together abundently.” the woman started out, Vulcan logic and constraint thick on her words, like an alien accent. “Interactions which have been increasingly friendly, in nature, and have led to situations that, I believe, could be categorized as ‘romantic’. Most pivotal among them, a sexual encounter five days ago. You could call it an emotional disquisition on the Spearhead lounge bombing.” Of course, she would not classify it as such to herself, or Andrew, for that matter. But as an abstract explanation, it would suffice. Hoping that by being so forward she would squash any ambitions for a deeper probing.

“I do, however, sincerely hope you’re not trying to implicate my private life as a detriment to my professional performance.” Succinct words, concisely delivered, which almost sounded like a threat.

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #11 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy]
Attn: @stardust‍ 
Mentioned: @Swift‍ 

Had she not been Vulcan, Hathev might not have been able to hide a reaction of surprise at Rutherfords easy admission.  She had not expected such a quick and direct reply from the woman, though knowing what she knew of her activities in service of the ship, it was also not a surprise. 

Considering her own circumstances and the intimacy she was now developing with Mr. Cross, she could understand the need for the occasional ‘emotional disquisition’ within the crew.  And yet, there was more there than the Diplomat was admitting.  Rutherford did well to bury the tone in her voice, a truly Vulcan effort.  But between her necessary defensiveness about her professional performance, and her recent actions in the rescue of Commander Fisher it seemed that Hathev might have found a small crack in her patient’s veneer.

“I merely asked a question and have made no implications whatsoever.”

She took another sip of her tea.

“But I do find it curious that you would express concern over such an implication.”

Given how it had fallen flat the last time she had tried, Hathev chose not to turn the question back around on her.  At least not immediately.

“Has your relationship with him escalated to a point where such a concern would be justified?”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #12 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]

Over the years in diplomatic service, Samantha’s mind had been conditioned to act fast, in deciding how to counter a given argument. There was seldom the time to weigh your options and give a measured reply. Yet a single misplaced word could tip the scales of negotiation toward an impromptu end. That’s how she had developed a system in gauging someone’s intentions by asking herself WHY a specific topic was raised. Before even trying to understand WHERE it was coming from.

In that direction she had instantly addressed any potentially drawn conclusions head on, solidifying her own standpoint, and eliminating any potential theories her opponent might’ve had, no matter if they were there or not. It was a surefire way to direct a specific conversation, or avoid it, depending on the circumstance. Yet now, that the blonde had a few seconds more time to ponder on the initial question, she became more intrigued with the ‘where’ than the ‘why’. Her friendliness with Fisher wasn’t a ‘hot enough’ topic that the chief counselor would’ve picked up on it at random.

At the same time, there was little to no leverage gained from trying to find out her sources, nor would she likely give them up willingly. But in doing so, at the very least, she deserved to know why the Vulcan had gone out of her way trying to uncover personal information such as this. “With all due respect, but the fact that you sought out this little tidbit of information, infers a measure of intent on your side, that suggests an implication of SOME kind.” The blonde replied, measuring her tone in kind.

“So, I know you can understand my apprehension to believe, that this question was raised by sheer happenstance, and without an agenda.” Running the tip of her tongue past the inside of her teeth, muscles on her jaw stiffening, the gentle curvature of sculpted cheeks became more pronounced against the soft light of the room, which lay over everything like opaque silk.

“Has it?” the blonde asked in return, pursing her lips at the turnaround. Larimar hues frozen onto the counselor like icicles from a mansard roof. Surely neither her duty record, nor any measure of conduct ascertainable by the raven-haired beauty, would’ve testified to it having had an impact on her responsibilities. Yet, the diplomat also had to realize, that not every measure of her countenance was as easily to control as her lips. So, she only noticed her thumb brushing idly over the empty space on her ring finger, where a strip of platinum used to adorn her skin, only after the counselor surely had picked up on it herself.

Thus, the woman quickly figured it was best to address the notion head out, before the Vulcan could dissect it and put it back together in her own favor. “I am sure you know I have been married to a Starfleet commander before, a man who became my first officer, so I can assure you, I can handle a friendly relationship professionally.”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #13 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust‍ 

Hathev continued to listen intently as Rutherford attempted to answer her questions.  Or more appropriately described, as Rutherford tried to evade and redirect her questions.  Ever the diplomat, Hathev’s patient continued to speak in generalities that gave the form of answers but lacked any of the requisite function.  Her dissection of Hathev’s motives, her counter questions, and her citation of prior ‘success’ as evidence of future performance filled the space between the two, but did little to address the matter at hand.

“While I appreciate that insight into your personal history, you and I both know past performance is not necessarily indicative of future results,” Hathev replied, “nor does your citation provide a sufficient answer to the question.”

She let that sit for a moment, as she realized she was uncertain as to how best proceed.  Hathev had been sitting on this point for quite a while now and while Rutherford remained elusive in her responses, Hathev was ‘playing her hunch’ with a heavy hand.  It had become blatantly clear that an indirect approach was insufficient for the purposes of this conversation.

“I am concerned, Lieutenant Commander, by decisions I’ve observed from you.  One in particular.  When Commander Fisher was held by the enemy you not only took over command of his department, but you also led an armed assault team to affect his return to the ship.”

Again she paused.

“While I can understand the logic in one of those decisions, I am unable to find a logical explanation as to why a diplomat would lead an armed incursion.  Logically that responsibility should fall to a member of the ship’s security detail.  Yet, it was you.  This concerns me and leads me to wonder whether nor not your personal relationship with Mr. Fisher, to whatever extent that exists, has in fact affected your judgment.  To that end, I would like to better understand your logic in taking such an assignment.”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #14 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]

The shackles of occupational hazard were about as hard to cast off as those of personal history. Like the unknow prisoner, Eustache Dauger, locked away for decades in Paris’ bastille, under elusive pretenses. Samantha’s vulnerability the king’s sibling. Unwanted, problematic, tilled from existence. At least rhetorically. Nothing more offered than a fictional account of his existence, her weaknesses as a whole. Hidden away in a fortress surrounded by the ever-shifting tide of vigilant guard.

Until something in the counselor’s comments struck the diplomat as odd, like a ship in troubled seas. For to her understanding Vulcan’s didn’t deal in potentials, but rather absolutes. Something either was, or it wasn’t. Which fostered the species totalitarian view of the universe, and everyone in it. And while she got the understanding that the woman was exerting such superficial judgment, she didn’t seem to adhere to this mantra as closely as one would’ve expected.

Curious …

“It also does not negate a potential indication of future performance.” the blonde interjected calmly, her voice only barely above that of verbal introspective. Whether her answer was sufficient or not was another subjective assessment. Even rather futile in lieu of any steadfast rules which to measure against. But she wasn’t going to contest everything the Vulcan said. Which would’ve simply made her appear like a nitpicky bitch. Then again, as was the Vulcan proclivity towards dogmatism.

Raising meticulously groomed brows over azure pools, Samantha unrestrictedly listened to Hathev’s case against her, which was based on rather shaky foundations. One she wished the stronghold of her defensive machinations had. But the more prominent notion of defiance was fanned on by the gust of misrepresented facts wafting her way. Prompting the blonde to take a deep breath of silent restraint, as she granted the other woman a moment to justify her unsubstantiated claims.

The only measure of rationale that followed, however, was thinly veiled critique.

“Then you might want to familiarize yourself with the concept of leading a department by proxy.” She started out calmly, though the burning embers that had been ignited seconds before were hard to hide away. “At my own demand, following the logical approach you considered, I was placed in temporary command of the intelligence detachment by Captain Ives. As such, I assumed the privileges and duties that position embodies, leading a team of trained agents and infiltrators, supremely qualified for the mission in question.”

Long lashes started to draw shade of larimar hues, as the tension in Sam’s voice grew terser. “As a senior officer, I don’t have the luxury to hide behind my departmental restrictions, and instead have to adapt to the reality of shifting scenarios, in which my sole priority is the safety of the crew and the ideals of the Federation. Not the occupational proclivities of my posting or whatever measure of assumed responsibility you think that entails.”

The blonde’s demeanor shifted somewhat into the confused and incredulous, as she came to deal – or rather struggle – with the perceived judgment based upon her. A Vulcan asking her to justify her logic, when they should’ve shared the very same understanding of what that meant. Even if she was 3/4th human. “I conducted the mission with my diplomatic and pacifist principles in mind. Ordering defensive fire only and using non-lethal force where possible. But at no point in time did I consider sacrificing a positive outcome for those principles. If you feel like that constitutes as my judgment being affected, then I don’t know how to explain logic to you, counselor.”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #15 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust

Hathev was growing weary of this exchange.  It was becoming more and more clear that Rutherford was not going to open up to her.  Whether she had assumed the wrong approach, or Rutherford was intentionally deflecting her remained to be seen.  They would need to let some time pass and then reset.  That they were coming to the end of the hour also played in her favor.

“It would seem,” she said as she took in a breath, “that we have come to the end of our time for today.”

She let the last word linger a moment, an obvious foreshadow of what she was about to say next. 

“I called you in for this session for two reasons.  The first and most obvious being that you were overdue for your annual evaluation.  The second being that I had some concerns for your mental well being.  Given your evasive and deflective attitude towards this session, I regretfully must inform you that my concerns have only increased and as a result, I am not entirely convinced you are fit for duty."

She let that hang for a moment. 

“That said, I am also not entirely convinced you are unfit for duty either.”

She took a sip of her tea as she shifted in her seat.

“To that end, I will permit you to return to duty on two conditions.  First, you will arrange to schedule a follow up session with me within ten days time.  Second, I expect you to approach this follow up session with a measured increase in your willingness to be honest with not only me, but more importantly yourself.”  She paused once again.  “If you fail to meet either condition, I will have you taken off active duty.  Do you have any questions?”

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #16 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]

The term ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ was a human axiom that was used to denote the opposite of its implication, in an ironic fashion, more often than it was used for its true meaning. At least the way Samantha understood the practice. So, it was even more fitting in this situation, where she had expected the quiet reprieve through the harbinger of their three-dimensional existence, not nearly this soon.

Yet, the molasses of time lingered on, for a bit, after the counselor had angled the proverbial carrot of conclusion. A moment that became more and more weighed with the expectation of a ‘but’, to complete the charade. Another monologue soon followed, which only discernible intent to the blond was that of asserting the Vulcan’s full power, in this situation.

Satisfaction derived from humiliation.

A notion Samantha could only counter with an indifferent one. Which ironically seemed to have reassured Hathev in her preconceived notions. Obviously, she displayed a lot of presumptions from prior to this meeting despite these two never even having met before today.

But then the counselor even added insult to injury be qualifying her assumptions by basically saying that she had no clue. And what a productive outing it had been indeed.

Taking the final conditions with luster, pressed from constricted rose petals, Samantha let her palms fall to the armrests of her chair with an audible thud, before rising on slender legs with brows raised in indifference.

“Well, in that case I will look forward to this next meeting every hour of every day, from now on.” Which was just as nonsensical a judgment as the one which had been imposed on her. So, from a diplomatic point of view, the conclusion was a raving success.

“Am I dismissed?” a question as contentious as could be, given their equal rank. With nothing but a presumptuous feeling of superiority hanging in the air betrothed by their differing branches of duty.

Which department head could she boss around simply due to her expertise?!
 

Re: Day 02 [1500 hrs.] The Alchemy of Sorrow

Reply #17 –
[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @stardust

The anger in Rutherford served only to reinforce Hathev's concerns about her state of mind.  There was nothing more to be gained by keeping her any further and logically she would find a way to calm herself in time.  Perhaps then, the Diplomat might find a way to be a bit more...diplomatic. 

"Yes, Ms. Rutherford, you may go.  I will see you next week."

Unexpectedly the diplomat offered no response as she stormed out of Hathev's quarters leaving Hathev to sit alone in her chair and ruminate over the session such that it was. 

"Fascinating."


-FIN-
 
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