Personal Log | Captain Rochelle Ivanova - "Sail Serenely By"

Posted on Sat Sep 13th, 2014 @ 8:30am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova

1,001 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Are You Touched?

The wooden planks beneath her feet were hot, even the early morning sun was completely unrelenting, yet the heat was dry. In the days since they’d arrived on Qo’noS one thing had become quite apparent; the complete lack of humidity. It threatened to scorch and singe her skin if she wasn’t careful to remember to apply dermal gel. Rochelle took one last gaze over the ocean and turned away from her deck railing. Fifty yards away from where the sand met the water, she couldn’t help but hear the sea’s alluring song begging her for yet another stroll to keep it company and she obliged.


The wind threatened to steal her breath as it captured her the moment she left the dune bridge for the sand, clawing at her hair and coaxing it up and out like flame. Rochelle’s eyes closed as she savored the moment, untethered and unbound by any and all. It was blissful and this time she was certain Archer wasn’t lurking in wait of ensnaring her. The threat of her would be assailants failed to frighten her and maybe it should have. A lot of things should have. The fact that she knew she was slowly and certainly growing numb to the sensation of self-fear should have sent her running to Tristan, begging him on her knees for some sort of magic cure all – still she refused. She knew it was come to pass, that the feeling of immortality would soon come to reign once again. It had only been a matter of time before she began to feel the tingles of wanton fire coursing through her veins again.


Rochelle Ivanova was healing.

The one thing that concerned her was the fact she hadn’t seemed to learn from the experience. Or was it that she had and simply had become more Devil-may-care than ever? She was still the battle hardened tactician, bred for war and glory. She hadn’t learned a damn thing from the loss aside from the wrong moral to that woeful tale; avoid it at all costs and never allow anyone in. ‘I’ll never love again’, seemed to be her mantra now that she’d been given a choice and the silky essence of Landon had been forcibly removed. His death had taken away the velvet of her heart and left behind the caustic shell of a woman who wouldn’t allow anyone in.

She was healing, but she had so very far to go. It was part of that bitter process, but at least she’d past the ‘anger’ stage of her grief and slowly, but certainly, realized that attacking Tristan wouldn’t bring Landon back no matter how much she’d wished it would. And she knew, deep in her heart, that no amount of bargaining or ‘I should have fought harder’s would yield that result either. The caustic sealing of her emotions, however, would need to be undone. She’d need to learn how to breathe, how to live, how to love. Vlimar was right… To love is to live, to live is to love. They walked hand in hand with one another through all courses of life and simply couldn’t exist one without the other. She’d have to learn that lesson over.

Someday.

The surf played about her ankles, tethering her to the sea as she slowly strolled along the wet packed sand and wove between beached beds of seaweed and broken shells. Lost in her thoughts she’d have been an easy target, surprise would have been a virtue for those who’d try and make an attempt on her life – but no such horror was to become her that day. She was meant to be free as a bird riding the updrafts of that stiff ocean wind, free to explore herself and what the waves washed up as if in tribute to her.

Her next steps, however, were cut short as she faltered and paused at the sight of a bright red sea creature hopelessly entangled and ensnared in seaweed. The brittle star seemed so desperate for life as its armed moved about in a futile attempt to free itself. “I’m sorry.” She said to the star fish, knowing full well it couldn’t understand her as she knelt before it, her fingers gently plucking away the bits of seaweed that held it captive. It was a careful effort, the animal so frail that one misplaced tug would have ended its life. If she’d stopped, she would have drawn a parallel to her own life and situation – but that would have wasted precious time needed to return the creature to its fathoms.


Before long it was sitting in the palm of her hand as she carefully waded out past the worst of the breakers and simply lowered it into the sea, watching as it moved across her palm and fingers before taking the plunge and drifting to the ocean bottom below. The sight made her smile as she carefully backed out of the water, careful not to accidentally disturb the animal again. It was only when she reached the shore that she realized her shorts and shirt were completely soaked, that she’d gone on the rescue mission without thought for herself. But that was Rochelle, leap before thinking, quintessential Rochelle. The warrior. The defender. Rochelle.

The walk back to her room was far quicker than her languid stroll down the beach, the chill setting in against her soaked thighs and belly. It had been worth it, though, and she’d gladly suffer whatever cold could possibly result from her little early trek. The stiff winds that toyed with her hair to the point of nearly being violent promised of a storm. By the end of that evening the beach would become an inhospitable place of danger and she had no intention of lingering.

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Captain Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR

 

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