Joint Duty Log - Capt Ivanova & Noah Waterhouse - "Strings And Sealing Wax And Other Fancy Stuff"

Posted on Mon Dec 8th, 2014 @ 11:54pm by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova

2,044 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: All Hallows’

Having realized the program was the result of their mother's modular programing had left Noah picking apart everything he could see, curiously trying to figure out the sources of all the bits. Obviously the framework was assembled from database resources Pond would have had to dig up, but the small things, the details, those needed heavy programming behind them to behave realistically. So it became a game for him once he'd decided that sending Jonesy back to the crew's group quarters was probably for the best. He'd narrowed the candles, and the wind with which their flames interacted, down to a subroutine that had gotten used in various horror story holonovels, and he was pretty sure the quartet started out as a few different live recordings he'd made and his mother had spun into an AI.

Just as he was tempted to go stalk the entry way for a spell, to see if he could identify which of his mother and sister's exercise programs the weaponry had come from, he spotted the Captain and her sparkly comet trail. The glitter had actually worked out better than he'd anticipated, since he hadn't been forewarned of the lighting scheme in the holodeck, but he wasn't about to admit that it was just a happy coincidence that it worked out so well. The glitter had actually been intended more as a protection for her, when he'd heard rumors of some of her unwanted suitors, clearly marking those who directly interacted with her. With all the masks present, it would make it easier to tell who had laid a hand on her after the masks were removed. Even a sonic shower couldn't completely remove the craft world's equivalent of herpes, as it was called by an old Earth comedian named Demetri Martin.

"How are you finding the party?" Noah asked her as he approached with a sweeping bow, pulling his hat from his head with a dramatic flourish.

Rochelle looked up just in time to see the tell-tale bobbing of a white Ostrich plume approaching her. She knew who it was long before she found the face it belonged to, such a hat could only ever be worn by one individual; Noah Waterhouse. Hanging onto a relatively decent mood, the Phoenix dipped at her knees in her own royal bow, even so prim and proper - as if the corset beneath her bodice would ever allow for anything but. "It's a party, I'm having a good time trying to pick out who's who. Some give themselves away too easily, but some make it a decent game." She grinned from her momentary perch away from the cheery crowd. "And you?"

"I've found my game in determining where my sister plucked all the bits she built this program from. Like I think I know which live recordings went into building the underpinnings of your quartet," he confessed with a grin. His holographic half-skull mask twisted to follow the happy lines of his face. "I don't think the cellist the AI's mostly inspired by would appreciate being compared to a wolf, but his way with women does inspire the comparison. So it's apt."

"Dare I ask who he's been so carefully modeled after?" Rochelle queried with a subtle lift of one of her brows. She'd always had an interest in Pond's programs, but never had the attention span or the need to sit down and really dig through to figure out how to create for herself. Everything she'd ever needed the holodecks for had never called for anything quite so elaborate — and then Pond had taken it upon herself to make sure every Vindicator shindig boldly out did the last. Part of her wondered what the woman was dreaming of for the holidays, Christmas, she knew, was a big thing even if Rochelle chose to avoid it for sake of it being her own date of birth. Past twenty-one, no one ever wanted to get any older.

"I'll walk the plank if I can remember the man's name, but I caught him playing in a dive bar for three nights running on some Terran colony on the Fed side of the Klingon border. You'd think someone I got black out drunk with is a name that would be burned into my memory... but he and I parted on awkward terms," Noah confessed. "Talented musician, but less than a great human. Probably better to clean him up with Mum's holoprogramming meshing his talent with a more palatable AI's personality."

"Say no more." The Phoenix nodded in perfect understanding. She'd long ago come to realize that some of the more artistic individuals were often the less savory types — talent, but no morals. Part of her often wondered if that was the reason why she couldn't even draw a straight line, let alone play a cello. Noah seemed to be an anomaly, for all of his trip ups and short comings, he wasn't harboring a poor character. "I'll take the AI's playing ability over something or someone that will disrupt the ship any day."

"Of course," he agreed with a small nod. "I still can't help but feeling like he'll walk off the quartet's platform at any moment, demanding a beer and commenting on, well-" He coughed, deciding changing the subject might just be for the best. "The other three-quarters of the quartet were just some street performers in Union Square I found while visiting Pond during her time at the Academy. They were sweet people."

Upwards inched her tell-tale brow behind her leather mask, the veil of being expressionless only served the robust nature of the woman as she stood there and listened to Noah's explanation. "Yes... Well. Here's hoping Pond left that part out completely." She smiled. "They sound quite lovely together, though. A good coupling. It's rare you find people that work so well in unison regardless of what they're doing. Music, art, writing, loving, marriage." The firebird shrugged, allowing her eyes to linger on the musicians for a moment. "Very rare. Makes it all the more special and easier to appreciate."

"Pond has nothing to do with it, Mum does all the real programming. Pond just uses Mum's tools to put the bits together into new jumbles," Noah explained. He paused a moment, as if considering the music for the first time, even though he'd been paying it careful mind all night. "Most of the music in the family collection starts from my recordings, Mum just hangs it on AIs, sometimes based on the musician's personality, and other times not when it would distract too much from the music."

"Comes in handy." Rochelle nodded, "Even the cut and paste programs are impressive, to say the least." And likely far more free of Easter eggs that could potentially thwart the depth of the evening. So far, nothing seemed to contrast with the elegance that had over swept the party — even if she knew there were sub-party areas meant for those with wilder, looser tastes. The Captain chose to hide in relative comfort.

"You have a lovely crew, and I have encountered a number of delightful costumes and personalities to carry them this evening," Noah observed, bringing the conversation back to the Captain's opening.

"I'm proud to be with them." She nodded, puffing up slightly with the pride that consumed her at such a compliment, "each and every one of them is special and I think this party really helps bring out the best of them."

"I'll bet a shrink would have a field day, considering what each costume says about the person wearing it," Noah mused. "Any sign of the witchdoctor, or Tristan?"

Rochelle rocked back slightly on her heels, amused by the turn the conversation was taking. "None so far, but that's not to say they're not one of those who I have yet to pin a name on. Then again, Grant's height should have been a clear and easy give away." She mused, scanning the nearby crowd of dancers and wall flowers for any clues she may have missed.

"He could have gone blond, and made a play at being me?" Noah teased.

The thought made the little Captain chuckle and grin widely, "I think I'd have noticed that right off the bat. I'm coming to terms with there being one of you." She ribbed at him gently.

"I've had a few people say they wish they had two of me... and others insist they can't keep up with just the one. The universe strikes a balance in the end," he returned with a wink, his holographic mask drawing attention to it as it folded around the eye that made the gesture.

"Color me skeptical, Mister Waterhouse, but two of you strikes me as something of a nightmare." A chuckle punctuated her latest round of teasing and looser petals of glitter shimmered and fell from their precarious perches. "But don't feel bad, there's a few people I could think of, myself included, that have no place for a clone in this universe or any other."

"I could use a clone with this party though, so many costumes to see," he insisted with a shrug. "It's usually Mum and Pond that get told in our family they don't need clones. I'd probably be harmless, just hide somewhere and make art with myself. What has been your favorite costume you've seen tonight?"

"I've caught sight of a dragon a couple times, but they never stay still long enough for me to really take a good hard look." Rochelle shrugged gently, her head tilting as if to say 'c'est la vie'. "As far as you being cloned, art is one thing... Crashing shuttles in the name of pasta is another." A wry smile quickly replaced her facial expression, cold as she knew she had him dead to rights in their little game of wits. To play with him was to show him she'd resigned any and all animosity towards him. Against all odds, Noah had been accepted by the shrewd little Queen.

"I've learned my lesson on that account, I assure you. Both pilot and engineer on my crew will require references now, and I aim to get Jonesy checked into an AA club when we get back to Earth," Noah insisted with an eye roll, though he couldn't help a half concealed smile at Rochelle's mention of the dragon. "Hopefully I can sweet talk Dad into helping with repair of The Pelican, so she's space worthy again by the time I find a more reliable pilot for her. One who knows the difference between drinking to honor the noodley god, and just getting blackout drunk."

"I wouldn't worry too much about the Pelican, Noah, she's been in good hands since we drug her up from the planet. Though..." She paused and rested a hand on his forearm, "Getting Jonesy some help is still probably the best course of action. I'd be thanking your lucky stars that no one was seriously injured or killed."

"I saw the ship when your Commander Dahe'el pulled her up. Maybe he and his team can teach my engineer, Anna, a thing or two. She was still in need of some love last I saw her though," Noah returned. "All I can hope is that when I try to point Jonesy to help, he'll accept it."

"I'd take another look, this time of year tends to lend itself to magic even way out here in the Klingon portion of the black." The Captain beamed and, spying her Intel officer through the crowd, dipped her head to excuse herself. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr Waterhouse, and good luck with Jonesy. If I can be of help, you know where to find me."

"Thank you, for everything, Captain," he returned, treating her to another sweeping bow topped with the twirling of his hat. He watched her, and the costume he crafted and she wore so well, move through the crowd. He made mental note to find an excuse to check in on The Pelican later, then made his way to the punch bowl for another glass.

=/\= End Log =/\=

Captain Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

Noah Waterhouse
Pastafarian Minister and Artist
apb Pond

 

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