JL | Com Ivanova & Capt Neyes - "All Work And No Play Makes Rochelle A Dull Girl"

Posted on Tue Jul 21st, 2015 @ 6:11am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Captain Landon Neyes

2,694 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Agua Mala

The Empress was hiding something, the Princess was a spoiled pain in the ass, it was hot and humid, the caste system was a small problem, there were Romulans on the Enterprise that had already had a run-in with the Princess, and... Hot. Even with the sea breeze working to relieve the arduous summer heat, Rochelle's mind couldn't help but to whip back to the blistering fact that it was easily breaching the 'century mark' as so many twenty-first news channel meteorologists would boast ever so freely as if it was a blatantly wonderful thing that the temperature was high enough to cause severe bodily harm if someone wasn't prepared.

To say she wasn't amused would have been an understatement most grievous.

She'd scowled as she separated from the rest of the group post meeting, her path taking her away from the Enterprise command team and ultimately away from Almar... And out into that blasphemous heat. Or maybe it was the humidity that was the killer? Something was. It made her normally comfortable uniform become scratchy and her every move stifled. In fact, the young Commodore had been convinced she was going to wind up melting into some sort of humanoid puddle long before she made it back to her room.

Against all odds, she'd made it.

... Only to tangle with a Trill that had made it a mission to hit the white sandy beaches the planet seemed to be completely and totally infested with.

"You don't know what lives in that sand. One bite, you could be dead or worse!" Rochelle had tried to argue only to have the man cheekily retort about bug balm having already been applied and Science not noticing anything harmful as of yet. Sunburn concerns were quickly halted with offers of sunblock and waggling eyebrows. Even when she thought she'd had him with a faux-whine and pout of "Aww darn, I forgot my swimsuit." He quickly stepped up to the plate with just such an offensive garment dangling between his index finger and thumb.

Landon tapped his nose at her, "Been there done that." He scoffed, "Besides the fact I am highly susceptible to poisonous insects that don't exist, I just don't see why you're so opposed to taking a minute to chill out. The beach is here, you're here, I'm here. There's plenty of umbrella-clad beverages to partake in." He flicked the lump of fabric and color onto the bed next to her. She had resisted his efforts to come down to the resort for quite a while, but in the end he knew she'd cave. He'd been slowly chipping away at the casual barrier she put up between herself and the sandy coastline.

Dropping hints had worked very little, as she simply sidestepped the issue with talk of work or Tristan and Zed. When he'd brought it up directly she shot him down, saying she just didn't have time or didn't see the point. When he brought up how much the crew would appreciate seeing their Captain relaxing just like them... well now they were beach-bound, anyway.

He leaned down, his black tank-top tugging at his sides while his hands reached to just below her shins. The normally short cropped hair had grown in a little on his scalp, and created a tossed mess of tufted hair. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking up at her while she looked down the bed at him, "Or we could stay here..." he winked at her.

"You're incorrigible." The redhead had hissed, peeling herself back up off the bed she'd been all too happy to commandeer, and the aforementioned offending Starfleet issued uniform that had started to stick to her cooling, balmy skin.

Landon's hands flew up in surrender, disengaging as the little storm whipped up off the bed past him. He smiled and couldn't help but laugh a little out loud, "Or we could go back to the ship and fill in some more reports," he mused.

At least he'd been kind enough to pair a sarong with the string bikini her waning confidence would have described as being microscopic.

Forty five minutes post diplomatic discussions, and only twenty-eight hours away from the Princess's little shindig, Rochelle lay in the cooling shade of a tree she couldn't name, idly toying with the black fabric of her swim-suit cover up, and watching her lover play just shy of the tepid surf's kitten-like reach. The waters were calm, turquoise, and perfect as they lapped at the bay's beach. He was bronzing, his spots and skin darkening as they basked in the amorous rays of the sun much in the same way her own freckles were blossoming and blooming even though she hid from the light as best she could. Landon was happy and, if she'd been asked, she'd have agreed that the heat and humidity weren't really all that bad.

Neyes rushed back up to the... chairs? They were more like scoops with a few oddly placed cushions, but Rochelle hadn't seemed to mind. She had taken to the cool shaded seating area like it was her home away from home, and Landon was all the more thankful for it. Of course if she spared a few moments down at the surf, there'd be more opportunity to pick her up and playfully dunk her in the water. Landon decided to play the long game on that particular eventuality, though.

In his hands Landon held a little shell, roughly the size of a teacup, and curved back at the edges like a fan. Spirals of color spin into the center of its design, creating an almost mesmerizing pattern if you stared into it long enough. Whatever creature had once called it home has since vacated it, leaving just the beautiful husk. He twirled it in his finger while taking a seat next to her. "Enjoying yourself up here?"

"You'll never know." The little red minx replied from behind a pair of sunglasses. They played a strange homage to the same era as the highly excitable weatherman, but were oddly fitting. From behind the black tinted lenses, Rochelle was free to drink in the sights of the beach at her discreet leisure. Better yet, they easily concealed the glitter of amusement and relative glow of comfortable pleasure that had seated themselves in her eyes. Giving up the role as pouty, whining, suffering Commodore Nofun wasn't quite yet an option as she languidly rolled onto her side to face him. Like a cat lazing in the afternoon sun, she was more than relaxed and content having melted into her current shade dappled residence as if she'd belonged there her entire life. "You seem to be having fun, though." She quipped, craning her neck to snoop at the shell that occupied his fingers.

"And you?" He asked, holding out the little shell for her to take. "You might have made a permanent mark on this lounge... seat." Rochelle's face reflected the simple pleasure of relaxation she rarely afforded herself. Just sitting down, doing her best to put the worries of the ship and everything else aside. Even if it was only for a few hours, he was grateful for the distraction.

Landon pulled up a tablet with the drink menu on it, thumbing through the list of exotic concoctions. "Anything good so far? Or is everything a fun drink with fun juice in it." He teased her, knowing she didn't imbibe anything intoxicating.

The soft sound of what may or may not have been an undignified snort rolled quietly from Rochelle's direction in response to his quip about her residence on, or rather in?, the chaise she'd claimed in the name of Starfleet. "They all seem... Fruity. Some I can't even begin to pick apart." She answered in regard to the drinks while studying the pretty little shell she'd plucked from Landon's hand. In her possession it seemed so much larger and less frail than it had in his, causing her interest to pique for the briefest of moments and her eyes to dart between the fingers holding the shell and the fingers holding the resort menu. He, without a doubt, won where it came to size and lay to rest the mystery of the shell.

"I'd say try one of each, but you'd take it as a challenge and I, try as I may, would fail miserably at carrying you back to our room." Rochelle's lips curled up in a most Cheshire smile as she reached to slip the shell into one of Landon's pockets, "Besides... You're far more fascinating to watch while frolicking sober." She added with a gentle pat to his thigh. The casualness of their day on the sand was something she most definitely could get used to. No uniforms, no fake smiles, no laws to navigate or diplomatic songs to sing or dances to dance. For the briefest instance of time she was able to imagine what life would be like without the rigors of Starfleet popping back on her, and his, proverbial pinch collars. They were free to play without being told to heel or mind themselves in front of those who aspired to reach their ranks or live the well romanticized story of their lives.

Beneath the cradle of her Oakleys, Rochelle's nose crinkled ever so slightly at her thoughts and she lay back against the cushions of her chair-scoop. If they left, simply ran away into the vespers of space and time, there would be no story of conquering the indomitable reaches of the unknown hand in hand... Only a story where the two buckled, folded, and selfishly chose one another over the greater needs of those who, in massive part, needed them. The sun reached to caress the curves of her face and hip, warm and consoling as it seemed to promise that it, or a massive star just like it, would always be there for times like this when they could stop and rest. They were warriors. Survivors. And they, certainly, never simply gave in. Especially not him, she sighed, content with that knowledge and chose to push the nose of her glasses down with a single finger in order to properly eye the man beside her, "You look incredible with a tan. Maybe even better than Tristan." She teased and the glasses were quickly pushed back up into place.

Landon double-tapped his thumb on the ever-convenient tablet, issuing his unseen order for some water. He wanted to pick up the subject of her relaxation, to say he was sorry for not being more active in her role as the leader of the ship he used to command. Some parts of him wanted say he wished so many thing were different for them, but that would only be a partial truth. She worked herself to exhaustion on a regular basis, and he did his best to mitigate all the trapping she faced. When his water came, he thanked the attendant with a nod and looked over to Rochelle.

This was his duty now, and he was content with the role. When he wanted to ask about the ship, he stopped short of saying the actual words. She needed him to keep the stress at bay, and to see to her needs as a partner, before her needs as a Commodore... even if she refused to cooperate with his objective at times.

"What did you expect? I'm a child of a paradise world. I don't think you've ever seen me with a real tan."

"Not until today, nope." She replied with a wry little smile, "and I suspect you'll be even darker before we leave. I'll be lucky if I don't turn into a lobster." The ease in which she played with him only served as yet another reminder of how delicious life could be. She knew he held the same benediction when it came to duty and personal life. She knew it was just as hard for him to ignore the constant inflow of reports when they were supposed to be doing nothing more than sunbathing or relaxing in some other fashion after she finished time on the bridge. Peering at him from the corner of her lense-hidden eyes, she could only hope he knew how easy he made it for her to look forward to returning 'home' each and every night. "Could be worse, though." She sniffed, more than a little amused by his choice of benign beverage, "I could have been right about the super toxic biting sand crab things."

Something chirped. An almost digital sounding chirp.

Landon's ears would have perked up at the sound had they been able to. His brow furrowed, his soft look slowly shifting, "What was that." It was less of a question that it was him letting her know she'd been caught red handed. "Was that a commbadge?"

"No?" She started, feeling the color drain from her face and the cold tingles of anxiety tingle along the nerves within her belly. "I mean... Maybe?" She offered and her face quickly transformed into a guilty and apologetic smile that seemed far better suited to canary eating felines than sun bathing Starfleet officers. "I had to! What if there really were toxic biting sand flea crab things?! Or worse!" She tried to explain in a fit of nervous laughter, anything but admitting that she was an unabashed work-aholic waiting on reports concerning some innocuous detail or another that had no place being fed to the commanding officer aside from being a passing reference in some mundane report or another that Landon would have otherwise tabled before it ever got to her.

Neyes shook his head, resigning to allow her to return to the role of Commodore sooner rather than later. She needed it just as much as he felt she needed to decompress every now and then. It was impossible for him to be too upset with her, though, given what he knew about her as an officer. Even as his XO she nipped issues in the bud long before he had time to even know they were about to cross his desk. If she was away from the reports, systems or the crew for too long then the thoughts started to chip and claw away at her insides, nagging whatever little respite she managed to find. "Then my symbiont would have died a pointedly un-epic death, and nothing would stand between you and your ship once I withered away into nothing." He sat back in his chair, pushed some sun-oil on and leaned back in the seat, arms up behind his head. The bumps and grooves of his body exposed to the sunshine above them. "Go on, answer it. I'll be right here."

"Landon..." Rochelle whined, suddenly feeling more than just a little guilty as she pulled out the combadge from where she'd managed to hide it in a most creative fashion. From her vantage point, and the way he was now laying in such a nonchalant fashion, she couldn't quite make out his expression or whether or not he was kidding. Instead her nose twitched as she eyed the piece of technology that now rested in the palm of her hand and sighed, closing her fingers over it and holding her little fist over the narrow chasm between their lounges. "No. I promised you that I'd relax. That means no work when not in delegation." Saying it made it seem so much more real and official, as if it would cement itself into her mind if she vocalized that need for time away from the duties of an officer. "A promise is a promise." She nodded, shaking her hand gently to encourage him to take the offending brass badge away from her for the time being. "Besides..." And this was the part that tasted so bitter, a concession that he had been right of all things, "I rather enjoy this."

Neyes just smiled, settling in to soak in the sun. "Me too."

END LOG

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

&

Captain Landon Neyes
Liaison
USS VINDICATOR

 

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