JDL | Capt Ivanova, Capt Neyes - "Time Goes By So Slowly" Pt. I/II

Posted on Wed Dec 10th, 2014 @ 3:15am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Captain Landon Neyes

4,042 words; about a 20 minute read

Mission: All Hallows’

Hours had ticked by, each one bringing a new song, a new mask, a new shimmering costume. People smiled, people talked, people laughed. The anonymity of the costumes allowed friends old and new to search endlessly for those who would hide beneath the veils of makeup and feathers. Some chose holographic images to hide their faces, and others hid behind things as benign and old school as leather.

Rochelle was one of the latter.

Even with her ornate costume, there was no hiding her identity. Her height, her build, the way she held herself… Even the flash of her throat as she breathed, they all gave her away. They were tattling and pointing her out with big neon flashing lights as she stood on the outskirts of the ballroom. Of course, being dressed as a phoenix wasn't exactly playing peek-a-boo. The elegant movement of her holographic wings, the glitter and feathers, the red of her hair – all of it just seemed so quintessential to the call sign the crew had affectionately rendered her with. In the end all that mattered was their happiness. That mission had been a success, even if Rochelle herself remained relatively miserable.

Noah had done an incredible job at putting her together, even if the corset had made it so that she was barely able to breathe, much less dance. She’d still managed to find herself doing her fair share of both. Time after time she’d been tugged out onto the dance floor by those who thought they had the skill to waltz. Oh what a fool she’d been to think that staying away from the smaller areas of more modern entertainment would save her from the dog and pony show these parties had turned into since Landon’s death. Each time a suitor had approached she’d wordlessly nodded in polite respect, slid her hand in theirs, tucked her wings and allowed them to make a mockery of the art. So many had stumbled, had jerked her one way or another, or stepped on her feet. Peep toed heels, she thought, had been a bad idea. Not only were they hidden by the billowing nature of her gown, but they exposed her tender tootsies to the cumbersome steps of the tragically disillusioned. At least Archer and Almar had been skilled partners, each whisking her away from the agony of someone who tried their damnedest to dance with the little Captain and had mistaken the waltz as something easily accomplished. The Cardassian especially had made the evening more than bearable, but even he had disappeared into the crowd in a manner befitting the masked crusader he represented.

But now it was coming to an end, the evening beginning to shiver with the anticipation of the promised unveiling of the celebrators at midnight. A glance over at the big grandfather clock near the windows told her she only had to endure another fifteen minutes of the corset, the shoes, the music and the festivities as a whole. Another fifteen minutes and she could disappear from the holodeck turned old Victorian ballroom, light her candles, and hide in the darkness of what was left of All Hallows’ Eve and she was determined to spend them simply watching her crew as they laughed and twirled, content to live vicariously through their happiness.

It was in her moment of thought that the next in line to take her hand stepped from seemingly nowhere to greet her. He moved with confident grace, slowly taking his time to dip in and out of the many dancing crew around them. Draped in a Roman cloak, and scaled in ornate red leather armor, the man was the definite vision of a Dragon. Covering his face was a iron-clad mask with only draconic sockets for his steely blue eyes, which locked onto her as he approached. His arms and legs were buckled into layered, sharp, fitted leather plates. Dark metallic boots adorned his calves and feet. The only skin visible was around his eyes, and even his mouth was covered by the snout of his mask.

He comfortably moved through the crowd up to her, slowly, and respectfully allowing her to see him coming. Extending his hand as an invitation to dance, the man's words came through in an obviously modulated tone. The smokey, deep breadth of his voice emulated what some might imagine a dragon would sound like -- if they were indeed something real to touch and hear.

"One more, Captain?" He asked.

"As you wish." Rochelle tipped her chin once more as she offered a mock curtsy, though her eyes never left his. There was something to be said about them, some mystery left worth solving. The others, she'd guessed immediately who they were as all of them had been relatively transparent, though beautifully decorated. Almar had given her a steady run for her money until he touched her, guiding her with such beautiful care. The dragon, however... His identity eluded her. She'd taken the chance to watch him come near, though she'd admit that his trajectory had been lost in great retrospect to her own thought as she comfortably paid more attention to the details. The shining leather plates, the scales, the boots, the cloak that concealed his neck, but accentuated the broad strength of his shoulders - they'd all caught her attention individually. And then there was his voice, modified through technology and further stealing from her any chance of identifying him until the big clock chimed midnight. Until then, his eyes would be her only clue and even they held their secrets well.

With a demure little smile, the Phoenix accepted him further, allowing her small hand to be engulfed by his much larger one, the deep scarlet of her nails disappearing as his gloved fingers closed ever so gently over them and the plot thickened as she allowed him to steal her from her roost.

On the floor, a new song began to play. It was drawn and harmonized to the tone of a phoenix and a dragon, playing off the deep counterpoint to a fiery overture. The Dragon took the Phoenix by the hand and allowed her to take her place on the floor before him. He invited her to join him of her own will and time, and only just so. Despite his powerful size and frame, the motion of his hands and feet around her when the song began touched on elegance and timeless practice.

"How have you been?" The question was benign enough but held a touch of want, like someone asking with genuine interest.

His gentle power. That was the first thing she noticed as she the music began to play and he sent her gliding out in front of him with nothing more than the sighing of her gown. It was masterful, the way he drew her only close enough to make it known she was his for the duration of the song and she let him play her like one of the quartet's fiddles. The stroke of bows across the strings of a cello and violin seemed so sensual as they toyed with her ears and the beating of her heart. Chasing away an ever persistent loose lock of hair, Rochelle allowed her free hand to find the surprisingly warm leather of his shoulder, delicately perching there with precision and care.

"Alive." She replied coyly, her saucy nature truly pugnacious and full of itself as usual. The question seemed personal, far from formal. It wasn't 'how are you?' or 'how are you feeling tonight?', it was something more with hidden notes of comfort and ease that seemed so foreign for a stranger. Even the way he touched her spoke of some sort of understanding, some sort of tether between the two far greater than just two random people. Albeit with some degree of hesitation, the Phoenix found herself drifting closer to the Dragon that held her in his grasp, the fear of him causing further injury to her toes quickly dissipating and allowing her to move freely as he manipulated her across the marble floor. "You dance beautifully." She admonished him, choosing not to fight his lead. To do so would have been a grave mistake and insult to such grace and precision. Even with his great size, especially when compared to how delicate and petite she truly was, he managed to adjust and counter to match and comfort her with every adroit step and every powerful note of the serenade that held them rapt with divinity strewn in spades.

She wouldn't have been able to tell, but beneath his mask a thin smirk appeared. Her hands had been solid and borderline tense when she'd first taken his. Walking out onto the dance floor, Rochelle was a vision to behold, and her every motion betrayed a woman uncomfortable in the spotlight she created. There was no beacon illuminating her place on the floor, but all the same she stood out from the crowd in a way he knew only she could. Despite knowing she longed to be away from the hustle and bustle of the showy night's event, the petite Captain couldn't help but outshine everyone at the masquerade. It was her gift, and her curse. She politely accepted his offer to dance, but he could feel her resist the bubbling enjoyment everyone else seemed to have. As they danced, though, the muscles relaxed and he was happy to find her easing into the role. He wanted to world to fall away for her, to bring her into a space where nothing mattered but the music and their footfalls.

"I can't take credit for my practice. But I know a thing or two. Something about everyone wearing masks, though. Did you pick yours?" He noted, continuing to move with the song.

"I see." The Phoenix nodded, "I wasn't given much choice. Cthulhu's brother begged to dress me for the party and to be honest..." Her teeth found the fullness of her lower lip, holding it between them as she shook her head. Admitting she wasn't planning on attending the party to a crewmember, especially one she couldn't quite place, would be in poor form. "I couldn't have done better myself." Instead she offered, with a smile.

The ensuing crescendo took a mellow turn, fading to build up to a grander bar. They ended up slowly moving together, closing the distance between them. "It looks... very you." He said, a admiring tone weaved into whisper. "And the evening seems to have brought delectation to your guests, a success, I'd have to say." He played into the period piece that made up the ball, wink signalling his jokingly thoughtful compliment.

Something didn't quite fit. It wasn't necessarily that it was amiss, but it didn't fit. "Thank you," She responded to his teasing compliment, her eyes quickly darting to catch sight of those she'd already labeled. "I aim to please my crew." Almar was standing poised and protective somewhere along the back wall and his eyes were dark, almost obsidian. Logan was dancing and whispering sweet nothings into his wife's ear some twenty feet away. Archer had come and gone and stood chatting up some pretty young thing. Tristan wasn't quite tall or broad enough, Noah was too tall and Malone had been shipped off to the Gamma quadrant. Plus his eyes were brown, or were they blue? It didn't matter, she hadn't cared paid enough to pay attention. Rochelle's list was growing smaller, whittling down to nothingness as she worked to try to figure out who hid behind the mask she ran her studious gaze over.

The part that would have troubled her most, if she'd been given a second to fall back into such a thought pattern, was the fact that she found herself closer to him with each passing note and each coordinated step. No one would swoop in to rescue her, she wasn't struggling to keep her feet out from under his or in threat of sustaining further whiplash due to poor handling. The Dragon held her carefully, steadily claiming territory as she continued to relinquish it. With the occasional tentative whisper of fabric against leather, the bright red of his scales began to beckon the fire and shine of her jeweled bodice, calling it closer and begging it home. Her hand had already fallen to his collarbone, lured there by some sense of security and likely misplaced familiarity that lead to further synchronicity as the tempo picked up and the veil of Captain fell away to let the fire kissed woman shine in his hands.

Rochelle's head tilted to the sound of his whisper - something about masks that drew her attention back to the Dragon's riveting blue eyes. She knew them, she'd decided, just simply couldn't name them. "I'll have to wait until midnight to see if I can say the same about yours." The Phoenix teased in response, keen to see if she'd be given a clue, a hint, something that would explain why she simply hadn't excused herself from him for some made up duty she needed to attend to. The soft brush of his knee against her outer thigh and the gentle pressure of his guiding hand quickly dashed all want or need for escape. She was caught, held by the mystery and genuinely smiling at the irony that she, of all people, had been sucked into the trope behind a masquerade.

He chuckled a little, unable to keep up any sense of the fiction he may have projected through his intricate costume. If the 'cthulu' creature was the first officer, then they had the same artisan crafting their illusions.

The Dragon's hand traced the lengths of fabric that spanned from bodice to shoulder blade and continued down, coming to a rest at the small of her back. A few sleek inlaid strands of delicate fabric created a roost for the small holographic generator that projected her wings. The fluid cool of his eyes never left hers. It was so effortless, falling into the motions with the Phoenix in his arms. He could feel her slim figure gliding among the threads of her gown as it began to wisp around him. The tempo was rising now, and the music seemed to fill whatever thin void was left separating them. Her hands held onto him with trust and care, allowing him to guide her; holding the weight of her as she dipped and moved felt as natural as anything. It was an immeasurable sense of right, all the while knowing there was no where else he would rather be in the entire span of time and space.

The rest of the crew had slowly given space to the pair. Most of the remaining masked crew on the floor were content to recede away at least a few meters toward sidelines, allowing for the entranced Phoenix and her Dragon. They were locked onto one another; the only two in the galaxy.

They both sensed the final crescendo flowing towards its conclusion, and the two mythical creatures came to an unspoken understanding. With a tight whirl, the Dragon stepped out from a hold with her, and allowed the Phoenix to take flight. Her hair swept along as she spun, trailing his gauntlet, creating a ribbon of crimson fire. Her weightless motion danced like the licking flames which gave her her name, coming to finality when the end of their reach stopped her. The Dragon stepped up in one single, swift movement. In a flash he took her free hand, and she was caught. The spin she'd been in halted, and her wings snapped open with the motion, sending feather and a few locks of spun hair casting aloft in the rush of air. His breath caught in that moment, finally seeing the woman he'd hoped to witness once again.

She was really here.

Not a word. Not a hint. Not the faintest clue was given. Instead he trailed his fingers along the capped sleeve that clung precariously off her shoulder and down along her shoulder blade in answer. Rochelle swallowed hard, the feather softness of his touch as his hand worked steadily lower until it rested over the knot work of her gown's laced up bodice at the small of her back, claiming that last bit of territory and annexing it for himself. Annexing her for himself right there in front of God and everybody and she more than allowed it. For the briefest of moments they were pressed together, held practically heartbeat to heartbeat, the way she'd have agreed it was meant to be if only she'd known who it was behind that iron mask. It didn't matter that eyes lay on them, or that the quartet steadily played harder simply to watch how they'd adjust. For a singular moment she swore she felt time slow to a stop, but it was never meant to stay that way.

Her fingers moved to toy with the cowl of his cloak, allowing the fabric to brush between them when the Dragon moved expertly to deflect and the Phoenix followed as if bound by electricity and fire as she spun from him. Her eyes closed against the colder air, the flourish of her copper curls and the flash of her wings as she reached the apex of that spin and delicately stepped to return to him, saved by his hands. The feathers of her wings unfurled as their bodies gently met, her impressive wingspan completely open and stretched wide as if to act as a brace and shroud. Noah had done well to program the hologram to respond to her heart rate and motion, each action was liquid poetry. Rochelle shivered as the skirts of her gown caught up with her, surging back to sing past her legs and catch loosely around those of the Dragon. A single action had set the woman ablaze and brought her back from simply surviving to actually living step for precious step. "Who are you?" She asked in a hushed and husky voice as her eyes once again studied his in question, her fingers fanned across his chest, the other held in his glove to keep her close and continue asking her for her compliance as they moved. Rochelle needed to know, the name, the face, the person who had begun to coax from her a taste of freedom once again.

Freedom... She'd once known it, briefly. Coveted the sensation that had drowned such fear and pain, one that had banished the threat of death and cushioned it with a promise of something far greater. She'd been told to live.

The clock said two to midnight when the last note was played and replaced by the sound of applause and chatter between the guests. She couldn't focus on the words, didn't want to. Every highly tuned sense was tugged to her suitor as if he held them on string, captivated enough to momentarily hush the pain of loss and longing.

"You know the rules, Captain. No unmasking until Midnight." He said, letting her drift to her own footing as the song came to a close. Her magnificent gown flowing around her, settling after their final dance. It was something to behold, and there was no part of him that didn't want to peel the holographic mask from his features and reveal himself. Like his statement indicated, though, it wasn't time yet. "I could use a drink and some air, if you're free?" He extended his hand once again, inviting her to take it and join him.

Rochelle huffed softly, her chin tipping in defiance against the rules she herself had set in stone in favor of tradition. Away from his touch, she was able to breathe and steady herself, able to clear the fog and bask in the slightly chilled ballroom "Touche." She countered with a bemused little grin, reaching to adjust her own mask. Two minutes... The seconds were ticking down between them, stoking the flames of mystery that gleaned between them. She knew she could simply walk away and allow the secret to keep itself, never knowing and convincing herself that it was simply a dance and the atmosphere created by historical masquerades that had induced such a strong response. The straining of her ribs against her corset, as her lungs begged for the air necessary to feed her racing heart, said and demanded otherwise and the delicate little firebird found her hand once again fitting within the Dragon's gloved palm. "I don't drink, but I can gladly take up the offer for fresh air." She nodded, the fingers of her free hand once again shooing away from her face that random, persistent, irritatingly unruly lock of hair.

"Well the drink is for me, anyway." He teased, taking her hand once again. They moved toward the opulent double doors that led out onto the massive oval veranda on the far side of the ballroom. Thick curtains shielded most of the windows from the cool night air, even if it was all a projection, but a few tucked back neatly into woven bands of fabric to allow exit to the outside. As they neared, he plucked a glass from a passing waiter and took a swift drink.

"You were hiding your own dancing skills, Captain." He said as they passed the threshold, setting his glass down on a convenient surface. His voice played with her, teasing her for being modest, and still the Captain. She was hardly expected to be something she wasn't, but he saw no reason for her to play at the socialite while wishing to be a wallflower. Being glad for her burst of energy and willingness to let go, he was hoping to see more of that in her.

He looked up at the clock tower in the fictional distance, immersed in the heavy late October fog, and underscored by the town lights below them. The thick haze was both beautiful and haunting. "It's almost time."

A roll of her eyes would be her only response to his quip about his beverage of choice and the chatter of the party goers slowly shed away to be forsaken by the sound of the silent night. Fog clung to the darkness, the first flurries of the coming winter season slowly trickled down, escaping the hold of the bitter night to cast yet one more token to the mystery. In less than 70 seconds worth of time the appearance of the first snow, however fictional, would seem quite fitting. She rested lightly against a railing, her breath nothing more than frost teasing at her lips and nose. "I don't often have the chance to use them." She replied, looking over at him. "Admittedly you're the first I've ever had to really employ them with. You can gloat later." She winked. It wasn't her wish to be the center of attention, but it was her sense of honor and the need to be there for her crew that had lead her to make her appearance that night. Tristan had long ago said that she was seen as a ghost, a shell of the bright, fiery woman they had come to know and love. It was disturbing to say the very least, and something she sought to remedy simply by being there and pretending to have found some sort of closure.

"Thirty seconds." Rochelle replied, and pushed away from the cold banister to bring her hands to the pins that held her elaborate mask in place, drawing at them as time ticked down the end ... and the beginning. However anticipated, the first chime of the clock made her flinch, the second brought about a chuckle, the third and her mask was off to reveal the soft porcelain features of the young Captain's face and she set the mask down on an empty table beside the discarded pins. "Your turn." She said, studying the still intact face of the Dragon's mask with almost childish glee.


--- To be Continued... ---

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

&

Captain Landon Neyes
Former Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

 

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