JPL ~ MCPO Caine & Noah Waterhouse ~ "Heard It Through The Grapevine" Part I of III

Posted on Thu Feb 19th, 2015 @ 5:11am by Master Chief Petty Officer Rik Caine

2,086 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: A Spot To Kill

Rik Caine had finished his shift and was returning to his office to slump down on his couch, pull a short from the barrel and get through yet more paperwork. He wondered to himself why anyone would voluntarily become a Chief of the Boat. As he sidled into the room like a dusty lawman entering a saloon he noticed three things. The first was that the lights were on when previously they'd been out for the count. Secondly, there was a hat floating on his desk with an amber glow beneath it. Finally he spotted a card, couldn't make it out from this distance. Rik raised a single brow with intrigue. Perhaps work was not finished after all and that couch and that short of hooch would have to wait a while longer.

In the middle of his desk floated a hat. Not just any hat, a brown felted fedora with a little card tucked into the hat band. On the card the mark of a dame in the shape of a pair of lips and in the color of coral. Hidden under the hat, and giving it the illusion of defying gravity, was a bottle of whiskey.

Rik moved closer to the foreign items that had appeared in his office like ghosts in the night. He lifted the hat off the bottle to inspect it but couldn't help but notice the flowing lines of the glass bottle, its sturdy belly as solid as any foundation containing the purest amber of liquids. Like the colour of gold or a thousand burning suns it sat; waiting. The neck was short and perfectly straight like a meerkat looking for danger. It was a thing of beauty. He studied the labels momentarily; an unmistakeable TR on the neck band standing out like a beacon to welcome boats safely to shore. Instantly recognisable. Instantly letting a smile play across Rik Caine's lips like he'd won the blackjack hand in a dive joint casino. Templeton Rye. The drink of the era he embodied. He reached his hand out to touch it; check it was really there and he wasn't going to pull awake on his couch with the same disappointment and wishful hoping as a joe pulling awake alone; the dame having disappeared into the night. He touched it and felt the cool glass; he wasn't dreaming.

Smiling again, he then turned his attention to the fedora that had been perched atop the bottle as he'd entered. It was a thing of beauty, soft to the touch and all kinds of class. He picked it up, delicately as if it were a newborn child. His heart beat a little harder as he turned it; admiring from every angle the craftsmanship and detailing. Setting it back down he pulled out the card and it all made a little more sense. Pinkish lips; stark contrast against the white card. Being fairly sure he didn't have another admirer there was only one who would go to this much trouble; one who would pick up on the very meaning of him and enhance it. The redheaded dame called trouble who had had graced his door, played along and ended up so much more. Amelia; the dame that made him dizzy. He kissed the card and leaned back in his chair wondering what he had done so right. The thought; cut off however when the doors slid open.

He didn't even bother to hit the chime. The tall blond joe simply walked in like he owned the joint and settled himself in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Looking like he'd stepped off the high seas of the silver screen, his eyes and the glasses that hung off the bridge piercing hid in the shadows of the tricorner hat with a plume large enough to fan a princess and featuring a hand painted skeleton fish. He smoothed his damask vest with the jolly rogers, skeleton fish, and spaghetti and meatballs pattern woven in as he looked at the fedora, then to the gumshoe expectantly.

Rik looked the bo over with intrigue. It wasn't often someone sidled into his office with the confidence of a fakealoo artist on the film-flam. He felt like the barkeep at some kind of drum watching his newest patron with suspicious interest. The man himself was tall; dressed like a pirate of old with some touches not found in the stories. The plumed feather bobbing as he walked like a peacock in heat. Rolling the fedora up his arm he let it rest on his head, tipped covering his eyes slightly - if the two gents from out of time were going to dance; he at least wanted to look the part.

"Admiral Waterhouse sends his greetings." A smirk painted the tall blond's lips, and he tipped the hat upwards to bring his softly ridged forehead and his faint trill spots into the light.

"Admiral?" Rik repeated half questioning and half concerned all the while swallowing firmly. He knew Amelia's father was an Admiral but, had she told him already? A thousand questions fired through his head like the pistons of a speeding train. "You must be Noah?" He asked after a moment selecting that one. The spots, the ridges showing a family resemblance. He cast his mind back to his conversation with Lily; apparently this rogue was trouble with a capital T and with no holding back. Rik grinned as he tipped his cap to the elaborately dressed joe before him. "I'd offer a seat but... Well..." He quipped nodding to the already seated position of his guest. "Care to dip the bill?"

Noah's eyes dropped and skimmed the lower edge of his lenses, then he snorted with amusement as he shook his head.

"Only if you have rum, and not that synthehol blasphemy," he answered, letting silence answer the other queries. His eyes took a meander around the room, actively turning his head to do so.

Rik chuckled to himself imagining Amelia saying something identical to the same question. This joe was interesting that's for sure; the pirate garb, the goggles, the reaction that made no sense. Slowly he lifted his finger to his chin tapping it in concentration. Rik leaned back in his chair after a moment "sadly not; it's the replicator or I crack open the rather special bottle of hooch your sister left in my joint" he responded assuming that he was the infamous Noah Waterhouse and the gifts had been left by his dish of a dame sister; Amelia.

Noah's attention turned to the bottle for a moment, before his eyes found the bottom of his glasses again. His gaze slowly drifted left towards the display case in the shelves. "Smith and Wesson .32 double action 4th model?" He said this hesitantly, slowly, and as if he was reading it, as he turned his attention back to Rik and pulled a flask from a pocket inside his vest.

"You come prepared with your own hooch I see" Rik quipped taking admiration at a man who could not only get away with wearing a garb he'd expect to see in a swashbuckler movie; but carried a flask around too. Rik took out a tumbler from his drawer and twisted the lid off the bottle breaking the seal with a satisfying crack like knuckles at the start of two hoods squaring up for a fight. As he pulled the lid off he could smell the deep, rich amber nectar within; inviting like a temptress siren beckoning sailors. He poured a measure, savouring each and every moment of the process as he let Noah's latest comment play across his mind. It felt off but he couldn't quite place why. "What are we toasting to bo?" He asked after a short pause and stealing a first sip of the hooch that had appeared in his office just like the dame who had supplied it. It was smooth, with just the right amount of kick. Easy to go down and a classy tipple, much grander than that he had offered Amelia on their first encounter. He'd have to get her to try it. Have to repay her. Have to thank her. As his mind wandered slightly he was almost caught off guard by the reply.

"To the Flying Spaghetti Monster, for touching us and filling our lives with so many wonderful things," Noah insisted as he lifted his flask upward before bringing it to his lips for a taste.

Rik inclined his head unsure by what Noah meant and raised his glass upwards as if making an offering to the sky. "So while we're sat here chinning - maybe you can spin the yarn as to how you've come to know your gats - not many who'd recognise her" he said nodding to the case on the shelf to his right.

"Let's just say a red-headed wench is coaching me," Noah answered, stealing another sip from his flask. His eyes dropped to the bottom edge of his lenses, and he nearly spit out his drink as a string of words in Klingon tumbled from his lips — what little the universal translator could pick out spoke of his mother and thanking pasta she was back at the shipyard.

He watched the man with interest, the way he was speaking and reacting to things it was a almost as if he were a parody of spy talking too obviously to someone in his ear but Rik couldn't spot any clear signs of communication devices about the man dressed as a pirate sat before him. "Problem with the hooch?" He asked after a moment before quickly adding "and that's an interesting garb you've got on your back; there a story behind it?"

"No, no, the rum's fine. Smooth as silk, made it myself. Wanna try?" Noah held the flask out in offering, and his eyes darted downwards again. "This is my Friday's best. Dad wanted me to make a good impression, and he's-" He paused. "He'll probably regret asking it of me." He grinned wide.

Nodding slightly Rik took the offered flask taking a quick swig of the liquid inside before handing it back in one move. It was as smooth as he said; like drinking silk and the subtle bitter notes of alcohol didn't leave much of a burning in the back of his throat. "Some mighty fine hooch you've cooked up, quite a talent" he complimented before returning to his own glass of Templeton Rye. Rik paused again watching the man talk, correcting himself. Something was amiss but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. "A planned visit then?" Rik enquired his whiskey-hazed gum-shoe mind racing like sprinters to the finish.

"Mum and Dad asked me to look in after Pond called Mum for advice on your treasure there," Noah explained, nodding to the whiskey and the fedora.

"I notice you call her Pond" Rik commented picking up on the nickname Noah used. "There a story to go with that name bo?" he asked interested as to its meaning.

"Mum and Dad named her for a character from an old earth show, Doctor Who — Amy Pond," Noah answered with a shrug. "When she was young, Dad would tell her, Come along, Pond since that was a thing the Doctor would say to Amy. It just kinda stuck." Another sip from the flask, and he leaned forward, gesturing with it. "Dad in particular was curious about you after reading your service record. He does that sort of thing because they don't like to let him actually repair things, y'see. Brass aren't supposed to get dirty, right?" He laughed, looking to the fedora again. "It suits you. Pond'll be pleased."

Rik nodded. Amy, Amelia - made sense. He made a mental note to check out the show clearly so important to the dame he was dizzy for and her family before the colour drained out of his face like paint being poured from a pot as Noah mentioned that his and Amelia's parents were already familiar with him and his record. He couldn't help but wonder what the admiral would make of a roguish gum-shoe being sweet on his dame of a daughter as he back-pedalled the conversation. "He... Read my jacket?" Rik questioned swallowing slightly feeling behind the eight ball.

=/\= Continued in Part II =/\=

Master Chief Petty Officer Rik Caine
Security Investigator/Chief of the Boat
USS Vindicator, NCC-78213-E

Noah Waterhouse
Artist and Pastafarian Minister
The Pelican

 

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