Joint Log | Captain Ivanova, Lt Cmdr Neyes - "Down Periscope"

Posted on Tue Sep 16th, 2014 @ 3:02am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Commander Tristan Neyes PhD.

2,487 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Are You Touched?
Location: Qapla' Resort - Poolside

Macaws had always been such raucous things, the parrots screeches loud and grating to the more delicate senses in most settings. However, playing on their perches at the resort's poolside, they seemed so fitting. Their vibrant red and rich blue feathers brought a certain flair to the island-like setting and the noises they produced when excited or warning a tourist that came too close for comfort suddenly seemed a small price to pay in exchange for their beauty. From where she lay, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, Rochelle was all too content to cast them a passing glance of moderate interest each time they barked or screamed.

The sun had done wonders for her, even with the encounter she'd had in the bar considered. It had brought out the rich bronze tones of her freckles, dotting them across her face and body as if it had shaken out a paint brush over her skin. In return, she worshiped it's brightness on a chaise lounge while the sound of steel drums and the not so distant roar of the ocean serenaded her.

"Captain." A familiar voice acknowledged her, and a faint rustling of a bag set down on the chair next to her. "Enjoying the sunshine?"

Tristan smiled, having been taken so aback by the surprising beauty of the Klingon world, he had no time to feel worried or apprehensive about anything. Seeing the Captain in a swimsuit, a delicate shawl draped over half of her petite form, felt like just another happenstance in a fantastically overdue vacation. Neyes himself was already bronzed nearly beyond recognition. Both him and Landon had always tanned quite fast, and his spots seemed lessened as the contrast between them and his skin lessened.

"Mmmm." Was all the sun-relaxed Rochelle could reply as she stretched and shielded her eyes from the sun to confirm who the voice belonged to. She almost wasn't able to put a name to the voice, the man not fitting the mental image that came to find. The way the soft fairness of his skin had given way to such a deep, rich bronze had left him so much more refined, more adult looking and perhaps even foreboding. The Klingon homeworld had been more than kind to Tristan Neyes, she decided as she gave him one last appraising look. "Apparently you are too."

Neyes laughed, holding up his forearms in display, "I had no idea even the sunlight on the Klingon homeworld would be so aggressive." The trail of markings dotting along his torso were also less apparent, and speckled down his neck until they framed his chest, and finally stretched down his sides until disappearing beneath the trim of his own bathing suit. The blue and black trunks were slim, but flattering for a man who rarely stepped out of his uniform. "Are there many of these resorts here?"

"Given the amount of pollution plaguing this planet, it's no small wonder." Rochelle chuckled and motioned for him to take a seat on one of the chaises beside her. "This is the only one from what I understand." She shrugged. There was good reason for it, multiple resorts on Qo'noS would quickly lead to the entire industry folding. Very few ever wanted to find human comfort on a planet filled with raucous locals and their violent customs.

"It is so similar to where I grew up," Tristan said as he took his position on the seat adjacent to hers, "where the sun is always shining and the beach is always pleasantly welcoming. And of course, where there is luxury, wealth and business... there are Ferengi. I noticed more than half the shops in this little resort are Ferengi-owned."

The redhead chuckled and rolled on her side to face him, "You seem surprised. Don't you know that Ferengi travel in packs? They're like money sniffing lemmings."

Neyes pulled out a dermal gel and gently rubbed some across his arms and shoulders. They'd probably all have to be treated for radiation poisoning after this much ultraviolet exposure. Tristan had spent a good deal of the morning reading on his patio, and it nearly felt like he'd taken up position atop the dorsal hull of the Vindicator, exposed to the elements. "It is like this where you're from, Captain?"

A soft seabreeze rustled the fronds of a near-by palm and the macaws cackled in appreciation as it ruffled their vibrant feathers. Rochelle's eyes closed as she savored the moment and the good company. "There are places on Earth like this, mainly the Hawaiian islands and the Florida keys." She answered as she re-opened her eyes. The pool area seemed relatively empty, a couple people played in the water or basked in the hot tub -- Tristan had chosen to come set himself down beside her. It was a sign of their building truce, the confidence each was slowly finding in the other. She'd never be as close to him as she had been with Landon, but that was the beauty of the design when it came to the Trill; he didn't expect or want it. That alone made him worth double his weight in gold pressed latinum to her. "I take it you've never been?"

"I have never been to Earth," Tristan said with disappointment, "my commission in Starfleet was hastily conjured by our two governments. I was met by delegation, they swore me in, and I was on my way to the Vindicator. I suppose that's what you can come to expect in a time of war.

"When I heard of the attack on your home, I originally requested to be sent to Earth to assist in the recovery efforts. Humans are like the carriers of culture in this quadrant, if you'll allow me to say so. Your people's need to explore space, the galaxy, it sparked something the Trill were never interested in pursuing. In many ways I think Earth is the reason for modern culture in this quadrant. To lose that... I wanted to help. Fortunately I was sent to you."

One of the birds barked loudly as Rochelle shook her head, her eyes instinctively darting to the source of the loud, raucous noise as Tristan spoke. They vaguely sounded like the rubble of the Whydah as it was being sifted through and moved in search of survivors, a chorus of grinding and loud cracks and electrical pops that seemed more alive than it should have. "As a race we're a bit of a parasite." She said, turning her attention back to the counselor, "we expand far and fast and leave the face of everything we touch permanently altered by our culture. I guess that's why Starfleet had the foresight to write the prime directive and enforce it. Though I suppose the idea of exploration is still romantic in its own right, finding new things, new races and being able to help them overcome their obstacles through our own knowledge has its rewards."

Reaching for her glass of water, Rochelle studied her Chief Counselor for what he was worth. The cold, inhospitable nature of her eyes raked over his sun kissed facial features while she took a sip. "I know I've been hard on you, Tristan, but I do appreciate your presence on the Vindicator."

A long moment split the difference between a casual acceptance of her offering, and the very real warmth it brought the young Trill to hear her say those words. Expressing any gratitude to Tristan probably took more than she would admit to. Their relationship was tenuous at best, but seemed to rest on a mutual understanding with unspoken rules and barriers. He had grasped her pain at losing Landon very clearly, but how it was affecting her was still murkier than Neyes had wanted it to be by this point. She was vehemently opposed to letting others inside her world, and Tristan worried she was willing to burn herself down from the inside out rather than let anyone in. Hopefully their relationship would shift to a place they both felt comfortable, and where they could communicate without the reigns of awkward history holding them back.

Tristan smiled genuinely, "Thank you, Captain. I am glad to be of help. I know how you're making your way back to normal, so I will assist in any way I can."

She chuckled lightly, setting the glass back down on the little side table that separated their lounges. Rochelle was a difficult creature who's secrets guarded themselves and who's heart was concealed behind walls of ice and fire willing to destroy those who were unworthy of winning it. It was no small mystery that he'd made it some sort of crusade to see her through the death of his brother, sticking to her like glue and spurring her on through each leap and twist and buck she made to try and unseat him. He wasn't afraid of her, and if he was he made a fine display out of not showing it outwardly. For that she gave him her respect and a tentative offering of her acceptance as bit by bit, day by day, he proved himself invaluable to the crew of the Vindicator. Landon would be proud. "I know you will." She replied, "You already have."

Neyes leaned back in his chair and threw ankle up to his opposite knee, breathing in the fresh air and allowing himself to settle in to relax. The quiet was doing wonders for him so far, and the exchange with Rochelle had calmed many of his nerves... but something was missing.

"Where do I get one of those drinks?" He pointed at the glass she'd held in her hand.

"You snap your fingers and they send a cabana boy or girl out." The woman grinned. It seemed the Ferengis had figured out that the old adage of 'sex sells' had more than an ounce of truth to it. To cater to her whims, they'd sent out a strapping young Andorian lad. To Archer, on the beach, they'd sent a cute little Bajoran thing. The eye candy hadn't won her over, but she'd noticed several members of the crew enjoying the extra attention. "I think I've been pissing them off by ordering only water, tea and raktajino." A fact that, to her, was oh so very amusing.

Tristan made an awkward face, contorting his mouth in disagreement, "Odd." Yet, the temptation got the better of him and seconds later his fingers snapped after a low pause. Almost immediately a pair of statuesque Bajoran attendants appeared from behind them, as if lying in wait for their summons. One man and one women, they both smiled at Tristan.

"Yes?" the two said in unison, eyeing the Trill from head to toe, and coyly standing near the edge of his chair.

Tristan looked up at the two, immediately taking note of the pair instead of the single male or female. "You weren't kidding?"

"Do I ever?" She asked, tilting her head towards him with a wry little smile. "They seem well versed on cultural differences also." The bikini clad Captain propped herself up on one elbow and watched the scene unfold with a heavy dose of amusement and curiosity. She knew Tristan was out of his element in an environment that could, and would, spiral down the rabbit hole to being lewd faster than he could snap his fingers again. The very thought brought up the reminder that Archer had bought one of the cabana attendants with nothing more than a smile and a room key -- though she hardly thought that would be the counselor's style.

"I erm... uh...," suddenly he realized he'd forgotten what to order, "...can I get something blue?" Blue things usually tasted alright.

"...and cold." Then the male Bajoran touched Neyes' arm, trailing a finger along his bicep. The female giggled and moved to the other side between Tristan and Rochelle, rubbing his neck and bending toward him.

"...with alcohol," Neyes added with a milder tone, and smiled up awkwardly.

The two leaned down to within a few inches of both Tristan's ears, and whispered seductively, "Whatever you want, ...Commander." Again, in unison. Neyes felt the warmth of their breath leave and they both laughed and left to fetch him his concoction.

"Oh." Neyes said, a little wide-eyed glance toward Rochelle. "Oh."

He was met with an upswept brow and eyes that couldn't hide the intense level entertainment Rochelle had received watching him be thrown so far from his safe zone. "Indeed." She replied, the wry smile only seeming to spread, "I established my no touching rule pretty much off the bat after receiving similar treatment. You, on the other hand..." The redhead shrugged, "I'm sure you'd appreciate letting your hair down a bit."

Neyes scoffed at her playfully with mock indignant arrogance, "I think I will. You promise me you will, and I promise to follow your fine example."

Rochelle nearly choked, "This is me letting my hair down. I don't do bikinis as a rule, but Waterhouse somehow managed to screw with the replicators and robbed me of my modesty. So now it's your turn. Go have fun."

"Did you see the swimsuits some of these guys are wearing?" He pointed to the Bajoran fetching his drink. The purple skin-tight trunks covered his front and back, while broad straps connected both sides to expose the skin of his waist. "You would be able to see ALL my spots with that on. Don't think you're so special."

"The difference, my dear Tristan, being that he's used to flouncing around with ninety-percent of his skin exposed. I'm not so keen and like that ninety-percent covered up." She quipped in return, toying with her sarong.

"Fair enough. I hadn't thought of a professional career in cabana flouncing either." He teased. "And we're sure it was a mistake?" He motioned to the bikini, "Not some clever ploy by your number-one to get you into this get up?"

"I'm sure Starfleet would have loved to see that on your resume." Knowing Malone, however, the very skill set was likely on the list of requirements needed to become an Admiral's aid. The thought nearly made her chuckle. "This? I'm positive it wasn't a mistake. She pitched a fit when I initially wanted to come down with a one piece." The woman scowled as she looked down at the turquoise and chocolate colored bits of fabric. Orion slave girls wore more, of this she was certain. "At least she let me keep the sarong."

"Well then," Neyes teased, "thank goodness for small favors." The attendant brought back Tristan's drink with a wink.

"Indeed." Rochelle chirped, taking up her glass of water again and settled back, happy for the company and the sunshine.

=/\= ENG LOG =/\=

Captain Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR

Lt Cmdr Tristan Neyes
Chief Counseling Officer
USS Vindicator

 

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