PLOT - JL | Com Ivanova, Capt Neyes, Cmdr Dahe'el, Empress Psy'Daio, Ael'Riov tr'Bak - "The Ticking Of The Clock"

Posted on Wed Oct 28th, 2015 @ 3:06am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Commander Almar Dahe'el & Captain Landon Neyes

2,979 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Agua Mala

The sounds of merriment were hard to miss as they reverberated through the marble and raw coral walls, and with the ballroom windows cast wide open, it was likely all of Aleine could hear more than just a whisper of their Princess’s birthday celebration. At the helm of just such an event, the Empress stood poised and seemingly proud of her eldest child’s latest accomplishments. She elegantly passed her ‘thank you’s on to members of the court and Starfleet alike as each passed through the grand entrance to the massive celebration hall. Dinner would start in just a few moments, and tables seemed stuffed with the crème de la crème of society. Off to her left, and slightly elevated, Psy’Daio could see the head table already teeming with the richest forms of life that Apsha and the Federation had to offer;

The fire bright Commodore sat beside her Executive Officer, daintily clad in a bejeweled green and ivory gown that the Empress had demanded she wear as a sign of so-called good faith between regents – she’d even resorted to eluding to the knowledge of the Commodore’s own royal title before the woman had finally caved and accepted the gift. The Cardassian beside her? Dress whites as were appropriate, Psy’Daio couldn’t snivel at that – and onward down the line it went with Enterprise higher ups pressed in close to their Vindicator counterparts. It had been a well devised seating plan – one that the Empress prided herself on. After all… It was ever necessary to make people feel oh so important. It was splendid. It was perfect, and it made sure that any and all reactions to her favorite guest would be on prime display – whenever he finally chose to show up.

And then, as if on cue, a tall figure clad in the richest of woolen black robes appeared in the doorway. He was dark, handsome, and wore his carefully sculpted olive-skinned face in the most charismatic of smiles. Psy’Daio knew him at once and hid a scowl with a pretentious smile that would have made any Romulan proud. “You’re late.” She hissed under her breath as she reached to place her hand within his palm.

“My most sincere apologies, I was…” Vrith tr’Bak began with an insolent smirk toying with the light in his eyes. They were quick to leave the Empress’s own to flirt with seeming disaster, raking over the bare, cream skinned back of the Vindicator’s commanding officer, “detained.” He added, drawing the back of the blue haired regent’s hand to his lips and bringing the sharp emerald of his eyes back to hers.

It didn’t take long for the Empress to follow the Romulan’s line of sight until it rested on the Commodore. “I see.” She replied, the smile dimming in a momentary smirk until the Ael’Riov’s attention returned to her once more; “How dreadful. Obviously it wasn’t too terribly trying of you.” The mocking leer of her tone was not unlike the way she would have tutted to a scolded child, all that was missing was the soft stroking of her hand against his cheek and a well-meaning ‘there there’.

“We’ll discuss it later.” The Ael’Riov replied tersely, his eyes flashing a brisk warning to the Empress beside him. It would be his only reply, and likely only warning, as he removed his outer robe and placed it within the waiting hands of an attendant and wasted no time in making his way towards the head table.

Psy’Daio’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets as they rolled when he passed her, and she was just as quick to motion to the attendant to take their leave. Following anyone had never suited her, let alone following a Romulan – but tr’Bak had offered her something she simply couldn’t refuse; eternity. While her patience ebbed and began to wane, it was that reminder that kept her from having the man’s spine removed by way of his colon. “I urge you use caution with her, Vrith…” the Empress cautioned as they neared closer to the taller Romulan’s target, “She isn’t exactly enamored with you, nor do her people trust yours. We need them.” How strange it was that her role had been diminished into one of diplomatic shivers.

Like water off a duck’s back, tr’Bak dismissed the Empress’ concerns with nothing more than a flippant wave of one of his hands as he worked to unglove them, tucking each into his belt. Her idle nattering about concerns and being gentle meant little to him as he rounded the table and allowed an attendant to usher him to his proper placement. It was just as he requested; directly across from, “Commodore Rochelle Andreevna Ivanova,” He smiled broadly, extending a hand to the redhead, “Jolan’tru. It’s a pleasure to have finally made your acquaintance.”

Hitting the brakes a good several paces behind tr’Bak, Psy’Daio could only watch with a thick mixture of horror, amusement, and interest while the Romulan revealed himself to the plucky little Commodore. The tale of Landon Neyes had not been lost upon even the Ascendancy, and she knew all too well just how deep and touchy a subject it was among the crew of the Vindicator – let alone with the Commodore herself. She watched, truly fascinated, as the firebrand paused mid-sentence. Her lips didn’t even finish wrapping around the last half of whatever word she’d been passing to a member of the Stenellian senate when her perfect porcelain skin tone quickly blanched to a shade that rivaled the Princess’s complexion of freshly fallen snow.

The Commodore didn’t need to bring her eyes to the source of the voice, the way her hair prickled on the back of her neck and her blood ran cold as ice said it all. She knew him. Hated him. It was an instinctive response that came from once upon a dream, one that saw to her perfectly manicured nails dig into Almar’s arm and her eyes quickly taking flight to find Landon standing and speaking with one of the Enterprise’s crew members at the bar. With everyone accounted for, and no sign of distress from the Vindicator, the Phoenix finally brought the bitter crystal of her eyes to the Romulan’s extended hand and followed the line of his arm until it gave way to the expanse of his shoulder and finally his face. “Ael’Riov tr’Bak,” She responded, her voice deeper and rougher than it had been when she’d been engaging the other members of the table, “What a surprise.” Somehow she managed to fix a smile on her face, and mask the tremble of adrenaline that coursed wildly through her veins as she removed her napkin from her lap, set it daintily on the table before her, and rose to greet the insidious bastard. Placing her hand within his set off the clarion bells of warning; her skin crawled as it rested against the deep, soft olive velvet of his and Psy’Daio relished in every second of the greeting between the two.

The Cardassian had noticed the Romulan as soon as he had entered and had his gaze fixed upon him as he approached, tr'Bak was someone that Almar would gladly see bleeding at his feet if he had a chance, he'd already tried taking the Vindicator away from him once and the feel of Rochelle's nails digging into his arm broke him from the stare and made him realize that he wasn't the only one who had noticed.

“A surprise indeed!” tr’Bak exclaimed, “I see you even brought your wayward Cardassian with you.” He grinned, switching his attention to the Commander, “Commander Dahe’el, I trust this climate is suited to your liking.” He added, releasing Rochelle’s hand to offer the other officer a shake.

"The climate is quite agreeable, the company less so." Almar replied as he stood to shake the hand that was offered, a cold stare bought out the deepest nature of his being as he withdrew the hand and retook his seat.

Tr’Bak’s head shook with the lightest of chuckles as the Cardassian retook his seat, “Such blatant disrespect,” He chided, “I’ve always known Starfleet officers to pride themselves in their customs and courtesies.” The Romulan practically tutted while his attention, and direction, shifted back to the still standing Commodore, “What are they teaching in the Academy these days?” He asked, moving to take his seat and unfurled his napkin with a flourish.

Rochelle, passing a quick glance towards Almar, slowly retook her own seat. “A sense of self pride and worth, but other than that? Business as usual.” She replied as an attendant aided in pushing her chair back in and the woman replaced her napkin in her lap. While the gown was hardly something she’d have normally worn, there was little sense in destroying it by way of poor decorum.

"Respect is earned, not given." Almar replied coldly, his posture rigid and one hand resting on the pocket that contained his padd linked to the ship's computer.

Shattering glass could be heard from the bar, and a few surprised sounds from the people who quickly rose to check on the Trill man who held the broken drink in his hand. The blue liquid poured over his fingers and trickled onto the floor, gently mingling with a few drops of blood. Landon stood in the background, able to hear the sounds of a man he'd been forced to endure for what felt like a lifetime's worth of misery and pain. The Captain's blank face reflected nothing as he stood motionless while others helped get the broken shards from his hand, his eyes locked on the table where his fiance and the Romulan envoy sat. The white noise of the celebration faded as he began to hear his own heart beating in his chest.

For the second time in a few short seconds, Rochelle found her words stilled and her attention sharply drawn away from it's designated target. Breaking glass was out of character for such a setting, and a cause for alarm in even the most benign of situations. This wasn't benign. Even before her eyes shot off in the direction of the noise, she knew it had come from Landon and part of her expected to find a crowd standing around his fallen body, the Romulan having finally managed to finish what he'd started. Relief, however, would be hers as she quickly found him to be shaken, but hardly stirred.

Landon wasn't sure what to do in that moment, and for the first time in a long time paralyzing fear snatched at his soul. Gently, his eyes floated to Rochelle, silently asking for a measure of reassurance she wasn't somehow in tr'Bak's murderous grip. The memory of her eyes fading into darkness, and the dream of their child being born rang deafeningly loud in his mind. For an instant he was reminded of the pictures the psychopath had thrown at his feet. Her death.

Meeting his eyes, Rochelle could see the fear wrought within them. More importantly, she could practically hear him begging for some sort of reassurance that everything was ok, that they were safe, and with an almost imperceptible nod and the briefest fall of her lashes, she quietly relayed to him that, though the unthinkable had come to pass, things were alright on the whole. She was alive, he was still there, the ship intact, their crew still whole. While her own fear may have climbed up and down her nerves in thick torrents, leaving her wanting nothing more than to grab him, the crew, and beat a hasty retreat back to the safety of the Sol system, Rochelle knew it would need to be contained for the greater good - at least while tr'Bak was still eagerly waiting for some sort of response. "That it is, Commander." She heard herself agreeing with Almar as she forced herself to tear her eyes from Landon's and place them back on the Romulan's repugnant face, "I'm sure you would agree, wouldn't you Ael'Riov tr'Bak?"

Tr'Bak simply smiled as he motioned for the attendant to fill his wine glass. "You are quite right, Commodore. Respect is earned." The maniacal Romulan snorted, ignoring the Cardassian stray, "Those of us who have served for our governments as long as we, have most definitely earned mutual respect. Have we not, Rochelle?"

"If that's what you choose to call it," The redhead nodded with a gentle shrug, "who am I to correct you?" She asked, lightly settling back against her chair in a charade of comfort. In truth, she was anything but comfortable. Rochelle's insides had knotted and twisted in a mixture of anger, worry, and even fear. It wasn't that the abominable Romulan had sent her proverbial tail tucking between her legs, it was that she knew what the mad man was capable of - with the additional fact of how he'd wear a smile while completing his dastardly deeds - things the young Commodore wanted to avoid for her crew and family. As such, while feigning a distinct degree of nonchalance, the woman silently prayed to whatever God was listening, that James Archer was back from his travels and hidden somewhere high, lining up a shot of some lethal cocktail that would take the green blooded bastard out once and for all.

Tr'Bak's smile waned. "Now now. There's no need for all the obloquy. We are here to celebrate as friends and to negotiate alliances." Raising his glass high the smile returned to his face just as quickly as it left, "To the princess! May she have many more joyous celebrations for her d'navassa'tel, sora!" Lowering his glass to his lips and taking a sip of the fruity alcoholic beverage. Gazing at its reddish hue as it swirled around. "There's a Terran beverage that I tried once and very much enjoyed when I visited your home world several years ago. The name eludes me at the moment, but it was a wine served with fruit inside the carafe. I would very much like to try it again."

A thin eyebrow arched high over Rochelle's left eye as she regarded the hobgoblin. His smile, as it began to disappear, gave reason for the woman to allow a small measure of celebration; she'd managed to find a way under his skin, if even only momentarily. "I hardly feel that I'm abusing you, Ael'Riov," It was her turn to fix a sardonic smile across her facial features, "I'm merely making reference to semantics. You're right, however, tonight should be about Princess Xue'Daio. I'll toast to her birthday and the wish that she find herself blessed with many more, in fact I think we all should." Rochelle added, motioning to Almar to accompany her in saluting the toast, and lifted her water glass high, "To the Princess." She repeated before bringing the ice water to her lips for a sip and allowing it to settle back against the grand table before her.

Where she'd hoped for silence, however, the Romulan's addiction to his own voice reared its ugly head once more. "You speak of sangria." She replied, shifting slightly in her seat as several attendants descended upon the table with trays and plates of food, "I'm surprised your people haven't come up with a similar vintage."

"Ah yes! That's it. Sangria. Quite a lovely concoction," replied V'rith. "We have something similar on Romulus. We call it lhiet kheh'irho but it doesn't have the same, how do you Terrans say, 'Je ne sais qua'. Besides," the Romulan paused only long enough to give Rochelle a knowingly baleful look and a malevolent smile, "I have a taste for human culture."

"I'm sure you do." replied Rochelle, and her fingers contemplated better uses for the butter knife she held in her left hand as it hovered over her plate. Her appetite had strongly waned, leaving the bitter taste of anxiety to settle across her delicate palate. Leaving, however, was hardly an option - as was castrating a certain Romulan officer on the banquet table.

"Rochelle, why do I get the sense you are not very fond of me," Tr'Bak queried before taking another drink of his wine.

"Whatever gave you that idea, Ael'Riov?" the redhead returned, while capturing a bite of dinner. The gaze she offered was a wry, yet seemingly genuinely curious one, "I think you're mistaking my reserved attitude for one of resentment." Andrea, she decided, would be proud.

Setting his glass upon the table, Vrith picked up his fork and gently stabbed at the partially cooked fish. The smell turned his stomach, causing him to push the plate away, "Please, there's no need for such formalities. We are of equal caste. Call me Vrith." The Romulan Commodore signaled for an attendant.

"Indeed." Rochelle hummed disinterestedly as she studied the brightly colored flesh of the poached fish on her own plate. "Bon appétit." Though she knew she could escape into the general silence that came with fine dining, the young Commodore was just as painfully aware of the fact that it too would come to an end and that the Ael'Riov would still be there, just a table width away.

---

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

Commander Almar Dahe'el
Executive Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

Captain Landon Neyes
Liaison
USS Vindicator, NCC 78213-E

Psy'Daio Nox
Empress of the Stenellian Ascendancy
Queen Dowager of Aleine
Queen of Apsha

Ael'Riov Vrith Tr'Bak
Commander, 3rd Tal Shiar Task Force
Romulan Star Empire

 

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