retromica

[retromica]

☆ ZENITHSPAN : 

If an executive board member of some congolmerate somewhere was seeing these two picture each other as the enemy now, they’d have gone back to swimming in money. A musician fading into pretentious obscurity in some local bar, and the geek critic fading into also pretentious obscurity, albeit after attacking some major franchise.

The way Sid takes his words– admittedly mechanical, administratively issued as they were, and mocking him doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s no verbal response. Just a moment where he reached up for his glasses as if to put them away as if he knew just what Sid was getting at, expecting to take a hit before he could dish out. But when he saw a familiar head of red approaching out of the corner of his eye, he lowered his hand. 

“Wh–”

The near bump of heads has Clark gritting his teeth. Fortunate then that it would not be interpreted as fuming but as a really weird grin to their mutual alien friend. The thought does occur to Clark that maybe Sid’s outward attitude isn’t so far off– Clark’s had his share of venomous reactions. He doesn’t blush as deeply though, 683′s showered him with such affections he’s gotten used to it. Another reason to be frustrated. And it’s also starting to click for Clark as to why exactly his presence earned that much ire. 

“I can stick around on the sidelines for a little while. At least until I’ve bought dinner to take with me back to the studio lot.” said Clark, coming up with a halfway compromise, glancing over to Sid and nodding towards 683 to get some kind of a brief, unspoken truce going for the sake of their mutual friends. “Boss called me back in for some script re-writes on one of their movies. Then I gotta fix my own stage lights before I can go home.”

Once plans were hashed out and feet were moving. Clark hung back. 683 and Priscilla could take the lead. Clark wanted to speak quickly.

“You still really wanna hash this out? We’ll pick a fuckin’ time and place. But not in front of them: They don’t need the grief. Play along, keep personal details sparse.”

Clark started walking along. Hands in pockets like he was a cowboy holstering weapons. Making light conversation to sell the false peace that had been assumed.

“–One or two sound guys back at the studio. They mostly do editing now, but some of them still play various instruments. Dedicated stuff. Respect to ‘em, and to you guys. They were in the crowd earlier too. Told ‘em to swing by and I guess they did.”

That was the truth. It took a little bit of honesty to sell a ruse well as he described his co-workers. Clark kept most of his opinions regarding music to himself and left real critique to those specialized in the medium and its genres.

     683 AND Priscilla are talking -- or one assumes they are, as they just look like they’re taking turns shaking each other and giggling. There’s whispers, furtive glances aimed at Clark and Sid, pealing squeals of delight ( mostly from 683 ) and mockingly suggestive hand gestures ( entirely Priscilla ). Sid grumbles under his breath, trudging along with his teeth clenched -- it’s like something always goes wrong, no matter how well they play, and he’s not ready to admit that it’s often times his own fault. Infuriating himself when he spots an old band member in the crowd -- criticizing his own performance to the bones -- picking a fight with 683′s new buddy. He startles when Clark addresses him, bristling at the audacity of some -- putzy nerd. 

     ❝ HEY ! ARE you talkin’ to me, you fuckin’ four-eyed twat -- ❞ Sid hisses, reeling his hand back as if he intends to grab a fistful of Clark’s hideous polo, and a glimpse of 683 standing under the streetlamp with a petrified, warbling expression like he’s going to explode into a thousand tiny shards of 60′s themed glass makes him clench his fist, but otherwise drop it to his side. ❝ Chill out, 683. Man, it’s just a joke, ❞ he strains, and 683 lights up like a solar flare, satisfied all is well in the world. The intricacies of Earth’s social cues will eternally mystify him; who is he to question if calling Clark a twat isn’t somehow actually a compliment ? 

     BUT THE bassist isn’t through; peace and love might be stitched onto his jeans, but he sometimes has a hard time abiding by it. And even if Sid isn’t aggressive, he is almost irrationally defensive. ❝ You think you’re such a tough guy. You’re lucky you got your little girlfriend here, or else -- or else I’d, ❞ he stumbles, because he isn’t really sure what he’d do. No one really ever tries to actually fight Sid, because he is an adult man wearing a fringe jacket.

     ❝ LOOK. ❞ HE tries again, putting another cigarette between his teeth, ❝ I’m not starting shit. I just don’t want you -- messing with our vibes, do you get me ? He digs you, you tolerate him, whatever. But you aren’t with the band. We were fine without you, and we don’t need you cramping our style. And -- and I don’t care what 683 says, we are nothing alike, ❞ he grumbles, the perfect standoffish portrait to mirror Clark’s standoffish tendencies. No lighter -- must have lost it. He mutters under his breath and tucks the cigarette behind his ear.

     683 GLEEFULLY holds the door open for Clark -- because of course he does -- and he’s instantly glued to his side the moment he passes through, clinging to his arm and chattering about how much they’re going to have the best time ever, yeah yeah yeah yeah !! The pub door slams close on Sid, who loudly exclaims on the wrong side of the wood. 

[retromica]

☆ ZENITHSPAN : 

There’s a moment where Clark’s hands just hover over the bass guitar. And then, a sudden realization why he stuck to movies and things. Something about the music business just made people’s personalities a certain way, Clark often thought to himself.

“… I’m twenty-six. My show has footage to go with that audio. Your stuff, your call ultimately: Just wanted to see if anything needed fixing– and if I may echo a sentiment you must be feeling right now: Didn’t ask.”

Clark raised a brow before turning to give Sid his undivided attention, gesturing that he wasn’t going to touch the instrument after all, and he was going to back off of in regards to the rest of their equipment. Theatre people were embarrassing off-stage, filmed actors were assholes off-camera. But they usually kept it professional enough to get a job done. Musicians were a whole other breed, always on in a sense. The sounds were the thing most exaggerated, the performers’ personas no matter how outrageous were a secondary objective. Audiences were always looking directly at the performers or trying to tear them apart just to boast about touching an idol or to steal away some personal item. Before and after playing, they were either saving up or utterly drained of personality, left to a fight or flight instinct on how to respond to anything–

It was getting increasingly more difficult to use sympathy for another creative to outweigh the futile, but still alluring primal desire to just nosedive into hostility. But these were 683′s friends and roommates, so Clark had to at least try at pleasantries. Even if some frustration slipped through the cracks. As long as it didn’t devolve into a shouting match or a brawl before he left…

“Sorry for touching your shit. I’ll split now. If I’m banned, please say it clearly before I’m out the door. Spares us both from any future small talk.”

     SID’S LIP curls at that smug, sanctimonious voice -- he loathes these ‘creators,’ bullshitters on Amazon microphones vomiting their worthless ‘content’ into the abyss that’s the world wide web. He can’t stand it. It feels fake, plastic, and everyone knows real talent is earned the real way, that real success happens without algorithms or social media or sponsorships. Sid will wade through an ocean of quicksand and roll a thousand boulders up a thousand sisyphean hills to earn his dues: he doesn’t need soul-sucking modern media to get to a place where someone like him can finally be appreciated.

    ❝ YEAH, YOU should be sorry. You don’t touch a man’s guitar, man, but I guess someone like you isn’t gonna get much life experience from behind a computer. Dream on, you dick -- if I’m banned, ❞ he echoes in a mocking drawl, spitting out his smoke and crushing it under the heel of his shoe. Maybe he and Clark would be the same height, but the benefit of platforms is that Sid towers over most people he meets. ❝ You don’t get banned from a venue just ‘cause you annoy me. I’m not your mum, and I don’t give a fuck where you do or don’t go. You just stay outta my business, ❞ he snaps, throwing the strap over his shoulder and slinging the guitar, ❝ or else I’ll -- ❞  

     ❝ YOU’RE FRIENDS -- !! ❞

     IT’S SHRILL, ebullient, radiating that sparkly cheer and slightly off-key twang that could only come from one lone little visitor from far beyond the stars. And 683 darts to both of them, cozy in the coat he left to get from the van, arms around both their necks as he yanks them close for a hug. He nearly knocks their foreheads together. ❝ Oh, I just knew you two’d get along ! I always tell Sid, ❞ 683 prattles on, ignoring how Sid flushes red, ❝ that when I met you, Clark, you reminded me so much of him ! And you know how I’m always telling you, ❞ he continues, planting a very dainty kiss on Clark’s cheek ( Sid turns and gags like he’s just smelled raw sewage ), ❝ that you’re just as smart and Sid and just as nice, too !! Oh, oh, oh, do you two wanna kick it tonight ? ❞ he asks excitedly, his mismatched eyes wide as he snatches both their hands, ❝ all four of us, like a whole bunch of friends !! It’ll be a gas !! ❞  

     AND WHEN neither of them seem immediately enthusiastic, 683 blinks, the joy plummeting from his wan little face as a stormy bout of malcontent threatens to eclipse it. ❝ What’s wrong ? ❞ he warbles, his throat tight, brows knitted in worry. ❝ You ... you don’t wanna ... spend time with me -- ? ❞

[retromica]

[ @zenithspan​ : A meager audience settles in. Clark arrives, and proves to be the most attentive of First Contact's act. Perhaps they can recognize him from the vivid descriptions 683 has probably offered uninvited. In any case, he's shown up to offer some support. Possibly also to help fix stage equipment like a true roadie, or to wave around a lighter. Or whatever it is people do. Clark wants to add to the experience more than he takes away. ]

     HE STICKS out like a mislabeled hair metal record stashed in the glam rock section ( in other words, extremely and infuriatingly badly ). Those dorky glasses, that ugly, tacky shirt -- not that anyone else’s shirt around here is any better, mind you, but ugliness is subjective, and wearing something hideous with ironic intent is entirely different to just succumbing to bad taste. It’s one thing to look like the secret fifth member of Led Zepplin -- it’s another thing to look like you’re straight out of Scooby Doo. 

     SID REGARDS Clark with narrow-eyed suspicion, his cigarette limp between his lips as 683 fawns over him, sickeningly saccharine enough to rot your teeth down to the roots. He’s quick to remind anyone -- and everyone -- that Clark came just to see me, ‘cause he must really dig me, man, isn’t that just so fab ? Sid is a man of tact, of pride, and he is not jealous at all. 683 is welcome to go cuckoo over whatever washup nerd he pleases. The bassist gives a dismissive sniff, grumbling under his breath when 683 exclaims he’ll be right back, he promises, okaaaaay, throwing arms over Clark’s shoulders and swinging Priscilla in a circle as he zips away like the streaking afterimage of a fiery comet. He isn’t jealous at all. 

     WHEN CLARK makes a move to pack up his bass, Sid’s quick to push himself away from his place slouched against the wall, snapping, ❝ hey man, don’t touch my shit, got it ? You come in here, ❞ he grouses, snatching the neck of his instrument from his hands, ❝ act like you’re with the band or whatever, but I don’t know you, and I don’t want to. We don’t need a thirty year old groupie with some embarrassing radio show. You wanna hang around 683, that’s your prerogative. You keep in her orbit, and you don’t come near mine. Do you copy, space cadet ? ❞

[retromica]

☆ AFTRWHYR : 

███  NADESH; //.   HE CAN’T HELP BUT FEEL a sort of misplaced nostalgia. for a moment where he stood where the stands now; frustrated by the technology presented & how specific one must be. of the food being foreign to him, so much so it made him sick. && still does. supposedly such isn’t very normal but he didn’t recall that he cared for that fact only that it did make him sick. a hope for the stranger that their constitution is far better than his own.

             the jicama shimmers into existence.  ＂ i have to agree with you; it seems a bit foolish to pay for what one can get for free— however what is free is within limitations. bajor has asked for only a selection of their food be available so that merchants here have a better chance to make money with the coming & goings of travelers at the station. not the only species that has done so. ＂

             a gesture for 684 to take an available seat if he so chose.  ＂ the federation is the ‘odd one out’ so to speak when it comes to supplies or foodstuffs. it’s built into their,＂ a pause. realizing he’s slipped in speech & thought from his uniform,  ＂ our, regulations. to those in need we offer assistance as best can provide. food, supplies, fuel, & of course our medical facilities as well.＂

     ❝ HOW VERY selfish, ❞ 684 sniffs impassively, curtly taking the cup with the same finicky displeasure as one would hold a particularly volatile explosive substance. He looks at the chair in distaste -- they’re very uncomfortable, rigid and stiff as if preparing him for a day’s work rather than a moment’s respite to eat. Atomina’s dining facilities were so sensible with their low tables and spaces to sit on the floor; Atomina was just so familiar, so logical, everything exactly the way it should be. 

     HE MISSES knowing what to do; he misses his responsibilities, he misses his routine, which has thus far been an inextricable part of himself like some sort of vital organ. Folding himself like a malfunctioning turbolift door as he stiffly takes a seat, he places the cup on the table and gently pushes it away from him with a finger. 

      ❝ I APPRECIATE the Federation’s ... equitability, ❞ he says through a grimace. He takes a bite and makes a sour face. There’s an unpleasant tingle, a lingering sort of tang that is entirely unsuitable to his palette. Torn between the cardinal sin of wasting food and forcing himself to eat something he loathes, he gestures to Nadesh. ❝ I find it unpalatable. You are free to take this if you would like. If not, I’ll ... ❞ and he leaves a miserable sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. ❝ I will try to eat it later. ❞

[retromica]

☆ CONSTABLEGOO : 

  “ I am, ”  he answers, quiet in the moment’s pause. It’s not that the question is uncommon, or that she has asked it unkindly – he finds for all his efforts that he sticks out like an unfiled confidential report left in Quark’s bar, even among strangers from distant places – it’s something else, it’s her.  “ I… do understand, ”  he lowers his gaze when she does hers, but only in passing.  “ I understand how much it must mean to you, how… difficult it is to be the only one like yourself. And I understand your world’s need for privacy – not only on my own terms, but because the world here has gone through something devastating as well. ”

Odo hesitates, concedes. He angles his head to give an acute look.  “ You don’t have any reason to trust me any more than you do any of the others on the station. In fact, I have to agree with you: it isn’t any business of the Federation’s, or even of Bajor’s, how your world works; but to them, I’m afraid this is no mere technicality. It is a matter of deep principle on their part to try to protect 683, as misguided as it may turn out to be. I believe that under other circumstances they would indeed respect the wishes of your people without argument, however… ”

He stands a little straighter, hands folded.  “ While I don’t have the power alone to overrule or waiver their requirements, I still may be able to help you build a case. There are certainly grounds to support your position, and if nothing else, I can help you limit their line of questioning only to what is pertinent to 683 in the here and now. We can demand that they take marginal, if not next to nonexistent, notation of this encounter with your people – to omit formal contact procedures and any formal record beyond a footnote. ”  Odo sighs.  “ I know it isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but considering 683′s own resistance… I’m not sure what more you can do. ”

     ❝ YOU SPEAK of Bajor, ❞ she supplies, lifting her heavy head. The passive blankness affixed on her face persists, her voice as flat as a code red heartbeat on the infirmary computer. ❝ I am aware of the history of the planet. The people of Bajor do not make any effort to disguise their recent history under the occupation of a foreign power. I do not mean to compare tragedy -- what happened here is ... is beyond my comprehension, and I do not necessarily want to comprehend it at all. But this is the very reason we avoid contact. We cannot risk outside intervention until we can take care of ourselves. Despite ... what has happened, ❞ she murmurs, placing her palms together carefully as if measuring every word for its weight, ❝ there are still several million individuals inhabiting Bajor. There are just under one hundred thousand of us left on Atomina. We do not have any margin for error -- nor can we afford to lose a single person. ❞

     HER FACE twitches. She looks uncomfortable, as if holding back a sneeze, a wrinkle forming beside her dainty nose as she frowns deeply. 

     ❝ THE CAPTAIN of the station informed me that unless I can prove 683 violated a code of law, he cannot be extradited. But we do not have an established justice system with codified punishments, nor a system for formal prosecution. And even with your help in omitting this encounter, ❞ she admits, a little warble in her voice as she folds her arms, ❝ I ... I’m not sure. I do not know how to proceed. Because we have never done this before, I do not have any training. I have never ... been away from home. Especially alone. ❞

     AGITATED, SHE rubs the strands of her hair between her fingers, eyes firmly fixed on the paneling of the wall. She addresses him without turning her head. ❝ I hope you understand what it means to ... feel this way. But you are not Bajoran. Their tragedy is not yours, ❞ she mumbles discreetly, as if decisively posing the question, what are you, then ? 

[retromica]

☆ TONGOWHEEL : 

             it’s not as if pel expected one little action to alter 684′s view of him. THE THOUGHT HADN’T EVEN OCCURRED. but he’s troubled by the way they continue to dismiss his concerns — rightful concerns, in pel’s eyes — even if he was the one to instigate such hostility in the first place. they sound so much like everyone back on ferenginar, and pel can’t — doesn’t — understand…

until he does.

we love her. we want her home.

pel stands, slowly, and takes a few steps back. 

“oh,” he says. it’s the only thing he can say.

that sort of love does not exist on ferenginar, not in the same way. sure, most mothers love their children, and some men care about their family, but the financial responsibility always takes precedence. pel knows that without his brother, he never would have made it off-world in the first place, but he doubts he misses him. he doubts any of them do.

they’ll cut their losses, he figures. a bride price they’ll never receive for the marriage i’ll never have.

“i didn’t realize.” he sounds stupid, but there’s a sorrow that weighs on his chest. for 683, for 684, for himself. “i — that is not how she described it.” pel knows trickery, knows how to tell when someone is lying, or bluffing. 684 IS NOT.

“i’m sorry.” he takes another step back. “don’t worry about the tie.”

     ❝ I AM ... somehow unsurprised that 683 led you to believe something else, ❞ they say simply, a twist of irritation pinched in their otherwise hazy murmur. She was never the most honest person in the galaxy; 683 tends to have a lax grip on the truth when it suits her. ❝ She likes pity. This is natural. We gave her sympathy. I do not think ... we gave her enough sympathy, ❞ 684 mutters, a hiss leaving their lips as they tighten the scarf over their hand. The cut is superficial; they’ve already stopped bleeding, but the persistent twinge of pain persists, all the way up their artery into the very ventricle of their heart. 684 is responsible; so punctual, so well-mannered, so pleasant and poised and perfect. To think that they’ve failed someone is almost an intolerable sort of shame, sitting here with their stained little dress and a bleeding hand and a smattering of glass on the replimat floor. 

     TORN BETWEEN the mess and Pel retreating, someone is kind enough to let 684 know the glass will be dealt with accordingly. They do not run, but they do walk very quickly behind the Ferengi, hand outstretched as if they intend to reach for him. They hesitate -- their hand recoils. 

     ❝ PLEASE WAIT, ❞ they ask meekly, their voice competing with the general din of the Promenade. ❝ I will take your apology. I would like to give an apology, also. We misunderstand each other. You are not a bad person. I think -- I want you to think that I am not bad, also. Our history is very complicated ... this is not to say yours is not complicated, too, ❞ they concede meekly. ❝ I would offer clarification, but -- but -- I ... I feel very hesitant to do this. I hope you understand. Surely you know what it means to need your privacy. ❞

[retromica]

☆ CONSTABLEGOO ​:

ODO SMILES uninhibited when he looks down to see her oozing out in all directions.  “ ah, chesei, ”  he chuckles softly and bends down,  “ there you are! ”  reaching out with both his hands, he gathers her from the ground and lifts her to his great height, ever so careful up to eye-level.  “ did you have a pleasant regeneration, hm? i see you’ve been up and about for some time this morning already, how do you like that mug? comfortable, isn’t it? and the berries, hm? the way they roll? yes, i thought you might find them interesting. you made a very convincing tea just now, by the way; that was you, wasn’t it? steam is not so easy! oh, i have so much to show you today, i think you’re going to find it very exciting. ”

for someone who rarely has so much to say, he finds it incredibly easy to babble at her for hours, and sometimes does.

“ i have the morning off, tesha’en, if you can believe it; chief o’brien has to perform a security systems overhaul, very much needed indeed, but he insists i stay out of his way. of course, he didn’t phrase it that way exactly, but it’s not as if i need much convincing when it means i can spend the time with you – i had an idea i think you’ll like. ”  he pauses briefly, taking stock of her apparent energy level and reaction.  “ i think today is the perfect day to take you out to explore the rest of the station. what do you think of that? i’ll show you quark’s bar, the promenade and the second level, the upper pylons… maybe, if we’re lucky, you’ll get to see the wormhole open up! and if you want to try out some new shapes, too, i think that can be arranged… ”

     TALKING IS going to take a lot more work than she really feels like putting in. When they link, no matter how stifled and stuttered the connection with her solid caretaker is, there’s really no need for words -- it’s an instant back and forth of I am me and you are you and this is that and let’s have fun. But inevitably, as Odo has told her, she will have to learn to use lungs and vocal chords and talk with real words if she intends to communicate with anybody else. Linking with Doctor Bashir has proved ineffective, and she desperately wishes she could tell him just how funny his haircut is. 

     STILL, UNTIL then, and even without the full command of the link, she has her own ways of letting Odo know how much she appreciates him and all his gifts. She extends an oozy little tendril, poking it squarely between his eyes in a careful, polite smush. The berries were lovely, she seems to agree, and very, very spherical. 

     SHE LISTENS and listens and listens -- going out, like, out the door? She’s suddenly practically boiling in his hand, bubbling and turning inside out before she shoots herself forward like an avenging octopus and clings to his face in a suffocating hug. If he couldn’t already tell, the answer is yes -- and if Quark is anything as wonderful and entertaining and special as Odo makes him out to be, then she absolutely has to go there first. She struggles to communicate this to him by peeling off of his face and plummeting to the floor as a wide bar of shiny latinum that thunks against the metal paneling. She knows there are two universal truths in this world: Odo likes Quark -- and Quark loves latinum. 

[retromica]

     SAID BOTANIST startles slightly. It’s not that aliens are an uncommon sight to her -- after all the station has been her home for years -- but she was so lost in the throes of her concentration that she didn’t hear him come in. ❝ Oh, no, please ! ❞ Keiko says pleasantly, doing her best to be as vocally welcoming as she can despite the fact that she is physically predisposed. She narrows her eyes through the optical instrument perched over her delicate nose, carefully, carefully snipping the tiniest sample off of the fern and catching it expertly in a small dish. ❝ I was just taking some samples -- this species is endemic to a certain Bajoran province, and it has a fascinating symbiotic relationship with a fungus that grows over its leaves ... the fungus still allows light and carbon dioxide to pass through the stomata, but the fern grows upwards, preventing the fungus from being bothered by ground-dwelling insects. The only issue is, ❞ she says, squinting at her sample, ❝ the fungus dies very soon after it’s removed from the fern, so it’s been difficult to study ... ❞

     ALMOST AS soon as she says this, the sample withers slightly, turning from a lush green into a sickly purple. ❝ Oh, well, ❞ she sighs, taking off her gloves with a slightly pained smile, ❝ there ... are always more samples to be cut ! A pleasure to meet you, Doctor Phlox. I have to say, people don’t come by the laboratory very often ! Guests interested in plants usually think the arboretum is much more interesting ! ❞  

《 @retromica for Keiko !

A PAIR OF beetle-bright eyes gleamed out at her from around a bush.  “ Mrs O’Brien, I take it? ”  said the smiling, alien face to which they belonged.  “ Ah, I thought I might find you here! I hope I’m not interrupting anything– am I? ”  The rest of the stranger appeared as he stepped out fully to meet her – humanoid, denobulan.  “ If you like, I can come back at another time, of course! I’m afraid I’ve got a terrible amount of free time at my disposal for the moment; it’s just that, well, I only arrived yesterday, but I could hardly wait to meet the station’s resident botanist! Hm! ”  He rocked happily on his feet before he extended a hand in an alarmingly quick (and most certainly practiced) way,  “ Doctor Phlox! At your service. I was wondering if I could pick your brain about a few things… that is how the saying goes, isn’t it? Or perhaps I could assist you in some way with whatever it is you’re doing? ”

[retromica]

☆ AFTRWHYR : 

███  NADESH; //.   HE FEELS A BIT LIKE he’s being judged, or at least strung along a bit for a laugh. lips press in a tight smile & he let’s a muffled nervous laugh escape. expression changes once again to one of concern as the screams fill the infirmary, his attention looking back to the room at it’s source. a hard blink, head turns to face sid. no hesitation in the idea of getting the hell out of dodge—- at least for the moment.  ＂ sounds delightful, shall we ?＂

             he gestures behind him & promptly turns, expecting sid to follow as beckoned & quickly leaves the infirmary as politely quick as possible. taking a moment to breathe & stand outside waiting for sid to catch up, hands going to rest behind his back not before gesturing once more toward the path to the elevator. walking in a much more relaxed pace, stride by stride alongside sid.  ＂ not to be rude but i have no idea how one can deal with that day in & day out.＂ a thought nadesh often holds every time he has to visit the good doctor for business or personal.  ＂ i hope this little venture doesn’t hinder your work or disrupt your schedule.

             however, i can vouch for you if needed. ＂ he’s just rambling a bit. still somewhat awkward. a clearing of his throat as they board the elevator & he speaks their destination. quiet then as he stands in the elevator with nothing really to speak of. while it was good to be free of that unpleasantness, this wasn’t exactly as less uncomfortable. a moment passes, shifting of gaze, a deep sigh. time passing.  ＂ —- i uh, have a cat. warning in case you’re allergic.＂

     ❝ YOU GET used to it. ❞  

     SID IS nonchalant as he steps into the turbolift, his hands tucked in his uniform pockets with his shoulders slouched and his head forward. He removes his hands to hold them aloft in dismissal. ❝ Nah, man -- sir, it’s no big deal. Doctor Bashir isn’t doing anything intense. He was lancing one of the boils that Morn got on his back. He doesn’t need me to do anything but clean the floor afterwards. ❞

     THE NURSE steps out of the elevator, gesturing with a dip of the head that Nadesh ought to lead. He’s really drawing this out, taking his time as he idles along, meandering about at a snail’s pace -- by now, Bashir is probably stumbling out of the operating theater dripping head to toe in goo, begging for Sid to go get the disinfectant. But all would be forgiven if he shows up later, not just with a piping hot cup of coffee, but with a piping hot science officer named Nadesh, too. Then, maybe, Sid can go home early. 

     ❝ CAT. ❞ HE smiles, tilting his head. ❝ I can dig that. ❞

[retromica]

☆ AFTRWHYR : 

███  NADESH; //.   HE SIPS, HE LISTENS. EYES drifting over from the stranger to the replicator. recalling how foreign they were to him at first. how clean, how sterile. his body still hasn’t adjusted to the food & drink it produces—- to be fair it technically hasn’t been a long time for him in using the devices. the difference between the years of an aft’r & the years to other humanoids is drastic. it would take amany of years in aft’rwhyrian time for his body to adjust in a manner that would allow him to finally lessen the need for vitamins & medicine to keep the food down or to not upset his stomach. how alien he feels even within a organization that prides itself on the inclusion of all within its rank. little reminders that so much of the federation is oddly terrian-sighted in nature.

             he returns to his companion,  ＂ yes. most of what is programmed by default is human, vulcan, & a small variety of other foodstuffs from the core planets within the federation. even klingon is still being implemented & their food is hardly a mystery to most of the alpha & beta quadrants by now. anything else has to be programmed personally. the replicator within my quarters for example has some aft’r cuisine somewhat to preference added within.＂ a pause as he places the cup back in the replicator once more. hitting a button & watching as the cup shimmers out of sight & out of existence.  ＂ as for recommendations, a lot of terrain food is fairly simple. a potato stew for something hearty, or if you want something lighter maybe some fruit ? jicama cut & diced ? i can’t say im an expert on their foodstuffs, personally but those two i found myself eating quite a bit when i was first exposed to these machines myself.

             there, ＂ he looks up & nods with his head toward the upper level of the promenade.  ＂ are a few restaurants as well nearby. latinum is the currency most used here unless your federation, then it’s credits. the bar on the level we are on also offers cooked meals, but for a bit of a surcharge.＂

     TWO-HUED EYES stare straight past Nadesh, pupils aimed in the general direction of the far wall as he stares straight past him. He isn’t sure how to feign being interested when any of this hardly matters to him. Alpha Quadrant cultures are of no consequence and he would prefer to leave it all behind as soon as possible. People here seem to enjoy talking -- incessantly greeting each other, pestering, prattling -- and while these are perfectly acceptable hobbies, they are not ones that 684 would prefer to participate in. 

     HIS BLANK, impassive stare is turned towards the replicator. ❝ Ji-ca-ma, ❞ he says quietly, his mousy little voice a mumble above the din of the replimat. The computer beeps. Would you like it diced, or in sticks ? ❝ No preference, ❞ he murmurs. The computer beeps again. Please state preference. And 684 heaves a tiny, barely perceptible sigh of irritation, brows knitting as a hot flush of annoyance dusts their tawny cheeks. ❝ Diced. ❞

     THE CUP looks inoffensive, although 684 has yet to taste it and determine that for certain. ❝ I do not understand the point in exchanging currency for foodstuffs when there is food available here, for no charge. ❞  

[retromica]

☆ CONSTABLEGOO :

LIKE CLOCKWORK, Odo strides in exactly eight minutes later, the very tick of an hour before the start of his shift. For years, he has built a reputation for coming in early, preferring to get a start on the day’s business before the general rush of activity aboard the station, but now he has another reason – an infinitely more important and fulfilling one.

“ Soraya neryshu, little one. Did you get some good rest, hm? ”  He smiles at the little container across the room, kept warm atop the doctor’s console. But when ever-so-carefully he lifts the lid to greet her, he finds that she is decidedly absent.  “ Tesha’en? ”  He looks up with a note of worry – he casts a close glance over the surface of the console, down onto the floor – the table. There lies the assortment of odds and ends he’d left yesterday – apparently untouched, but then… there is something different about that mug that prompts a second look. Sure enough, it’s filled with a rich, dark liquid, pleasantly warm, judging by the small curl of steam.

But Odo pulls his hand away and folds it behind his back.  “ Doctor…? ”  he calls, and it’s playful – not five minutes ago, he’d caught Bashir gallivanting toward the holosuites in what he imagined was an earnest attempt to take full advantage of a rare day off from duty.  “ Did you pour this tea? I’m afraid it’ll get cold without you… ”  Odo takes long, easy steps around toward the other side of the table, surveying the room.  “ Hmm. I wonder where she could possibly be…? ”

Another moment, and he completes the circle.  “ One of these beakers, perhaps? ”  He lifts a beaker.  “ Or maybe inside one of these test tubes? ”  He lifts a rack of the clear, empty instruments. Odo moves on, ducking to peer under the table, then poking his nose behind one of the viewscreens.  “ Anyone home? ”

     SHE’S GONNA get COLD -- it’s so funny, she would laugh if she had a mouth ! But the mirth still inspires a ripple to course through her, the very unassuming little cup of tea vibrating as if rocked by a self-contained earthquake.  She is doing her best to keep from ruining the surprise, but she finds herself outright bubbling away, so excited to see her favorite person in the whole wide -- room !  She’s sure there are things outside of this room -- more rooms, perhaps, and maybe even more rooms beyond that -- but she cannot say for certain.  The little changeling hasn’t gone very far; she woke up here, one day, and she’s been here ever since.  Odo tells her that beyond these walls, there’s a great, big openness, with no rooms or doors or lights, but until she perceives it herself, it might as well just be another one of the fairy tales he tells her.  

     SHE SLOSHES out of the mug and pancakes herself against the table, inching along the surface to spiral down a leg.  Odo is too preoccupied looking behind the view screen to see her, because she is so very excellent at hiding.  She rolls up tight into a wheel and charges towards him, crashing into his ankles with all the force her 405.73 milliliters of self will allow her to ( Dr. Bashir measured her yesterday, and she is a full 0.10 milliliters heavier than last week !! )

     THE LITTLE wheel bounces around, spinning wildly around Odo. When he does pay attention to her fast enough, she flops onto her side, dramatically puddling flat onto the ground to show her utter disappointment.  

[retromica]

☆ AFTRWHYR : 

███  NADESH; //.   ＂ AH.＂ HE SAYS, FLAT BUT not without a hint of pleasantries. luckily there are more than one replicators in the replimat, finding it wiser to step to the side placing his tea cup within & pressing a button upon the board.  ＂ early grey, hot splash of coconut milk.＂

             the machine hums first to take away the cup placed within, a shimmer as the discarded dish dissipates before it takes a moment to shimmer once more with a new cup in the same fashion but in reverse. he reaches out & takes the handle, blowing a bit on the liquid within speaking before taking a sip. ＂ fair enough. replicators are more common in outposts like this or federation ships & hubs. it’s easy to use, if you would like i could run you through it or you can watch me use it.＂

     ❝ I UNDERSTAND the procedure.  It is very simple, ❞ he says testily, hot embarrassment crawling over the neck of his shirt at the thought that he’s being perceived as such an idiot.  He just lacks familiarity with this new, alien technology -- he’s used to food being real, things that people have to grow and harvest and cut and cook.  Technology like this could alleviate so much of the strains on their resources, allow a higher percentage of their reserved water output to be delegated to drinking rather than agriculture -- 

     684 PURSES his lips.  Atomina does not need help.  This kind of thing encourages wastefulness, carelessness, and he should be proud his people have struggled for everything they have.  ❝ I am unfamiliar with the food avaliable to me.  I assume that if I ask for something, the machine will likely not understand my request.  Is there something you recommend ?  Something -- ❞ and he casts a snide, sideways glance at the gluttony of these station denizens, eating their fill of plates piled high.  It sickens him to see.  ❝ Something simple. ❞

[retromica]

☆ AFTRWHYR : 

███  NADESH; //.   NOW WAS MOST CERTAINLY A bad time. nadesh finds himself leaning back a centimeter or two in recoil to sid’s forceful reply. one wouldn’t notice even if they looked for such a reaction. he smiles, a bit too polite & quite uneasy. he watches as the young nurse cleans about the used medical equipment & can’t help but get the feeling there is little more in life that sid would love to do but to also throw himself into the reclaimator & dissipate away. a hard nod as nadesh looks away, at really anything other than the poor youth before him. a clearing of his throat,  ＂ ah. i see.＂

             attention instantly toward the back of the room at the sudden screams & sounds of julian’s voice. his ears lay flat & his eyes widen a bit, turning to sid who seems to either have not noticed or is used to it. or something else. his thoughts return to the potential throwing oneself in the reclaimator. a nervous laugh,  ＂ right. it’s not so much important as it—＂ another scream, a less kinder speech from the good doctor. a ‘oh you’ll live, it’s alright.’ following.  ＂ —just a thing, uhm question for you actually.＂

             fingers furl into fists that rise upward before hands unfurl & flatten out to clap very lightly, a tilt of his head & a smile that says he would like the matter to be changed.  ＂ how about coffee. you like coffee ? the terrain kind ! roasted & whatever. not from the replicator.＂ a gesture to behind him as if to say whatever he was offering was a quick jump away for him to go & return.  ＂ i always have proper real beans to bribe chief o’brien when i need something done faster than all the other work orders. if you would like i could bring you some ? brewed or you can eat them i don-＂ a clearing of the throat. he’s not used to being nervous.  ＂ would take less than ten minutes, you look like you need it. if you want.＂

     HE REGARDS him with suspicion, glancing out of the corner of his eye with his back to the cartographer.  In his past experience, aliens don’t know jack shit about coffee, or music, or clothes, or Earth, in general -- and it isn’t that aliens are bad, it’s just that they’re aliens.  Things don’t always translate, and the details get lost on an interplanetary scale of conversion.    

     CLEARLY, NADESH just wants something done.  He even admitted it, that he uses coffee beans like little treats to bribe his stupid human coworkers -- and that’s fine.  If Sid can get some real coffee out of this, he doesn’t mind ( mildly ) debasing himself.  ❝ Okay. ❞ He says it with a sense of finality.  He takes his time, holding his thumb against the button of the reclaimator, a hand on his hip.  ❝ I’d love some coffee, sir.  It’d be a good idea to make some for Dr. Bashir, too.  Should we wait for him to be done with his appointment ? ❞ he asks innocuously, finally turning around.

     ( HE’S JUST fucking with him. He totally knows why Nadesh is here. )  

     SCREAMS.  AGONY.  Dr. Bashir saying something ineffectual, like “ you’d be amazed how much blood you can lose before you die. ”

     ❝ IN FACT, I think he needs it more than I do.  I could go help you make it, sir. ❞  Anything to leave the infirmary.  Just for a bit.  

[retromica]

i wanted to do this quiz for a lot of my characters so i’ll just smack it here.

683′S ARCHETYPES ARE ...

    ---- 56% CREATIVE :  The Creative appreciates all beautiful things, in art and daily life. The creative act is essential to who they are.    ---- 28% TASTEMAKER : The Tastemaker is always on top of the trends—or starting their own. Their sense of style is second to none and their taste, impeccable.    ---- 16% VISIONARY : Leave it to others to live by the status quo. The Visionary is interested in new ways of seeing, solutions not yet imagined, products not yet built.

[ that’s so cute!! i’d say this is spot on!! liddol girl central!! ]

684′S ARCHETYPES ARE ...

   ---- 53% CAREGIVER : Friendly, sincere, and compassionate, the Caregiver finds their reward in helping others. No one could ask for a better best friend.   ---- 29% VISIONARY : Leave it to others to live by the status quo. The Visionary is interested in new ways of seeing, solutions not yet imagined, products not yet built.   ---- 18% ADVOCATE : The Advocate is the one everyone wants on their side. In the name of justice, they are not afraid to challenge authority or speak up for others.

[ the caregiver archetype is solely reserved for only those of her same species ... and i think the advocate role might be a little misplaced for someone so determined not to rock the boat or challenge the status quo ]

W/EYOUN’S ARCHETYPES ARE ...

  ---- 40% ROYAL : When the Royal walks into a room, they command attention. They are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.   ---- 33% INTELLECTUAL : The Intellectual is the ultimate dinner-party guest. Engaging questions and thoughtful debate are their trademarks.   ---- 27% SPIRITUAL : The Spiritual seeks a deeper meaning. For them, the journey of faith is never-ending. Thoughtful and compassionate, they have a strong sense of moral obligation.

[ spiritual but without the compassionate part...definitely ]

D/AMAR’S ARCHETYPES ARE ...

 ---- 47% ADVOCATE : The Advocate is the one everyone wants on their side. In the name of justice, they are not afraid to challenge authority or speak up for others.   ---- 33% VISIONARY : Leave it to others to live by the status quo. The Visionary is interested in new ways of seeing, solutions not yet imagined, products not yet built.   ---- 20% REBEL : The Rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind—and bucking the system—if that means getting their point across.

[ this one is also very cute and spot on. my favorite lizard ]

tagged by: @aftrwhyr​ tagging: @zenithspan​ / @kyrieleisen​ :D

[retromica]

☆ CONSTABLEGOO : 

ALTHOUGH ODO IS NO FOREIGNER  to harsh or accusatory words  ( even those that come without warning like a fleet of Jem’Hadar ships hurtling from the wormhole in attack formation )  he realizes he may have made a mistake. She is, it seems, much more  like  her fellow atominan than he’d first supposed, the veil of a collected, soft-spoken disposition lifted, even briefly.

  “ I beg your pardon? ”

With growing apprehension, he follows her list of grievances. They can agree on one thing: a sense of responsibility for 683, and, perhaps in different ways, guarded affection. He can hardly blame her for as much, and it is some assurance.

  “ I–  we haven’t done anything. ”  He lifts a hand to request her patience.  “ It is precisely  because  we know so little about your people and your home world that we must proceed as planned, surely you can understand that? We must be certain of the truth, whatever that truth may be. I can assure you, if it is determined that 683 does indeed…  belong  with you, then both Federation and Bajoran authorities will respect the fact. ”  Odo pauses, almost delicate.  “ You are here as a welcomed guest, but I will remind you that you are on our terms. You could expect the same from us, under your jurisdiction. ”

A slightly overwhelmed look crosses his face – grief, hesitation – conviction.

“ Still, I…  do  appreciate  your misgivings. There was a time I didn’t trust these people any more than you do. I want you to know that I am more than willing to help you in these deliberations however I can. ”

     ❝ YOUR GOVERNMENTS are selfish to assume we are obligated to provide you with that information. ❞  At the very least, she has left Odo, himself, out of the accusation.  ❝ You claim to respect us and our desires.  We do not wish to establish formal contact, and yet you insist upon these trivialities.  Is this a wish, ❞ she asks, her little voice grave and low, barely perceptible above the eternal hum of the station’s life support systems, ❝ they do not intend to honor ? ❞  

     THE WORDS come out much colder than intended, but her expression does not match the gravity of her statements.  She looks imploring, her lips thin and her brow furrowed, struggling to understand her first forays into a massively complex culture she has only just encountered.  

     ❝ THIS IS not a matter of trusting people, ❞ she corrects, a helpless sort of fragility in the way she shakes her head.  She feels so terribly misunderstood.  Her words come out garbled, harsh, lacking the nuance she so struggles to imbue them with -- it’s the translation errors, she frets, all her good intentions lost into the ether.  684 has only ever wanted to do the right thing.  ❝ I trust you.  I know you want to help.  But this is a matter of -- privacy.  We are still ... healing, ❞ she explains, looking at her feet, the toe of her brown boot pushed into the station’s carpet.  ❝ We are not ready to meet others.  Not yet. ❞

     THERE IS something unnerving in her stare, astonishingly off-putting for someone otherwise so very humanoid. It’s the way she doesn’t blink, it’s her dour, poreless skin, its the unnatural way she cants her head to the side as if Odo makes more sense from a different angle.  ❝ Are you the only one of your species on this station ?  I have not seen others that look like you. ❞  The question may have been well-intentioned, but it drops from her lips with a certain inelegance.  ❝ Then you, of everyone, must know how difficult it is to be separated from your home.  I could not wish this on 683, no matter how much they think they want it. ❞  A pause.  684 looks away, her hair curtaining her face, a white crown refracted on the shiny strands from the lights above.  ❝ I, ❞ she admits,  ❝ could not fathom being alone. ❞   

[retromica]

D/AMAR’S THREADS WILL BE MOVED TO -> @kardasior​

[retromica]

☆ BYSTCRDUST : 

It is of no consequence. 

Ava frowns, fingers curling in so her nails dig into palms. “It sounds like it had some…” She mumbles, hands dropping back to her sides. Only to glow an embarrassed orange moments later as he steps back. Hands are raised in peace, with the Vengess shaking her head.

“No, I don’t. Poor… Choice of words, but uh, I am fairly… Unsafe to touch. ‘S more of a warning than anything, I try to avoid hurting people.” Who don’t deserve it. “I told 683 the same…” Hugging her arms to her chest, she grimaces. “‘S only fair…”

     ❝ ’ TRY TO. ’ ❞

     IT’S AS if everything Ava says is wrong; 684 combs through her sentences with an arguably malicious scrutiny, but as trying as it is, the hostility never reaches his eyes.  It’s simply who he is -- rigid and unfeeling as an automaton, cold and passionless and distant.  Beyond it all, his gnashed jaw and furled fingers suggest he is uncomfortable.  It’s written all over the dismissive way he narrows his eyes, a tepid little sniff as he curtly nods his head.  ❝ And you did not use this ‘unsafe touch’ to threaten him ?  I find it very difficult to believe he assisted you, ❞ -- and 684 hesitates again -- ❝ of his own volition.  Altruism is not in his nature. ❞

     HE RETURNS his focus to her initial comment.  ❝ It is not of any consequence.  We are very unaccustomed to sharing information with aliens, but we have no formal laws -- he was not bound to follow this.  I am simply saying it was unusual for him to violate it.  He should not have discussed anything with you beyond his name, if even that.  Upon learning your -- hazardous nature, he should have avoided you entirely. ❞

     IT’S VERY obvious he’s long since finished repairing the ship -- he pops the panel off anyways, blankly returning his attention back to it.  He attempts to ease into the next inquiry as casually as he can, but he is not a practiced actor: ❝ what else did he tell you ? ❞