Second Secretary Aitas & Jakarn - [JP] Stealing Each Other's Grief
Aitas
((Talaxi Palms, Paxau District, Amity Outpost))
It would be a bit until Aitas’ new quarters were arranged. That had always been a possibility, but with the immediate aftereffects of Ravarj’s attack still reverberating through the station, it now seemed a certainty.
At least they’d eventually managed to find her a room. A small one, but it wasn’t as if she had much luggage to worry about. She’d slipped out of her more formal attire, reduced down to a dark pair of pants and a sheer undershirt that did little to hide the fading bruises across her side.
There was space for a bed and a system to make calls. That was all she needed, for the moment. Setting up the call itself was complicated; matters of timing and routing and she’d gotten one of the worse slots for it.
Jakarn had said she’d get through, though, and Aitas had no cause to doubt him. For all she knew he might be halfway to the Delta Quadrant already.
She didn’t expect that he was getting much sleep.
Still, it was a relief to have the connection go through quickly. Aitas’ smile might have been a bit tired, but it was evident enough.
Aitas: It’s good to see you. And I’m fine. Only got shot at a little.
Jakarn’s image appeared. Usually he was on Risa, the sun framing him, the sound of laughter and clink of glasses a soft, ever-present accompaniment.
Not so today. She recognized the inside of his private yacht, the white-gold walls and the low harp-like music of the ship’s systems. The lights were on, soft and warm, but his expression was grim.
Jakarn: I’m glad to hear it. Who was it this time?
He smiled, and gods, he was good; it even almost lit up his eyes. He picked up a tumbler of alcohol, some bright pink concoction, and took a shot.
Aitas: Local with a grudge and a lot of drones. I’m sure you’ll hear some wild rumors about it, but the worst I got out of it was overexerting myself a bit with Fureri.
Jakarn: Mmm.
He might, once, have mentioned Taelon and how his son might help with that. But the Gorkon had been missing for months, and the search had been officially called off. It was a massive hole hanging uncommented between them.
Jakarn: How have you been settling in? Have they gotten you your own quarters yet?
Aitas: I have a room and the start of a collection of local alcohol. It’s sufficient to the moment, though I intended to have better versions of both by the time you get here.
She leaned back and grabbed a bottle from just offscreen. The contents within swirled about, shifting from a dark purple to brilliant green and then back again.
His smile returned, faster, but more genuine this time.
Jakarn: I look forward to it. It’ll be nice to do something else, after all this.
He was still searching, then.
She hadn’t expected anything else. Video might have been difficult on Amity Outpost, but messages got through well enough. And she had a few sources, still.
Though none quite as extensive as Jakarn’s.
Aitas: It’s a smaller station, but the nebula itself is quite the sight. Any more colorful and I’d have to name a drink after it.
Jakarn: So I’ve heard. Bright pink, isn’t it? ::He swirled his own glass, eyebrows rising.:: Surprised no one’s beaten you to the punch.
He finished his drink, and the off screen clink of glasses gave away the empty ones sitting on his side table. He sat up, robe sliding off his shoulders. One of his arms had its cybernetic skin off, exposing the mechanics below: a careful, artful weave of golden scaling and wiring, attached to one of the walls via a series of cords from his neck and shoulder. Jakarn kept his cybernetics hidden for most. That he lay with them so openly connected, now, was out of character, even on a private call.
But so was drifting alone in his ship.
Aitas: If they have, I intend to find out. But the pictures don’t do the view justice.
She could only hope it would prove a welcome distraction instead of a reminder. But if Jakarn hadn’t wanted to visit, well, there were ways for her to make other arrangements.
Jakarn: How is the Delta, then? No sign of our old enemies out there now, I hope.
Aitas: No.
Which, given the Borg, meant something closer to ‘not yet’.
Jakarn: Mmm. Starfleet seems to think they’re on their last hurrah.
They both knew the reality of it—the Borg were like a tide; they always came back. And no one had the strength, or will, to push and kick them when they were down. Starfleet had weathered yet another wave, miraculously. Would they survive the next one?
That thought was doubtless in his mind as he reached off screen. His hand came back with a bottle, abandoning pretense as he took a pull from it directly.
Aitas leaned back a little in turn, and her expressions turned a bit more subtle, as if shaking off a mask. When she turned her head there were more bruises visible.
She reached out and poured herself a drink of her own.
Aitas: I expect I’ll have a few more concoctions for you to try once you’re out here. Any requests?
He huffed a little laugh.
Jakarn: Hrm. Something with some psychedelic effects, perhaps. I’m finding colors a bit drained at the moment. And perhaps something the Kobali use.
That earned a slightly raised eyebrow.
Aitas: I’ll see what I can do. Though I don’t think I could stand a paste-based diet just yet.
Going by past experience, her sense of smell (and to a lesser extent taste), would grow annoyingly sensitive over the next several months.
Jakarn smiled again, a lightning-quick expression.
Jakarn: Ah, there’s stranger diets out there, little bird. The Fingoli used to eat rocks melted over bone. I doubt the replicators could handle re-creating any of that…they thought our plant and meat diet was barbarically disgusting.
Aitas: I could try, but I’d need samples of the bones. ::she took another sip of her drink.:: At least I can use it to show you a few subtleties of taste.
She pulled a couple more bottles from offscreen, both an identical shade of green.
Aitas: So far I’m the only one who can taste the difference between these.
Jakarn: Well, well. We’ll have to have a taste-off, then. ::His smirk was playful.:: I could even turn off my sensors and see where we land.
He raised the bottle he held in the universal ‘cheers’ gesture, and took a swig, setting it down with a thud.
Jakarn: Tell me about your crew?
Aitas: Still meeting most of them. Had a brief introduction to the Ambassador, an ensign offered me chocolate, and no one has asked too awkward of questions about how I know Orion. Yet. I might start a betting pool on how long that takes.
Jakarn: …chocolate?
That made Aitas laugh, just a brief burst of it.
Aitas: The ship was being shot at. She rather forgot.
Jakarn raised his eyebrows, head tilted.
Jakarn: Alright. Do tell.
Aitas took another drink. It wasn’t as if most of what happened could be hidden, even the parts she wasn’t allowed to talk about.
Aitas: I was assigned to take one of the scout vessels out with an Orion ensign. We ran into an abundance of drones, and the moment we had a bit of respite she pulled out the chocolate. I must commend her for fitting it in the uniform.
Another sip. Unlike Jakarn, she couldn’t completely turn off the effects of alcohol at will.
Aitas: There was a bit of shooting, she started to fuss when I overstrained myself with Fureri, and insisted on accompanying me to medical afterward. Sadly I fear her concern is more protective than…well, you’re more likely to be her type. Apparently I’m now a civilian in need of protection.
Jakarn: Ah, a shame, that. But there’s no harm in enjoying the benefits.
Aitas: I doubt it will last, but it’s a rather new sensation. I can appreciate that at least.
She leaned back and set the glass down. At least for the moment.
Jakarn didn’t, continuing to drink from the bottle. He’d risen from his lounging position to a seated one, elbows on his knees. The light caught his face, the dark circles under his eyes. That he couldn’t hide that—or chose not to—said quite a bit.
Jakarn: And the rest? I’ve heard a bit about the station’s lead Ambassador. She’s quite the character, if the news is to be trusted.
Aitas tilted her head, clearly giving Jakarn a more evaluating look.
Aitas: She was the one who sent me out in the scout. So her reputation seems accurate. Pleasant enough otherwise, from our brief interaction, but she didn’t seem to have read my file.
And if other things were being said about the Ambassador, well, Jakarn would have heard enough to know just what Aitas wasn’t supposed to speak about.
Jakarn: Sounds like you arrived at a busy time, then, if she missed that. I hope that’s passed. I could use with a cheerful environment.
That he’d been drifting through space on his own for the last few months on a fruitless search…well, for him, it was one more blow to a life already once destroyed utterly. Another loss. Another unanswered one, at that; was Taelon alive? Dead? Sent to some other timeline or otherwise displaced—again? If his son was dead, he could have mourned. Instead, the unanswered question was an open wound.
One he was treating with alcohol, today. He finished the bottle and set it offscreen.
Jakarn smirked, sardonically.
Jakarn: I hope someone on that station knows how to party; I need the color.
There were far worse ways of mourning than a drunken party. Aitas turned her head to let a few loose strands of hair fall over her face, the movement casting little shadows in the faint light.
Aitas: I’m told the Talaxians have a fondness for such things. And I’ll take some time off if needed. It’s not as if they’re giving me hazard pay.
Jakarn: Hmm. The benefits of Starfleet salaries. I’ve looked at the station’s locations, but if you have any suggestions of where I’d be best suited…
Aitas let herself take a moment before answering that.
Aitas: Talaxi Palms is solid enough. You might enjoy the Marrakech District as well. It’s very sociable. I haven’t eaten at the Lighthouse yet, but I’ve heard good things. ::she smiled, just a little.:: I’m still scoping out all the bars. But there is one that’s run by a Vulcan.
Jakarn: A Vulcan? Interesting. You’ll have to give me the tour once you’re more familiar. ::He huffed a small laugh.:: I’ve heard the station has some characters on board—something about a starship dealer?
Aitas: Apparently so. He’s somewhere near Talaxi Palms, so I’m sure he can be tracked down. I don’t exactly have much use for a yacht. The tattoo artist, on the other hand….
Jakarn: Thinking about getting some done?
Aitas: Just the same old thoughts. One of those things that’s always managed to get stuck halfway down the list. You know how I am.
Jakarn: I do, little bird, I do.
Aitas: I’ll look into it. Do have space for a few things at least. Maybe even a comet.
He chuckled at that, laying back down on the lounge seat, sinking into its soft surface. His cybernetics were still connected, golden arm gleaming in the low light.
Jakarn: You would look good with one. A shame you’ve not got changeable skin; it’s so very useful for that sort of thing.
Aitas: ::smiling:: Will just have to go with the old-fashioned way for now. ::her voice turned a little quieter.:: Remind me about it when you get here? Means I won’t let myself get too busy.
He lay his head down, breathing softly.
Jakarn: I will. But we both know who’d be better suited to help you with that.
Aitas: I couldn’t forget.
She said the last in Eccian, which meant it carried not the weight of a promise, but the certainty of a natural law.
The call only lasted a little longer than that. Long enough for Jakarn to finish his bottle, long enough that Aitas nearly started to drift off into much-needed sleep.