Lt. JG Natasha Cole - Of Course It’s You
Natasha Schell
((Natasha’s Quarters – Deck 7 – USS Artemis-A | Late Evening | 2403))
The lights in Natasha’s quarters were low, softened to that in-between glow she preferred when she was off duty but not yet ready to commit to sleep. Her field vest from the dig site was folded over the back of the chair, a fine dusting of pale grit still clinging stubbornly to one seam despite her best efforts.
She sat cross-legged on the couch with a mug of coffee in one hand and her PADD balanced against one knee.
The archaeological dig had been… different. Interesting… unexpectedly interesting.
Not because of the ruins, though those had been fascinating enough in their own right. Natasha had genuinely enjoyed the work, the careful excavation, the sense of touching something that had endured long enough to outlast the people who built it.
No. The interesting part had been, Lieutenant Nyra Tal.
Tall. Smart. Annoyingly composed.
The kind of composed that made Natasha want to poke at it just to see what would happen.
oO Which is, admittedly, not my best impulse. Oo
She took a sip of coffee and opened StarFlirt more out of idle curiosity than real intention. Or that was what she told herself.
Her profile sat there looking back at her with the kind of directness she could tolerate in herself and almost no one else.
Status: Single
Likes: Strong coffee, Pastries, especially cherry, Explosions in strictly controlled environments, Old tech and historical oddities, Holodeck misadventures, Finding order in chaos
Dislikes: Arrogance, Carelessness around other people’s safety, Bureaucracy for bureaucracy’s sake, Being underestimated, Cults, Unnecessary cruelty
Looking For: A spark. Preferably attached to someone smart, interesting, and not easily intimidated.
She stared at it for a second.
oO Well. That’s one way to sound like a walking warning label. Oo
Natasha flicked her thumb across the screen.
One profile.
Another.
A third that somehow contained the phrase spiritual entrepreneur and immediately lost her.
Cole: Nope.
She scrolled again.
Then stopped so abruptly she almost sloshed coffee over her hand.
Lieutenant Nyra Tal.
Natasha stared.
Actually stared.
There was no mistaking the profile image—Nyra, slightly off-center in what looked like a museum gallery or academic archive, one shoulder leaned against a display case as if she’d been caught mid-thought rather than posing. The lighting was warm, the expression subtle, but it was unmistakably her.
oO Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Oo
Natasha set the coffee down before she dropped it and looked again, just to be sure the PADD hadn’t spontaneously developed a sense of humor.
It had not.
She opened the profile.
Status: Open to discovery.
Likes: Ancient ruins, strong tea, unsolved systems, long walks through museums and excavation sites, clever conversation, fieldwork, people who notice details, and the rare moment when a bad idea becomes a brilliant one.
Dislikes: Careless handling of artifacts, false certainty, condescension, noisy bravado, avoidable damage, and anyone who confuses charm with depth.
Looking For: Someone curious, capable, and honest. Friendship is welcome; chemistry is better. Bonus points if you can challenge me without turning it into a contest.
Natasha leaned back against the couch.
Then forward again.
Then reread the last line.
Once.
Twice.
Three times, because apparently she had decided suffering was an evening activity.
oO Bonus points if you can challenge me without turning it into a contest. Oo
Her mouth twitched.
Cole: That feels suspiciously targeted.
She shouldn’t assume that was about her. That would be ridiculous.
Absurd, even.
It was a dating platform, not an encrypted personal communiqué sent directly to her out of the stars.
And yet.
oO Open to discovery. Oo
That line sounded exactly like Nyra had in person. Confident, curious, just self-aware enough to know what she was doing.
Natasha glanced down at her own profile, then back to Nyra’s.
Then back to her own.
oO Explosions in strictly controlled environments. Oo
If Nyra saw that, she was either going to be amused or immediately report Natasha to three departments.
Her thumb hovered.
She could close the app.
That was an option.
A sensible option.
One she was not taking, apparently.
Natasha tapped the profile again, almost against her own better judgment.
The screen chirped softly.
Nyra Tal has sent you a message.
Natasha froze.
Then blinked once.
Then sat up straighter like posture might somehow improve her tactical readiness for text-based flirting.
Cole: Oh no.
She opened it.
((OOC: Using // \\ for text messages, I think we did that in a SIM last year.)
Nyra: // I had a feeling “strictly controlled explosions” belonged to you. \\
Natasha stared at the message, pulse kicking once at the base of her throat.
Of course she had noticed that line.
Of course she had opened with that.
Her thumb hovered uselessly over the reply field.
oO Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Oo
End Scene
----- ◌● -----
Lt. JG Natasha Cole
Security Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205NC4