Lt. JG Natasha Cole - A Fistful of Latinum
Natasha Schell
(( Ferenginar ))
Natasha glanced around again, at the noise, the neon, the constant negotiation of space and attention. Ferenginar demanded energy just to exist in it, and she was acutely aware of how draining that could be alone.
Cole: Besides, it’s nice running into a friendly face out here. Ferenginar can be… a lot.
This elicited another laugh from Imril, one of gentle surprise.
Imril: And Earth isn’t? I mean, consider San Francisco. Turn enough corners, and you’re in a completely different city. A completely different culture! Not that that’s a bad thing. Saved me on transporter and shuttle credits when I wanted to get out of the Academy grounds and see something different. New Life And New Civilizations, just a motorbike ride away.
Cole: Earth’s beautiful in a way that just … is. A bit too much gravity, too much history, too many people who think they know you before you open your mouth. The air’s thick with stories, some of them yours, most of them not. I love the oceans, the storms, the way the planet just exists without asking permission. But Earth always felt like a place I visited, not somewhere I could disappear into.
Imril: Luna? I went there a few times for training, but never really had the chance to look around. What’s it like living there?
Cole: Luna taught me how to breathe on purpose. How to fix what’s broken instead of pretending it’ll sort itself out. It’s not warm, but it’s honest and I think that’s why it still feels like home.
Natasha slowed as the street ended, her eyes immediately drawn to the Undercity entrance carved into the stone across from them. Twin ramps spiraled downward between brightly lit walls, the kind designed to make darkness feel like a myth, while sleek circular lifts offered quieter passage below. Everything about the space felt intentional, controlled, and just polished enough to keep people moving without asking too many questions.
Neon signs and holopixels crowded the street level, promising spectacle, winnings, and second chances to reclaim lost latinum. Barkers wove through the throng with effortless charm, selling tickets and souvenirs at “discount” prices that set off Natasha’s instincts. As they reached the alcove, she spotted the sign Imril had been looking for, naturally marked with an arrow pointing down, because on Ferenginar, the real business always happened beneath the surface.
Imril: There it is! ::Points to the Down ramp:: Or, more accurately, there.
Natasha noticed the ramp had grating, likely to divert rain so they don’t have flooding. After all, the Ferengi wouldn’t want to have to pay for water damage.
Cole: Somehow I’m not surprised. ::gestures towards the toll booth::
Imril: I'll cover it.
Imril dug out the fee from their pocket and collected tickets for the two of them, passing one to Natasha.
Cole: Thank you Imril.
Natasha glanced down at the ticket, turning it over between her fingers. Of course it was laminated, embossed, and faintly glittering—nothing on Ferenginar went unadorned if it could be monetized.
Cole: ::dry:: I half-expected this to double as a coupon or a legally binding waiver.
Imril: I suppose it is. It binds them to let us down there.
They followed the ramp down into the Undercity proper, the sound shifting as the street noise dulled into a hum of machinery and voices. Ahead, a massive sign flickered to life in aggressive gold lettering:
BRYYK’S BOFFLES
Escape is Optional. Profit is Inevitable.
Cole: ::reading it aloud, amused:: Well that’s comforting.
Imril: ‘Profit is inevitable’… for whom? As if we didn’t know.
Inside, the lobby opened up into a cavernous space divided by velvet ropes and holo-banners, each advertising a different “experience.” Ferengi attendants barked pitches with the enthusiasm of auctioneers, gesturing dramatically toward each entrance.
Cole: ::eyes scanning the options:: Oh wow… they really leaned into themes.
Imril: ::Reading aloud:: Orion Lair. Maze Of Merptropolis. Iconian Legacy. Tomb Of The Mushroom Men…
Each doorway featured a holographic ‘amuse-bouche’ in the form of a holographic painting of the crafted spaces beyond. The Orion Lair, for example, featured a lot of seating pillows, low tables covered in food, drapes, and fountains which spouted fire rather than water. For all its openness, the scene exuded a cage-like atmosphere.
There were corridors as well, leading deeper into the facility. A nearby hall was titled above with the words Lorg Lattinum’s Debtor’s Prison (In synergy with Marauder Mo Mediasphere Inc.). And blocked at floor level by a sign labeled in several languages as Reserved For Private Party.
Natasha clocked him in a single sweep, instincts sliding neatly into place. The vest was too new, the gold too polished, costume, not culture, layered with just enough authenticity to sell the illusion. Everything about him screamed theme, from the jingling spurs to the exaggerated swagger, like someone had fed an Old Earth western through a Ferengi profit algorithm and turned the dial up until subtlety broke.
Ferengi Cowboy: Hoo-dy, pardners! I reckon you folk’d enjoy a spell in the wild and weird West! Where intrigue and adventure await, amid the glittering allure of the California gold rush! If you’re brave and clever enough to claim them!
Imril looked at Natasha.
Imril: Sounds good to me. You?
Cole: Sounds interesting, and who doesn’t like exploring the frontier for adventure.
A brief round of haggling followed. Afterward, the cowboy rubbed his hands together, clearly happy to have reeled in new fish. From within his vest he produced a thin whistle. He blew into it, and it gave no sound that Imril could hear. A teenaged Ferengi girl appeared right quick, dressed in a smart golden-brown uniform, her ears joined by a shimmering chain which draped over her collar. She flipped open a security case, presenting its emptiness to Imril and Natasha.
Ferengi Cowboy: ::Smiling deeply:: All scanning devices are required to be checked prior to entry into any of our presentations. Bryyk-Co Entertainment Platforms LLC and its subsidiary services are not responsible for stolen or lost properties which have not been properly checked and thumb printed by accredited personnel.
Imril: Don’t have any, sorry. The combadge stays with me. Starfleet protocol, non-negotiable. ::raises their collection of baubles:: But you can hold the bag… After I see your accreditation.
Both Ferengi nodded and produced identification on thin translucent slips. Natasha leaned over to review their accreditations. Both checked out, she offered a cert nod to Imril at their legitimacy.
Cole: I am in agreement with my friend, Combadges stay with us. You can however hold on to these bags for me. I will however need a receipt, I’m sure you understand.
Once all items were stowed and the latinum exchanged, the cowboy handed over a pair of electronic tickets. The girl went one way, and the cowboy another. Leading Imril and Natasha towards the corridor from which he’d come.
Ferengi Cowboy: ::Pointing forward:: Saddle up and haul out! Yee-Haw!
Imril: ::To Cole:: I have to admire the theatricality.
Cole: They’ve clearly done their research.
Imril: ::To Cole:: I’m vaguely familiar with the Wild West era. Do you know much about the time period?
Cole: ::rolling one shoulder, thoughtful:: Enough to know it’s often heavily romanticized by people who didn’t have to live in it.
Imril: Response
Cole: ::glancing sidelong at Imril:: There were some genuinely fascinating engineering feats, though. Railroads, telegraphs, systems built fast, cheap, and under pressure. Not unlike early lunar habitats, actually. Different stakes, same improvisation.
Imril: Response
She slowed slightly, letting Imril walk half a step ahead as the corridor widened, her tone softening just a touch.
Cole: I grew up hearing stories about Earth that skipped over the messier parts. Turns out history’s a lot more interesting when you admit people were complicated and often wrong.
Imril: Response
Cole: Alright. Let’s see what version of history we’re about to escape from.
Imril: Response
Tags/TBC
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Lt. JG Natasha Cole
Security Officer
USS Artemis-A
Writer ID A240205NC4