Mirrin Luniin -- Haunting Old Haunts
Ryan Fender
((Promenade — Deep Space Nine))
A nostalgia overtook the Bartender as she wandered the station. While this was no old haunt, find memories bobbed the surface upon seeing the famously crowned ‘Quark’s Bar’. Many a-night was spent with hushed whispers, with some of the few— albeit overpriced— sellers of genuine alcohol lingering about the station. An irritating monopoly on the subject, for certain, but a necessary evil. She walked the long corridor formed by rows of shops and stalls, windows lined each edge of the promenade as people filled the gaps between. Mirrin did everything she could to make herself look like a lost tourist. Wandering about the space with little aim at first.
The Bartender wandered about with a neatly tailored travel suit, a long fitted skirt that hugged her legs, barely passing her knees — adorned with two fabric shopping bags to each hand, printed with generic-looking labels. While she could feel the weight tug on each bag, a silent prayer was uttered that they wouldn’t burst away at the seams. Mirrin didn’t have the brain capacity to justify carrying squared weights in each bag.
Dilly dallying as she did, Mirrin stopped periodically as she moved about the promenade. It was a slow walk, almost intentionally slow, and with every third or fourth passing window the Romulan would stop herself and, well, ‘shop’. These moments were nothing more than an excuse in her mind, making the motions of window shopping, but with eyes wide open, the Romulan extended her senses to the space behind her. Mirrin could feel her eyes lazily wash over the mannequins and price tags as if pulling away from herself.
The sudden feeling of trudging through thick mud never got any easier, it was like having her conscious mind slither through a storm, pushing against walls of wind. Even from merely a cursory glance— Mirrin fought against an unending wave that roared in her ears. She waded over the area like a blanket at first, picking out emotions of interest— yet she found little more than echoes. Part of her felt slightly dejected, almost regretting the choice to bother looking. But the comfort of knowing no needles were hidden in the haystack was worth the energy. Pulling back to herself, she sucked in a deep breath and wrapped one hand around another. Checking her watch, the Romulan sighed.
oO I’m getting sloppy. Oo
Hardly blending in with the crowd, Mirrin adjusted her travel suit, using her vague reflection in the shop window to smooth the tailored coat, and she continued on with her deliberate pace. Mere wandering made her brain whip into overdrive, a lingering knowing that awaited her in the open space. A paranoia that made her senses sharpen, her ears listened to every passing conversation and her eyes searched for signs of recognition, carefully watching how those in front of her moved and meandered. Something about that feeling made Mirrin want to open herself to the world, even if she knew it would be about as useful as trying to breathe underwater.
((To Boldly Sew Boutique, Promenade — Deep Space Nine))
But now, the destination was in sight. To Boldly Sew, a faded sign in the window read. Every letter was written in a neat cursive, each with notches in the line work. Mirrin made for a hurried walk and strode in. The jarring swap from deck plating to carpet softened the blows of her heels, and the lonely clacks were merely quiet thuds beneath the soft music. The atmosphere was night and day compared to the promenade, and somehow a wave of silence blocked away the exterior.
The Boutique was filled wall to wall with the fashions of the Federation, focussing on traditional Federation garments, with the earthy tones of Bajoran garments dominating the racks. The exterior walls were filled with arch like displays that housed garments upon garments, with sharply dressed mannequins stood between the sections of curated clothing. The back edge of the room was set like a tailor’s workshop. A wall of spooled thread, of colours between colours and varying sizes of industrial machines. The walls were painted a luxurious hue of deep teal, and to fill the space between dark rugs of cool plums and Tiffany blue sofas made it seem like a lounge.
An aged figure sat facing Mirrin, a Bajoran woman and a familiar sound, the tapping of metal against a hard surface— almost sounded like gold.
oO No— far too pitched to be gold. Oo
The Bartender’s act continued, leisurely flitting about the store, working her way to the counter at a sure pace—
Yarma: ::glancing up:: Need any help?
The Bajoran’s slow voice scratched at her ear like a boulder rolling on gravel.
Luniin: Oh— actually if you could, darling, I made a purchase recently of an item on backorder
Mirrin made her approach, picking up the pace and planting herself at the counter. She paused before continuing to speak— hoping for some recognition.
Luniin: A mink coat, I believe. It was being delivered here wasn’t it?
With deliberate emphasis she spoke, she had pulled every last string she could, and ever since meeting with an old friend on Betazed, Mirrin had pushed the mothballs off of her own network.
But the old woman’s face didn’t budge, not for a moment. There was no recognition that she could see, but beyond her face there was something within that piqued the Bartender. A closer look at the old woman, her hair was long since faded grey, wrapped in the back in a large braided bun. She wore an ornate and very old earring, with dangling charms from one ear, nearly piling on her shoulder. But she wore some very ordinary clothing for a deliverer of certain goods. Drapey browns and maroons covered much of her form.
Yarma: Ah, ja’lat, I see what you seek. You’re the Bartender I imagine?
Luniin: The one and only— it’s good to see you again, Uhen. Dare I say it darling, but you had half this last time we spoke
Uhen’s spotted hands worked faster than they looked, trawling through a drawer of PADDs behind her desk before scooping away the pile of counted latinum.
Yarma: We all have our hobbies, little bird, mine just so happens to be rooted in sharing history. ::looking up at Mirrin:: But you have a lot of nerve up and disappearing all those years ago. We all thought your taste in men had finally gotten you killed.
Setting down her bags, Mirrin leaned against the counter, balancing on the balls of her feet.
Luniin: Damn nearly did— barely missed my head. But you know him, he has a bit of a temper on him. And you know me, I was stricken with the bad boys back in the day.
Yarma: Ja’lat, you’ve never had good taste ::beat:: in men.
Luniin: Careful now— you got me this one, remember? Mid 19th century wool. I’m just wearing it to blend in.
A slight smile crowded the pairs faces before Uhen stood up very suddenly. Moments passed as she hobbled towards the back room, only to emerge moments later with a brown coat of wispy fur draped over one arm.
Yarma: Here. Now, that’ll be seven strips of latinum, and don’t pay me with one of your rubber PADDs again, I damn near crashed a ship into you the last time.
Reaching into one of the bags she brought with her, Mirrin pulled a simple black case from one and slid it across the countertop. Almost instantly Uhen began rifling through it, counting out loud as Mirrin tried to reach for the coat.
Luniin: Thanks for the coat, Uhen.
She didn’t once look up as she counted out each strip, but as Mirrin poked at the coats lining, she spoke up to the Romulan.
Yarma: Remember to write me next time, don’t just drop a delivery on me, I’m a very busy woman for my age! Also drop in for tea for prophets sake, it’ll be nice to know when you don’t have a hole in your chest.
Luniin: Don’t worry darling, if I kick the bucket you’ll be the first to know—
Gathering her bags, Mirrin continued to rifle through the pockets before her hands fell on a square shape half jutted in the breast pocket. Without a moments notice, she made the motion to stuff away the coat before the coarse voice cut through the air.
Yarma: Ah-ah! Fold it, don’t just stuff it, that’s mink, were you raised in a barn?
Tag/TBC
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Mirrin Luniin
Bartender
USS Artemis-A
As Written By…
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Lieutenant Hallia Yellir
Chief Engineer
USS Artemis-A
G239409EK0