Ensign Miaxdiso Avoi - Astonishing Anecdotes
Doz Finch
((Transport Shuttle Akari, en route to the USS Gorkon))
Both Cain and Ylvor willingly sipped on their sparkling, plum-coloured drinks, any cautiousness they had washed down by the former's apparent and amusing aplomb to trying anything once. The slight crackle and fizz of the liquid filled the air, similar to the sound of a clicking beetle. Of course, she was extremely grateful that it wasn’t a bone fide beetle, or any insect for that matter, as the real things occasionally sent her into a paroxysm of panic.
Cain: I regret to inform you, princess, but it’s really good.
Avoi already knew that she had enjoyed the taste of the drink before it even crossed over the woman’s taste buds, because practically everyone she had ever met did enjoy it. Though it was in her opinion that the tastiest version of it could only be found inside the astrodomes of Idridi. Under their colossal cupolas, dizzying to look up and into, swathes of cosmopolitan and avant-garde Betazoids gathered, dressed in every colour, and every shining material, to relish in each others fashion, and in each others accomplishments, to talk business, and everything else—and to gorge themselves on all of the garden-fresh varieties of food and drink on offer, including her favourite, the Veacot.
Ylvor: That is Ensign Princess, military rank then title. ::She smirked::
Ylvor’s drink went down a little too quickly, and she started to cough and splutter, most of it ending up on her face. In an instant, Avoi had pulled out a cloth, satin-soft of course, and with a small step reached over to the woman's face, giving it a dab or ten.
Avoi: That’s quite flattering. But despite what you may think, I am not actually a princess.
She threw Cain a slightly confused smile, aware of her teasing, but also somewhat enthralled by the notion.
Cain: You’re the closest to one I’ve ever met, I mean look at you, like you stepped right out of a storybook. I bet you’d even give the Tyrellian royals a run for their latinum.
Ylvor: ::mumbling to herself:: If she were royal we probably would be in a nicer shuttle..
Her lips curled a little, as she finished fussing at the splotches of veacot juice on Ylvor’s face. She blinked her eyelashes a few times at her surroundings, to fully examine the situation again, and to see if she had in fact been thrown into a less than suitable mode of transport. It had all of the typically rectangular lines, but was perhaps a little dingier than she had expected. A slightly uncooperative pilot, but that often came with the territory in these sorts of rugged transfers. As she stood there, wrists dangling down in front of her stomach, head twisting thoughtfully around in quick movements, she likely resembled a meerkat. Albeit quite a stylish and polished one.
Avoi: Well, this isn’t exactly the hotel of Udal, but I’ve seen far, far worse. ::she widened her eyes:: You should see the shuttles they send to the protectorate planets. ::shudders:: ghastly. This is luxury…well...by comparison.
Xandria: Were you serious about playing charades?
Avoi: ::gasps:: Deadly! Because if we don’t do something soon, I’m quite worried that one of you might burst like a balloon.
Her laugh followed, and it was just as lilted and as musical as her speaking voice, her sable eyes lustrously shining in convoy, under the inner lights of the vessel. She left the cloth with her spotted comrade, and then put herself back into her seat, next to a bag that contained her glinting mirror, poking out of the top of it. Catching a glimpse of it on her periphery, she looked down and began to rummage. Many items lay sprawled inside of it, most of them divine gifts from her many friends back home.
Inside of it she scoped a bracelet made of sapphire gemstones, a set of spiral earrings in hues of silver and morganite. And there, next to them both, a large and almost reflective ring that resembled some sort of ladybug, fulgurating in byzantium with each gesticulation of the hand. It occurred to her that insects weren’t so terrible, as long as they were imitations made to be worn, and not flapping around her face.
Ylvor: Whatever needs to happen to pass the time.
Ylvor restlessly walked around the cabin, and peered out of the windows at the stars streaking by, a curiosity pervading her, as if imbued by the peel of a zesty lime.
Ylvor: :: muttering:: are we there yet?
Avoi: If only! ::she exclaimed, now primping once again at the lower curves of her hair:: If not charades, then we can always share a few tales or juicy tidbits from our time at the academy. Mine wasn’t quite as recent as either of yours, of course, but I’ll still relish in telling you.
Ylvor/Cain: Response
Avoi: I’ll bet two strapping security cadets found themselves in a scrimmage or two. It’s absolutely *outrageous* the stories I used to hear about the ones from *my* campus. ::tutting and wiggling a forefinger:: I mean, rouging your face is one thing, but it’s a mile away from purposefully bruising it!
Ylvor/Cain: Response
Avoi: ::gasping:: Surely not!? ::exhaling with shock:: Then what happened!?