Ensign Doz Finch - Written in Stone
Doz Finch
((Cyrithra Forest, Palanon))
As the party continued, so too did their conversation. As the older Caitian L’rann spoke, Doz noted how similar her way of speaking was to M’oa, and half wondered if she hailed from the same region of Cait, or if she came from somewhere else entirely. It was becoming more of a common occurrence that those who ended up in Starfleet often came from colonies or settlements, and sometimes even ships. Especially those who had been born in the last twenty to thirty years.
For a moment, she thought about her father Frederick. Freddy, as he preferred. There had been a time when the possibility of the Finch’s moving to Mars was more than ‘on the cards’, it was practically written in stone. She was twelve, living on their little piece of land out in the Falkland Islands, when she saw his face peering through the glass of a shuttle landing in their front garden. “It’s dad!” she had shouted, held back by her brother Ernie, a gust of wind whooshing through all of their hair and faces, followed by the purring sound of the engine powering down.
Freddy had come bearing news—he was back, but only for one day. Starfleet had placed him into a long-term position on Mars, his contract beginning the very next week, and they would all join him this time. It was so joyous. For a fraction of a moment, they all believed that they had their father back for good, even if it meant them all moving to the red planet to be with him. Doz could officially call herself a Martian, which on the island was a title every child wanted to have; living on Mars was all the rage.
Only it wasn’t to be. They didn’t move to Mars. And she didn’t know it at the time, but that day would be the last time she ever saw him.
T'Lar: It is an unfortunate fact that there is always an element of the unexpected with serving in Starfleet. ::feeling a rumble in her stomach:: Oh, pardon me... Would you three mind terribly if I excused myself to peruse the offerings. I am afraid that I am quite hungry...
Finch: Knock yourself out, T’Lar. There’s a table over there, by that Rodulan fellow, with pastries and all sorts on it. I’ve a mind to go have a look myself, but I had a piece of toast before I came here and wouldn’t want to overdo it.
L’rann/M’Rith: Response
T'Lar: It was very agreeable to make your acquaintance. ::She gave the traditional Vulcan hand gesture then turned to Doz:: I hope to see you for breakfast soon.
Finch: Sto’Vo’Kor, counsellor. I won’t accept a breakfast anywhere else. ::she nodded amusedly::
L’rann/M’Rith: Response
As T’Lar meandered off to sample all of the interesting and smelly foods on offer, Doz turned back to the Caitian’s, and offered them a wide and wrinkled smile again, beady eyes disappearing between the hummocks of skin on either side of them.
Finch: Now, L’rann– ::Doz paused and sucked air in through her teeth, eyes off to the side in thought:: –My friend M’oa, she was from a flat part of Cait called, er, called. ::she swallowed and looked down at her shoes:: Hurrcia, I think it was. Is what where you come from, yourself?
L’rann/M’Rith: Response
Finch: Narval? Now is that the one with the Science Academy? I distinctly remember Captain Koth telling me a story about his time at a Caitian Science Academy, but I can’t for the life of me remember where it was. ::she reached over to the table and plucked a peculiar purple fig-like sweet from it, taking a hard bite in tow:: I think Cheesecake not only knocked the wind out of me, but also the memory banks.
L’rann/M’Rith: Response
Finch: That’s the one!
L’rann/M’Rith: Response
Finch: On a colony? Not quite. ::she finished chewing the purple fig and tongued at the crevices between her teeth:: There was a time when my family and I almost lived on Mars, but it never came to pass. I’m afraid I’m as common as muck by Earth standards. Born and raised on the mother planet, out on the windy isle of East Falkland. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
That wasn’t entirely true. But it was better this way; better to feign confidence in what had been, rather than to openly dwell on what could have been. Opening up a can of worms like that ran the risk of her becoming steeped in the what if’s, stuck in the past where nobody belonged. She had made that mistake already when Murphy died. And that was a close call—losing her emotional footing almost meant losing her professional footing, and that eventuality was certainly not on the cards and most certainly not written in stone.
Just then, another person reached the clearing they stood in, focused on the bowl of figs Finch had just had a go at. It was strange—he had a look of her brother Ernie, back when they were all young, back when he held her shoulders as their fathers shuttle landed in their front garden.
L’rann/M’Rith/Crauw: Response
Finch: Doz, very pleased to meet you. ::she introduced herself, holding out a small hand::
L’rann/M’Rith/Crauw: Response