Lieutenant JG Doz Finch - Seeds of Success
Doz Finch
((The Arboretum, Deck 10, USS Gorkon))
Despite the chasmic difference in rank, little could dissuade Commander Marshall from getting to know Doz, or anyone around her for that matter. She seemed a woman of benignity, with the sort of mellowness one expected to find amidst peaceful clouds or in a pot of Risian moisturiser. Incidentally, Risian moisturiser was partly the topic of conversation, a subject randomly sprouted from the older woman the moment they had entered the arboretum.
Finch: Much of a gardener yourself, Commander?
Marshall: Not really, despite my enthusiastic amateur efforts. Tried to grow a cacti once, turns out they thrive on neglect. ::She smiled, amused by the memory.:: Engines are more my thing. I might not have the same magic touch, but I've planted my share. Earned my green thumb badge with some seedlings and saplings.
As Jo chuckled, Doz pressed her lips together thoughtfully. Engines were probably more her thing, too. As much as she enjoyed being around them, she’d never really had the time to look after plants or flowers. But she felt a certain nostalgia talking about it; as a child, a long time ago indeed, she’d lived on an island where her family had had a garden full of all sorts of different greenery. A quick escape when the mechanical circus that was her home became a bit too much to bear.
Marshall: How about you? Dabbled in the forbidden arts of horticulture?
Finch: Apart from helping to fix broken water sprinklers and dodgy heat lamps, not very much! Though I’d imagine that’s for the best. Takes a certain level of patience, gardening. And a degree of acceptance that it won’t always go your way.
Patience was a thing she didn’t quite have a lot of—acceptance was an even trickier word. In some ways, it made her think about how different her life might have been, had she ever had a family of her own. So often she’d found that the deportment of a person would change slightly after becoming a parent. Something about having all that responsibility for another life, and setting one's own madness aside for it, at least for a little while.
Marshall: No matter how much we think we control the variables, nature has a way of reminding us who's really in charge. That's what concerned me about this temperature control issue. Start off with a light breeze and end up with a category five hurricane. Think you're in a sauna until it becomes a snowglobe.
Finch: Then I’m flattered you came to ask me, Commander. ::She chortled.:: But if we do end up with a category five hurricane and they ask who’s responsible, then tell them my name’s Vylaa zh’Tisav.
The pinprick hairs of her nostrils were grateful. Sucking in the earthy, sometimes fruity scents of the greenery in their surroundings. Lacquering its inner walls and feeding her lungs with that rush of life, so seldom felt in the regurgitated and artificial air of the ship. It wasn’t really something ever noticed, until she was standing on a planet or an arboretum. How fantastic it was to really breathe.
Marshall: There's a climate control panel somewhere in here. Could give us a clue what's been causing the environmental upheaval.
Finch: Then we’ll start there! Do a bit of the old “switch it on and off again” technique before we start any dismantling.
PADD and tools in hands, they weaved their way through the labyrinth of alien flowers and their grandiloquent displays of colour and aroma. Some even had the audacity to softly glow, clambering no doubt to prove a point that their planetary origins were best. One or two of them did impress, however, tempting the diminutive Human with the prospect of owning one—if only she wasn’t half convinced that they’d shrivel up and die within the first week.
Marshall: Oh, I errr–I figured out where I recognised your name from the other day. Any relation to Ernie Finch? I covered his rapid modulation capabilities for phaser array enhancements in the Academy. Riveting stuff.
Doz’s jaw near enough hit the floor, her arms flying up in the opposite direction. She wondered for a moment if her ears had deceived her.
Finch: What!? You never did! Ernie’s my brother!
Marshall: Response
It sent goosebumps along her arms, hearing not only Jo but a Starfleet Commander recollect and mention her brother's name. Of all of them, Ernie’s was the career that had been the most focused and realised. Passionate about the advancement of weapons, he had dedicated his career to engineering them, writing a bible or two on this and that. She missed him terribly.
Finch: It’s been a while since I’ve checked in on him, actually. Seen how he’s getting on. Though it’s usually the same sort of exchange. He skits me, I skit him. ::Shaking her head with a smirk.:: Brothers.
Marshall: Response
Finch: He’s married! To a lovely Boslic woman who works on the same ship as he does. She’s gorgeous. Has this sort of mauve coloured hair. And their children! Well, you can only imagine.
Marshall: Response
Engineering Officer
USS Gorkon NCC-82293
C239809SH3
"There's nebula in that coffee."