[JP] Lt. Sienelis, Lt. Marshall, Lt. JG Josett, & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part III)
Jo Marshall
((Safehouse, Centennial City, Ketar V))
Johns: I wasn’t paying that much attention to the questions with a Hupyrian hand around my neck. ::He ran his thumb over Valesha’s cheek, skin becoming one again as flakes of dried green blood came away.:: But as far as I remember, she didn’t say.
Sienelis: Her business associates want him. That's all she would tell us.
The relative safety of the CCMS office and comfort of the sofa dampened Valesha's earlier fire. She offered Chris a crooked smile, sending a thud through his heart, performed the obligatory prod to her recently healed wound, and slipped the dermal regenerator from his hand. One finger under his chin, she brought the device to the bruises on his neck. What felt like a raging heartbeat had quietened now they were away from the threats imposed, and Chris lifted his jaw for Valesha's access. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the movement, the small stretch a little painful.
Johns: Assuming those business associates are Syndicate. Again. Wouldn't be the first time. Doubt it’ll be the last. ::Bear glared as Chris glanced over, as far as he could, to the seated Lena.:: Anything about him in the CCMS information?
Josett: Nothing that we don't already know about. Except this mention of Mnei Kreh?
Valesha's gaze snapped toward the pirate, pausing in her ministrations. Then she glanced toward Bear, a frown knitting her eyebrows together in the middle. He stood up from his leaning post, stomach sinking delightfully. In the waning hours of their time on the Labyrinth's Scream, when revelations about his true employers had arrived coated in a fine dusting of red pollen, they’d heard the name.
Sienelis: They're Romulan. ::She paused, returning to the matter of Chris' bruised neck with a growing frown.:: I suppose you could call them our version of the Syndicate.
Chris swallowed again, his hand lifted to touch Valesha’s forearm attached to the hand repairing him, finding some part of her to hold on to. Fear seeded into his guts. Opposite, a stony expression set on Bear’s features as he looked from Romulan to Russian to hybrid; the look of a man chewing a rather fragrant variety of wasp. His arms clamped down, crossed over his chest like a portcullis, and somehow his shoulders got slightly broader.
O. Marshall: And we’re here, walking into a Romulan-sized trap set by the Romulan Syndicate. Great. Just… just great. ::He ran a hand over his face and beard, before his jaw set as he looked pointedly to Valesha.:: You’re going back to the yacht.
Sienelis: You can— ::She pressed her lips together, biting off the rest of the curse, knuckles white on the regenerator.:: I didn't come all this way to hide in a shuttle. And it's your name on their list, anyway.
O. Marshall: It’s a yacht, not a shuttle. ::Familiar words he’d heard somewhere before.:: If I’m on a Romulan list, despite having no prior Romulan connections aside from you, don’t you think you would be too?
Sienelis: No, since they had me and didn't want me. Romulan spy-slash-starship-thief was not on their shopping list.
O. Marshall: They might only be looking for me, whereas there’s a hundred others in this city who could be looking for you, so I’d rather box clever and not wait for the next lot of Romulan poison!
((A few minutes later...))
In a display that would put a vigorous game of parrises squares to shame, Bear and Valesha were still arguing back and forth over who was going back to the shuttle and why. With Chris' bruises healed, the Romulan was on her feet now, stalking back and forth, agitation in motion, while Bear stood there, arms crossed, the mountain that would not move, now and then slamming the edge of his hand into the palm of his other to punctuate a point.
Computing mischief managed, Lena dropped herself onto the couch next to Chris, pouring him another glass of rum from the bottle she had replicated. Chris accepted gladly and swallowed a mouthful in a second, transfixed by the display.
Josett: They'll wear themselves out in a little while.
Johns: It’s quite sweet, really. They’re the worst siblings they never had. ::He shook his head, another mouthful of rum going down nicely.:: I used to watch my brother and sister argue like that. Eventually one of them would pick up the corkscrew while the other went for a phaser.
She poured him another, grinning, and then topped up her own glass. At least the pair were providing some entertainment while they all waited for the Bajoran agent to return from whatever it was he was doing. With the boiling tensions and the tiny room, Lena had been quite certain it was the Russian and Bear who would come to blows, but life was full of little surprises.
Josett: Your family life sounds suspiciously like my pirate life.
Johns: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Pirate or Russian. ::He felt for the back of his neck, the bruises fading but the dull ache remaining all the same.:: When should we tell them there’s no going back for the yacht until tomorrow, anyway?
Josett: When the corkscrew comes out. ::She took a swig of her rum and reconsidered.:: Maybe about thirty seconds after, after we've got a sense of who'd win that duel.
Johns: If the day ever comes when they would actually stab each other, old-style Satan will sip vodka and ice in his snowplough. ::Speaking of, he crunched through an ice cube as Bear got the finger out, resorting to pointing at some distant yacht.:: This is it. This is our life.
Josett: It's a good thing they're both so easy on the eye.
She grinned at him and finished her glass, offering him a top-up, the Russian accepting gladly with a clink of knocking glasses.
Johns: There is that.
((A few minutes later still...))
Sienelis: What do you mean we can't go back for it until tomorrow?
O. Marshall: Are you shitting me, Russian?
The dark brows of said Russian furrowed as he looked at them both, first to Bear with a despairing expression and a shake of his head, then to Valesha, said expression softening. She looked back at him, fire in her eyes, almost vibrating with frustration.
Johns: Between here and Opportunity, there’s a valley. Tonight, the valley will be a toxic mix of carbon dioxide and pockets of sulfuric acid clouds from the Lakosha fire river. Winds are blowing westward. We stay tonight. It should have blown into the mountain range come morning.
Josett: Emphasis on "should". ::She sipped from her glass and pointed a finger toward the two.:: It's not an exact science on this planet.
She smiled cheerfully at the pair, with reckless disregard for their sour humours, and stretched out with all the languid indifference of a cat. As expected, that did little to soothe Valesha's mood and she glowered at the hybrid, her fingers curling and flexing as she tried, and failed, to find the words to fully convey her thoughts.
O. Marshall: When exactly were you going to communicate this vital piece of vital information?
Chris blinked at the blond for a moment, as though trying to decide what kind of murder would pip the post given the situation. With a deep-seated sigh radiating from somewhere around the year he’d met him, he tongued his cheek and dropped his hand back down.
Johns: Did you not read the weather report?
Josett: Rookie mistake.
Bear looked to his recumbent pirate, attitude not helping the situation and not designed to, either. Valesha blew out a pent-up sigh and he threw his hands up and stalked off for the space of a few paces, hands on his hips, beard ruffled.
O. Marshall: So, we really do need to find somewhere to stay tonight.
Josett: Looks that way. Which means we have to decide whether to figure it out ourselves or trust your friend with a very specific aim.
O. Marshall: He’d know safe places, and I doubt he’s going to want four Starfleet officers sleeping on his floor at home. ::Scratching his fingers into his beard, his blue eyes dropped to the Romulan.:: Did your research into Little Ki Baratan yield anything like that?
Sienelis: Places to stay, yes. Places that are criminal syndicate proof, not so much. ::She lifted her shoulders in a jerk of shrug, her temper still bubbling underneath.:: I didn't expect any of this.
O. Marshall: What did you expect? ::The blond’s temper cracked like the snap of a flare; the argument doing nothing to quell that inward momentum, to shout and grit.:: He’s been here for a decade, keeping one eye on his arse. He won’t appear just because another Romulan is looking for him.
An earthquake triggering a tsunami, Bear's burst of anger reignited Valesha's, bringing it back to the surface. She rounded on him and he took an involuntary step back.
Sienelis: I expected a hard time finding him because he's one Romulan among thousands, not a hard time finding him because we're fending off the people you pissed off over the years!
Beside Chris, Lena sank down on the couch with a wry grin. It was at this point she abandoned any attempt at propriety and quaffed straight from the bottle.
Josett: And they're off again.
Johns: It’s almost like they needed this.
The bearded Russian snagged the bottle from Lena’s grip and took a swig himself before handing it back to her as both watched the impending shuttle crash taking place.
TBC
--
Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis
Science Officer
USS Gorkon
T238401QR0
&
Lieutenant Orson Marshall
Intelligence Officer
USS Gorkon
G239304JM0
&
Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett
Intelligence Officer
USS Gorkon
T238401QR0
&
PO First-Class Christopher Johns
Operations Officer
USS Gorkon
G239304JM0