Lieutenant Doz Finch - Beyond the Fabric
Doz Finch
((Madame L’Spirria’s, Nassau))
As Doz Finch entered the door to the fortune-tellers, a bell chimed above her, heralding her arrival. Inside, there was a curious feeling that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The air was rather thick with the stale aroma of burned incense, distempering her lungs enough to make each breath feel like a presentiment of something about to happen, something hopeful. A little jarring, in a situation such as hers.
It was cramped in there, with heavy fabric dangling from wall to wall, in a myriad of dark and besmirched patterns of red, purple and green. Low-lit lamps were dotted about the place, some on top of stacked books, others gathering dust on lopsided shelves and side-tables. It was a long room, littered with ruffled carpets, unusual intergalactic trinkets and the occasional bit of broken technology interspersed throughout; radios, isolinear chips, an amplifier.
A voice called out from beyond the mead of fabrics. A man’s voice.
Hal: Who’s there?
Finch: Oh, ::stepping over something,:: hello, sorry! I’m, well, I just wandered in! Couldn’t resist the urge to get a reading. Haven’t had one in a very long time. I’ll bugger off though if you want. ::Glancing around.:: Truth be told, I don’t exactly have any way of paying you.
A touch of commotion sounded from the furthest end of the room, as the figure of a man clambered out in a bit of a clumsy foray. Lifting one of the hanging drapes, he revealed his face—it was friendly, with kind eyes, and he was older, with wispy hair flying atop his skull. He wasn't Caitian, but he wasn't Human either.
Hal: You won’t have much luck with that. She’s long gone.
Finch: She? ::Doz blinked.:: Oh! The fortune-teller.
Hal: “Madame L’Spirria”. ::He said with a wonky smile.:: Reading the past, present and future, one asymmetrical palm line at a time. Give her a bit more incentive and she may even throw in a free, already-charged, ready-to-go crystal, completely authentic, from such famous caves as Mak’ala and Actun Tunichil Muknal.
He scratched his head, gesturing to a half-ripped poster on the wall. On it was the picture of a mystical looking Caitian woman, with long protruding whiskers, yellow eyes, and her claws clasped around a crystal ball, where much of the tear could be found. An odd coincidence—and ironic, she thought.
Finding amusement in it, she turned back to the man who simply watched her with gentle curiosity.
Finch: She wouldn’t get much out of my rubbery palms.
Hal: Is that so? ::Staring, intrigued.:: I’ve got a can of petroleum laying around here somewhere that’ll sort that right out. I can fetch it for you if you like?
Finch: ::Waving a hand, chuckling.:: I’ve already intruded upon your personal space. Best I don’t go using up your supplies as well, or else you really will try to charge me.
She wrinkled her nose as a brief silence fell between them. He was dressed in tattered brown and yellow garb that seemed to be covered in dried oil and grease and any number of other things adding to its sullied look. But his countenance, how familiar he seemed, made it all tie warmly together like an old memory one would return to for comfort.
Hal: ::Rocking on his heels, he grinned sheepishly, before his eyes widened.:: You’re lucky you caught me, actually. I’m usually out and about. Not one to rest for too long.
Finch: You don’t live here, do you?
Hal: ::Putting his hands on his hips.:: I do, yes. It’s not much, I know. A bit cramped. But we make do, us lot. Everything in Nassau is a bit of a makeshift this or that, nowadays. Nothing is quite as it seems. Keeps you guessing.
Squinting at the throng of possessions once owned by the felinoid psychic and part-time-hoarder, she felt a conflict within her. One part felt sympathy for the life that the man and his people must have endured, through a reality bent out of shape by a selfish commodore and his outrageous actions. Another part felt admiration, even delight at their insistence on surviving, on carving out their own little safe haven.
How delightful the man was, despite it.
Finch: I’m quite used to cramped spaces, as it happens! ::Pressing her lips together.:: I’m forever getting stuck in maintenance shafts.
Hal: ::Realising.:: Ah! You’re one of the new newcomers. On that fancy ship of yours.
Finch: Oh god, you already know about us.
Hal: Word travels fast. ::A wide smile.:: Look at me, standing here all this time and I haven’t introduced myself once. I’m Hal, and who are you?
Finch: Hello, Hal. ::She grinned.:: I’m Doz.
As Doz and Hal shook hands, their eyes seemed to lock together for a few moments. She felt oddly at ease, as if they were already familiar with one another. She wondered whether or not they had crossed paths before, in her own timeline. Because he was warm. Not just his hand—something she realised she was still holding—but he was warm. Everything about him.
He was…well. He was lovely.
Hal: Stay for a little while, won’t you? I can’t tell you anything about your past, present or future, but…I can make a very good cup of tea.
Finch: ::A relieved laugh.:: Do you know...I’d love nothing more.
And she did stay—for the best part of an hour.
fin
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Assistant Chief Engineer
USS Gorkon NCC-82293
C239809SH3