(( OOC: This takes place during shore leave. ))
(( A bar, Promenade second level, Deep Space Nine ))
Sival rolled his head back and looked up at the ceiling, as if any answers could be found there. Seeing nothing, of course, he let his head flop forward, closing his eyes and letting out a hard sigh.
Sival: ::whispering to himself:: No, it cannot be.
He looked at the box on the table. He allowed his view of it to become more and more blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. After a beat, he wiped his face and tried to collect himself.
Even though it cannot be, here it is. Logically, the only way to solve this problem was to deal with it. The time for hiding it had suddenly come to an end. Yes, he had to confront it.
He took a deep sigh then pulled up his shoulders, correcting his posture. He reached out and opened the box again, revealing what was inside.
There upon the soft cushion lay a silver pin. It was in the shape of a fist that was clutching an arrow and a sword together. Along where the wrist would be was the name ‘Japhor’. It was written in between two sets of three stars.
Japhor had been a leader of one of the worlds in the Dinar system. The system was in an area of space that was once part of the Romulan empire but had become known to outsiders after the region destabilized. As the pin implied, he ruled with violence. He was a dictator, and a brutal one at that. According to the Federation’s Commission on the Rights of Sentient Beings, he was responsible for political imprisonments, torture and mass genocide.
Japhor was a bad man. He even said so himself. And Sival had killed him.
Killed him or allowed him to die, if there even is a difference between the two.
Sival ran his hands through his hair and thought back to the last time he had seen the pin. He and Japhor were in a field hospital, and the pin had been on the lapel of Japhor’s jacket. The pin would again be seen again by millions during Japhor’s funeral. Japhor, in his casket, with the same pin attached to him. Sival had assumed that the pin had been buried with him.
Maybe it had. Who knows. But now it was here. In front of him.
How did the pin come into Sival’s hands? Who was this Grumley, and how did he obtain it? How did he know to give it to Sival?
He realized he was trembling as he struggled to get the lid back on the box. That’s when he knew he couldn’t continue like this longer. So he pictured in his mind that he was on a small boat in a stormy ocean, and with each deep breath he took, that ocean became calmer and calmer. Finally it was so calm that there were no waves at all, and he could see his reflection in the water. A current of peace began to rush through him, neutralizing agitation and tension as it flowed from head to toe.
Sival considered what to do. Should he go to the authorities and confess what he did? Even though he didn’t technically do anything wrong? Unethical, yes. But ‘wrong’, maybe. Should he do nothing? Clearly he couldn’t do that - the pin was some kind of message that begged his response.
He didn’t have the faintest clue as to what to do next. He realized that he needed advice. But who could he confide in?
He considered this as he stood up and put the box in his pocket. He made his way to the exit. He had just left the bar when a brute of a man walked up beside him so that they were standing shoulder-to shoulder, arm-to-arm, in the Promenade. He firmly grabbed Sival’s wrist and squeezed hard.
Man: Keep walking casually doctor, and everything will be okay.