Capt. Shayne: Carlin A Favor
Randal Shayne
((OOC: Hi all- as I missed Ras' last sim before he retreated from the scene with Shayne and Semara, I thought I'd repost that chunk for clarity and posterity. All thoughts very, very, very much IC)). ((Dewitt Residence, Earth))
Semara: Cap'n. :: A second curtsy. :: Doctor. :: A light chuckle. :: I trust he's medically cleared for dancin'?
El’Heem: ::leaning exaggeratingly to look at the captain up and down:: That’s about…all he’s medically cleared for at the moment.
Shayne’s chuckle was a restrained, diplomatic twitch, of the sort that lay dormant in the back of one’s mind until spontaneously called upon by circumstances or inconveniences. A failsafe more than anything, it kept the captain from turning to the increasingly stabilizing Kressari and boring a hole through his barky skull with his mere microwaving gaze. This was exactly the sort of thing he’d felt exposed by, what had started his ill-conceived campaign through hypospray- privacy being even remotely infringed. Shayne could even argue that such a comment violated patient-doctor confidentiality, but he had learned quickly that such insufferable, argumentative insistence made him deeply unpopular. So the chuckle it was, along with a mental note to… “thank” the man suitably at a later time.
Shayne: The good doctor is ensuring I don’t fink out on your gracious invitation.
And what a… good job he was doing at that. Was he being escorted? Or was he a hostage?
This deal was getting worse all the time.
Semara: Please. A fearless Starfleet Cap'n bailin' on a dance with a simple country girl? Perish the thought.
Semara was already known to be many things, but none of them were simple.
El’Heem: The captain would never do such a thing! Right cap?
Shayne: oO Yes. I would. Without hesitation and gleefully. But I suppose that’s the point here.Oo
One way or another, delaying this engagement would just push it down the road, to a point where it would be even more awkward, more unpleasant, more gouache. A simple dance with a not so simple Southern lady, ostensibly at El’Heem’s gunpoint.
Semara: Well, do I have to sign a release waiver for him? :: A huge smirk ::
The briefest compulsion of fascination mingled with distaste as he considered the remark. Though it had, of course, been meant kindly, and there was nothing at all offensive about it in character, Semara’s accent- unfairly, Shayne was sure- added a touch of… commodity to the question. He, for an instant, thought of himself as a product, an item- something to be signed for and handed over. He squinted, analyzing himself crudely. Was… that another part of his visceral, rooted reaction to Semara? Old stereotypes? Old hatreds and distastes long moved on from? Semara was already one of the sweetest souls he’d encountered in the stars, for better or for worse- was he judging her for sins of the cultural father?
The farther down he dug, the uglier he became to himself. But the mold at the core needed to be rooted out in an unrelenting purge, lest it rebound and swallow him.
Shayne: Only if you promise not to brand me.
He thought about adding an insipid “moo” to the comment, but even his deprived brain knew this was deeply suspect.
Ras, apparently, was baffled. This was good. Shayne knew that doctors generally didn’t like knowing things, and so approved of Ras’ confusion. Payback was often a slow, subtle bitch.
El’Heem: Don’t think I honestly have a say in the matter, if I’m being honest. I’m probably pulling septic tank duty as it is. Just make sure he doesn’t cause too much trouble, please.
Shayne quirked his lips in an expression of inventive approval. Septic tank duty.
Heh. Doody.
Shayne wasn’t certain that the Khitomer had much in the way of a traditional septic and sewage system; most of the feldercarb became an amorphous, atomized mass of replicable and energized particulate matter. In truth, he’d enjoyed not having an intimate understanding of where his leavings ended up at the end of the day- a luxury not afforded him as an engineer. But if the Khitomer had no septic tank to clean, Shayne was confident he could bully Dewitt into making one. Price was no object; it’d be for a very good friend.
Semara: I won't keep 'im out past midnight. Promise, doctor. :: A soft chuckle ::
El’Heem: ::mouthing the words silently:: Thank you.
Shayne looked at El’Heem blankly.
Shayne: oO Ensign Junior Grade it is. Oo
Shayne: Y’know, for a member of a species specializing in botanical DNA, you sure know how to…
He paused.
The pause lengthened.
The stars aged overhead.
Grey hairs swallowed brown ones.
The cosmos held its collective breath.
Shayne: …stalk someone.
Semara: Thank you, doctor. :: A quick curtsy :: Cap'n?
Damn! She was resistant to his stupid puns! Semara would truly be a worthy adversary.
El’Heem: I shall take my leave, you treat her well Cap.
Shayne: oO “Treat her well”, my velvety… mutter mutter mutter… Oo
Shayne: Of course, Lieutenant. Thanks for the guidance.
El’heem retreated with a nod and a wink.
And with that… the pressure began to lessen in his chest. The onslaught of pressures began to ease. Semara still worried him. She still brought his heartrate to a dangerously high reading. But the bitterness was easing. The feeling of stuckness began to decrease. He didn’t have to be just the captain any longer. He didn’t have to be more than he was. He just needed to be. He briefly turned his gaze towards El’Heem’s retreating back, the man’s tall, lanky frame easily spottable in the morass.
Shayne: oO Thank you, Ras. Oo
He turned his attention back towards Semara, and the glimmer in her knowing, affectionate eye…
TBC…
Captain Randal ShayneCommanding Officer
USS Khitomer
NCC 62400
G239202RS0