Lt. Haukea-Willow: Chaos Angel
Aly Drolet
Maya Hawke - Chaos Angel (Official Lyric Video)
((Haukea-Willow’s Condo, Little Risa, Starbase 118))
The day rolled in dissociative, brain fuzzy like communication static. Even after her excruciatingly excessive - heat dialed to max - sonic shower, Haukea-Willow, a Risian and officer, personally allowed, despite the gnawing guilt, to be herself.
As a child Haukea had existed in an environment without expectation. She had been herself, individual, true, yet shielded from her deepest emotions, that now with discovery, pestered her in hollow intensity. Compartmentalized, boxed, control on duty, displaying fierce protection, rolling like a Risian heat wave, summer storm on the horizon.
Though slowly in the aftermath, she found little control in her mannerisms. Authentic to herself, yet foreign from disuse. A shadow breaking through into sun obscurity.
As such, her morning slowed, spinning into unnameable hyperfocus, coffee cold, her right pinkie numb from a prolonged grasp on her personal PADD, startled by the unforeseen chirp of the door alarm.
Willow: Enter!
sh’Sonora: Hello, Sir. Do you have a microt?
Haukea imagined the conversation, present in the aftermath of the trio’s shuttle flopping into rusty, sharp pieces on the tarmac, emotions raised in proper justification of action and reaction. Now, Haukea, an unguarded woman - Corey, Gogigobo, sh’Sonora - shuffled on her feet, flattening stray frizz from her face, short hairs providing a scientific lesson on static, black and white sleepwear, unencumbered.
Willow: Please, make yourself at home. I’ll put on another pot of coffee.
The invitation was natural, familiar, bare feet stumbling over unraised heel as she traced well worn paths towards the kitchen percolator, water boiling. Though as if on instinct she halted, steps ceasing, assessing sh’Sonora’s hesitance to follow, whether by her own restless consciousness or jealousy to the senior officer’s seeming composure, silence stretched.
Haukea never forced conversation, difficult in complexity on this exact day, waiting with saintly patience for the green pilot to speak her mind.
sh’Sonora: I… owe you an apology, Sir. During our last mission I was reckless and stupid. I overestimated my ability, underestimated the range of the Chuulak’s guns, and… well… I was insubordinate towards you. What I said to you near the end was uncalled for, and I… have no excuse for expressing my temper in such a fashion, which shouldn’t happen anyways because Ensigns aren’t supposed to talk to their superior officers like I did. It was wrong, I was wrong, and I am sorry.
The unmistakable sign of personal inability to say anything else other than apology. sh’Sonora felt wronged, the painful necessity to apologize, despite no wrong. Willow, bright and breezy, had herself equally committed the same sin, throwing a lifesaver out to Corey Weathern, asking for apology, forgiveness that was unnecessary. Now, however, she would half the pain through shared responsibility.
Willow: I’ll stop you right there. An apology is unnecessary.
A pivot, turn, half change in conversation, expression layered.
sh’Sonora: Sir, may I ask a question?
Willow: Anything. I’m an open book.
Haukea had a natural inability to hide her emotion, it read plain across her skin in waves, drowning only herself in interpretation.
sh’Sonora: After my actions, no amount of praise from the Capricalians could have saved my career. One word to the captain or the xo and you’d have my pip and my comm.-badge for lunch, and it would have been deserved. Why didn’t you do it?
Willow: I’m a better woman than that. Mercy is the mark of a great individual.
As chief of security to a station of numerous individuals each complex in their own ways, Haukea-Willow, participated in miniscule discipline within her own department. Her officers ran with her own modified book, leading forward with tape, glue and black pen. She rewrote the damnable security check list. Her goal, etched within the station walls had - always would - been second chances and healing. She counted victories in love, words. sh’Sonora was merely another individual who had dug into her emotional vulnerable flesh, easing open what lay in darkness from years of societal repression.
sh’Sonora: Ummm… thank you, Sir. But why?
Willow: I give second chances to 99% of the people who cross my path. I don’t believe in punishment or execution - physical or metaphorical.
Her vision narrowed, peripheral nonexistent at the edges. It was not blurred into inaccessibility, purely an inability to be useful. Dissociation lingering in newly acquired acceptance. A symptom of prolonged emotional masking.
sh’Sonora: ::She straightens her uniform and returns to an attentive stance.:: Sir, I thank you for your mercy.
Willow: You have to actively threaten the safety of those around me before I shut the book on your story. Everyone is a story in the end, I’m allowing you to make it a good one.
sh’Sonora may have threatened safety in her decision making skills. Nevertheless, in the unspeakable suffocating silence, the security officer knew, in a subconscious alcove of her brain, rotting in guilt, shame and ghostly dissociation, that no harm or threat had been provided. Haukea knew too well what her brain, in the aftermath, had perceived.
Yet sorry was not her particular word for the effect given to the situation before them. Haukea found sorry to be in purposeful acts, she had only acted on instinct and fear. Therefore a second chance was freely gifted, always offered; a bird cage open to personal autonomy.
sh’Sonora: Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.
Willow: Besides, I had my fair share of emotional liability ::cue guilt and shame:: to spread the blame.
The threat of a threat acted upon her brain in a high stakes game of tug-of-war, mounting her own irritation until it spilled over like crashing waves. She had sat in silence, fueled by rolling, lapping waves of anger, hurt, too deep to breathe. The effect acted before the invisible cause, pulling the emergency cord on plans possible to prevent stagnation, their rusty little ship fragile in the blackness of the universe. Haukea-Willow, responsible for order, safety, would always, circumstances beside themselves, take the blame for herself, partial or otherwise.
sh’Sonora: ::Waves her hands and antennae in an attempt to show a lack of offense.:: That’s okay, Sir. Forgive and forget? Besides, I’d be a pretty lousy person if I came to apologize with the intent of getting an apology in return. I’d be happy to reset our professional relationship because well… I get the sensation that I’ve got a thing or two to learn from you.
Willow: One may never forget, but they can always forgive. Even the seasoned veteran has a thing or two to learn.
sh’Sonora: I mean, we have two wildly different approaches to being Starfleet officers. I find it, I solve it, it picks a fight, I fight it. Clearly… I didn’t pick up any of my thavan’s negotiation skills or my mothers’ or sisters’ diplomatic touch. But it’s something you have. Kind of shows my blind spots that reminds me of family back home, but you know… not nearly as stinging.
Peaceful protest. Kind words. A whispered warning. A systematic sweep to avoid the weep of wounds, tears, pain. Haukea held a fragile philosophy that attempted to avoid the painful realms of the harsh universe, edges turning at 90 degrees. She was a security officer that while preferring the sting of a rifle, kept it for show, appearances. She acknowledged the discomfort in charging head first into action before thought. Even the worst of the world around her deserved a chance to defend themselves in words.
Willow: Please, don’t try to copy me. Imitation falls flat in the face of flattery. ::Haukea’s posture sagged:: I can teach you a great many things. But only you know how to charge head first when there is no room left to talk. That is a skill I do not have.
sh’Sonora: Response
Willow: I could speak endlessly, reciting all my philosophy or poetry in an attempt to pull an individual back from the ledge. You often miss things when caught monologuing.
sh’Sonora: Response
Willow: Though, tell me. What is your learning objective? What makes your brain tumble in the dark? I can’t rewrite biology, but I can lend an ear and perhaps some ancient wisdom.
sh’Sonora: Response
Lt. Haukea-Willow
Chief of Security - Crisis Response
Starbase 118 Ops
M239512BG0
Ad Astra Per Aspera/To The Stars With Difficulty - Una Chin-Riley
