Ensign Haukea-Willow - Epilogue - Hope is the thing with feathers
Aly Drolet
OOC: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TbqRaBY9K0
((Romulan Embassy, StarBase 118))
Without another word, Miss DeVeau turned and walked off. The other woman clearly thought no more explanation was necessary, that her reasoning and logic were sound. Haukea thought they probably were not. However, Miss DeVeau was her superior officer, her XO. It was not her place, not currently anyway, to question her further. Nor was it a part of her moral code to push individuals into revealing personal information when they were not willing, able, or ready. One had to be open to the idea. It all came back to the notion of autonomy, independence.
Willow: Well now what? That was a hurricane and a half.
Her voice was cheerful, if not with a hint of despair.
Sherlock: That was just the peak, Ensign. There's still some left to weather out.
Willow: I suppose you could be right. The workday is never done.
Sherlock: Never. ::turning to face Willow:: This is what we do.
Willow: Yet somehow it doesn’t feel right to go back to pulling people from under boulders.
Haukea, gaze sullen, knew her adrenaline was wearing off. She had done important work, rescuing Miss DeVeau from premature, potential death. Yet, now, what she had been doing before, with Lt. Sera, Havran and J’Lynn, felt like child's play. Not that such work wasn’t important in its own way. And not that she felt she was incapable of completing such work. She was. Besides, she would have gladly done it if ordered. She was merely that type of person. She did everything to the greatest of her ability, if not more. Yet, Haukea knew when enough was enough. When a task was unfulfilling, leading to no greater change. This instance was one of them.
Sherlock appeared irritated, jaw clenched. She must have agreed with Haukea’s statement. That or she held previous experiences in perspective, what with death buried under rubble nearby. Haukea herself was no stranger to death, or the idea of death. In previous work, she saw it extremely rarely, but even then…it stirred something inside of her. Always having her walking a line, a tightrope of death and hope. Except she never walked back the other way.
Sherlock: Ensign, until communications come back online, would you please go around to the Security officers still alive. Set up a cordon around the embassy. Keep everyone safe.
Haukea-Willow nodded sternly, sharply. She was most willing to complete her task. She would complete it until there was nothing left to complete. She would be the link between the hurt and the hope. The string on the tin can phone line. The bird with feathers, and wings, lifting up the innocent.
With confirmation, Haukea turned, walking away with confidence, head held level. Even as she stumbled over the rocks, she didn’t falter. Her mind, on the other hand, wandered. It often did in moments of eerie silence. She could never get the thoughts to shut up, turn off. She constantly had to be doing work, or play; keeping her hands, her body, engaged in a task.
Though today, as she wandered around the embassy, between remaining security officers, passing along the message, setting up her cordon, hope whispered in the back of her mind. A focal point.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
(Poem by Emily Dickinson).
Platitudes, little cliches, sayings, old wisdom, comforted her, and she hoped comforted others.
By the time she was done, her hands, her clothes, were caked in dirt, dust, cracked and dry. She imagined it would take a lot of scrubbing in the sonic shower to get it all to come off. Besides, she needed a good hair washing, it was frizzier than ever. That was, if she didn’t immediately jump into civilian attire and go out on the town; something to do. People watching, imaginative, active.
Rest, while important, and Haukea attempted to get as much of it as possible, she often found it difficult when her brain screamed at her to keep going, thoughts tumbling like an all night holo-talk show. In spite of that, Haukea’s body ached around the dirt and dust. Water had been poured on the fire, the storm weathered. Tomorrow was approaching, a new dawn.
Haukea: ::whispering to herself:: It’s time to go home.
Ensign Haukea-Willow
Security
Starbase 118 Ops
M239512BG0
"One thing I've learned from my parents and from observing all the artists I've been lucky enough to grow up around is that you've got to be brave." - Maya Hawke