OOC - This is the first thing Sheila does during shore leave. For mood/tone reference look up any Lord of The Rings song with lyrics - cover or otherwise and that is what I’m sort of going for. Photo below is a reference for the dress that Sheila wear’s.
This occurs before the conversation between Captain Taybrim and Alora.
((Promenade - Commercial District Starbase 118))
As suddenly as a cord snapping did all the tension leak from the room. Lukin’s hand pulled away from her’s; she did not want it to go. Not having it made the room cold, almost as if to threaten to take away her breath again. Thankfully she was able to resign herself to an understanding, one that told her that the day’s events had purly been manufactured. She may never know Lukin or Talas’ true emotions on the matter, she hardly knew the two men, Lukin even less only having met him earlier in the day.
She did not want it to go. That’s what stuck with her once her chair had been retrieved by Lukin himself. After she had finally been left alone to go wherever she pleased. Yet she did not desire to go anywhere but back to Lukin’s hold. That would simply not be possible at present. However some other nasty thought pulled like a fish on a hook at the back of her mind.
If she did love the man truly then she would be betraying her 13 year old self, a self that loved someone too wicked for her own good. Now she finally saw the relationship for what it was, not daring to spit the word on her tongue for fear it would make even her own soul wicked. Instead Sheila held it as if it was her own charge, an addictive substance that would addle her mind. How had it come to this?; a thought pattern so unwanted that her brain would do anything to rid herself of them. One too many dissociations, an addictive love too far out of her reach. They only proved to show that she had put off her own care long enough. Sure in the past few months she had made progress however the day’s events had been an extreme case of regression; a setback.
Quietly she slipped out of sickbay, knowing full well that she would be back. Now that she was once more sitting upon her silver throne, wheels gliding under her fingers, she could go anywhere. With such a freedom she only stopped briefly at her quarters. Long enough to slip into a garment so unlike her that she later would question her actions.
The dress used to belong to her mother. Thinking on it now reminded her once again of the smashing plates. Nonetheless the dress was of a silken fabric, skirt full, one that would spin out with any turn and twist. Short sleeves and an off the shoulder cut. It was the color that took the garment over the top. An iridescent lilac purple. Quite the opposite of her mother’s typical blue, limper dresses. Her mother was younger and happier when she had worn this dress.
Slipping it on she felt a warm strange closeness bordering on unwelcome thought. A sort of mild regret at allowing herself to get close to someone again; no matter how well she knew them. Never mind all that, in a matter of minutes she was pushing Alistair into his harness and out the door, remembering to shove her mother’s black stone ring onto her finger, an afterthought more like.
Time was now not thought of. Sheila ended up in the middle of the promenade. She wasn’t hungry yet she was easily persuaded by the right person, if they could be found. Mostly it was the crowd that pushed at her body and mind.
Alistair, who had been by her side the whole time, suddenly jumped out in front of her. He must have thought to give her some space. However it was more than likely she hadn’t seen the person in front of her who’s back Alistair was protecting her from running into.
Bailey: Move, Alistair.
The crowds were thinner than normal in the commercial district, but still present enough that one had to weave around others. Despite the rather tumultuous events of the previous day, many had flocked back to the temple grounds, eager to resume the festivities. Events that had been interrupted the day prior were resumed, in some ways with more vigor than before. Gratitude for the minimal impact of what had occurred. Minimal for some, at least. Yes, it could have been worse. People could have been killed. Although some fights had broken out, injuries sustained had been very minor and easily dealt with. But there were some things that were harder to cure.
Alora had spent most of the previous day huddled away in her quarters. There, she had wrestled with the strange emotions that swayed from one extreme to another, uncertainty and guilt making their rounds, fading away, only to resurface once more. The night had resulted in odd, disjointed dreams, and she had awoken early in the morning, none too refreshed. Dragging herself from the bed, she’d forced her feet out the door and into the hallways. The walls had seemed stuffy, too enclosed and she had needed to get out, needed to find some way to clear her head.
But not at the festival. No, she would not return there, where it had all begun, where the strange wave of desire and affection had become almost overwhelming in their attempts to drown out her senses. She had been ensnared, caught in the trap that had sprung upon her, silent and swift. The night had not afforded any answers, nor was she certain she’d find any. Her goal had been to avoid people, a strange turn of events for someone who was normally so socially friendly. She liked people. Generally, she liked being with people. Had she confessed her sudden change in manner, most who knew her would wonder what was wrong with her. Alora didn’t even know what it was herself. Lost in her thoughts as she was, the scientist had barely registered that there was someone behind her until a brush of a small furry body against the back of her legs alerted her to the presence.
The figure in front of Sheila turned around.
Bailey: A thousand apologies. I did not see you there Alora.
Her smile was automatic, a natural expression taken up so readily over the years that her mouth couldn’t think of anything else to do when someone greeted or spoke to her. When she fully realised who it was who spoke, it turned a bit more genuine.
DeVeau: Hey Sheila.
Alistair acting as if he had completed the most important job of his life, started to lick at a spot on his handler’s arm. Such licking made the area angry and red, more so than it had been previously. Again it was dismissed. Now was not the time. Sheila was merely content to greet her friend.
Bailey: How’s life?
Oh that was a question, wasn’t it? The day before, life had been fine. Even if it hadn’t been fine, she would have just said it was fine, since that was the standard response given, even expected by most who asked her. Today?
DeVeau: Oh, it’s fine.
It was the same answer. It didn’t matter how much she was struggling, how much the thoughts volleyed back and forth between the various emotions that plagued her, it was the only one she was going to give. Alora liked Sheila. She just wasn’t close enough to the woman to allow her in that deeply.
DeVeau: How are you?
Sheila wasn’t willing to press further at Alora’s response. She was too lost in her own sorrow to register properly the full weight of it. She only filed it away for later use, if that ever came up. It had its possibilities. If only she knew the woman better. If only she knew everyone better than it was likely she wouldn’t have done it; done the act that burned at her skin, her mind rubbing feverishly to forget.
Bailey: I am as well as can be expected.
DeVeau: Who’s your friend?
A sweet little pup, Alora hadn’t remembered seeing him prior. Of course she would immediately be attracted to the critter - she loved animals after all. She dropped down into a crouch, getting more on the dog’s level.
Here Sheila reached quickly for the dog’s stiff support handle pulling him back to her side. Between adopting him, the masquerade ball, and the strangeness of the last day she had not had time to acquire patches for his harness. She practically cursed out not doing so. He was on duty now and couldn’t be touched less he would be distracted and off his game. Yet the working dog had no interest in anything other than his sniffing and nudging.
Bailey: Alistair. Means warrior in Elaysian. He’s working so don’t touch.
Alora had just been about to reach out and scritch the pup, but at Sheila’s warning, she rose without doing so.
DeVeau: I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.
Bailey: A psychiatric and mobility assistance dog. I’d let you pet him but it’s seen as bad practice when they are working.
Alora nodded. She’d been around working service animals before, so was not ignorant of their purpose.
DeVeau: Oh, I know, I’m familiar with the rules.
She offered a smile, wishing she could scritch the little animal, but she also didn’t want to cause a problem, so she refrained.
Bailey: I, now that I’ve run into you, I…
Sheila wasn’t sure what she was after or even intending to ask Alora; the two women hadn’t known each long. Even then Sheila longed for her friendship. Someone to talk to that wasn’t Yael. Not that Yael was bad at their job. The last time those two had spoken Yael had been the most attentive listener however in certain instances a friend's ear was better. And if it was needed in reverse Sheila would listen to what Alora had to say as well. It was her duty to take away others' pain.
Sheila seemed to want to say something, or ask something. It caught her interest, and she canted her head slightly, curiosity in her gaze. She hadn’t really seen much of the doctor lately, something she was going to have to change. When they had last conversed, Alora had gifted an African Violet and she’d just really enjoyed the time with the Elaysian, and she was keen to spend more time with her. The woman would also help distract her from other things she didn’t really want to think about at that moment.
Lieutenant Sheila Bailey
Chief Medical Officer
Starbase 118 Ops
"The very first requirement in a hospital is that it should do the sick no harm." - Florence Nightingale
Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau
Chief Science Officer
Starbase 118 Ops