Deltans in Quarter Time

Posted on Sat Dec 17th, 2016 @ 8:14am by

Mission: Mission 2 - Contagion
Location: Bajor, Jolanda Forum
Timeline: Current
470 words - 0.9 OF Standard Post Measure

The boy effortlessly cut through the press of bodies with the innate skill given to the young of every race, oblivious adults falling back instinctively to let his wriggling form through, and finally presented himself at her side. From his pocket and with an awkward flourish, he produced a Bajoran lilac offering it up to her with a cheeky smile. She leaned down far enough to accept the flower and meet a gaze at odds with his youthful appearance. She drew breath to thank him but he was already gone, all thin legs and flapping, overly large clothes.

As she raised the sprig to her nose, inhaling the delightful scent, she watched the boy disappear into the crowd. The Federation spoke of squeaky clean societies but there were always people who lived on the periphery. Like that boy ... and her ... and Arbus. It had been too long since she was in the company of Deltans.

She drew in a deeper breath and moved off to a quiet spot. There was a note, written on green paper, wrapped around the stem of the flower and tied with a silver ribbon. Both colors meant something, a code they had developed back in the days when they did jobs together; she unfolded the fragile paper carefully, read its contents, then set off, humming to herself as she went.

( Later )

Arbus had made Bajor his home some years back though the actual location tended to shift from time to time. HIs directions led her to a small, ramshackle house near the Forum with a wild profusion of Bajoran lilacs growing near the door. Arbus met her at the door, a gossamer silk robe over one arm, and stepped back, gesturing theatrically for her to enter. She laughed and answered with a deep and graceful curtsy then slipped inside.

The house was warm. Richly decorated and inviting in a way that couldn't be described sufficiently to anyone who had not lived on Delta. It was a house and it was a feast for the senses lit with a multitude of candles. "Welcome," he said, the deep bass of his voice, softly purred, was easily heard; music, carried on the breeze, curled about them.

It wasn't always possible to carry a weapon in the places she traveled. She'd learned that lesson at her own expense which was why, she had made her body into a weapon so that she would never be unarmed again. And so, she left her clothes amid the large pile already there and pulled on the robe. And then she was in Arbus' arms, dancing a slow waltz, enjoying the feel of silk on bare skin, the heat of his skin beneath her sensitive fingertips, and the promise buried deep in his gaze.

It wasn't romance. It was Deltan. It was welcome.