Unhand Me, Squire

Posted on Fri Oct 7th, 2022 @ 3:59pm by Oliver Lucas & Evelyn Reynolds

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: Hysperia, main village
Timeline: MD02
2318 words - 4.6 OF Standard Post Measure

In the end, staring at a botanical maze had been somewhat anti-climactic. Evelyn's first instinct had been correct and there had certainly been far less people down there, but the impressive feat of topiary and hedge-placement had the kind of dimensions that immediately intimidated and there had been no feasible way that Evie could picture herself venturing into even the first few bends. Hesitating to admire the rose garden that framed the entrance had been a momentary stalling tactic, and Evelyn had at least been grateful that Oliver hadn't suddenly erupted with enthusiasm for getting lost, but the bulk of her gratitude had eventually rested with the giggling, breathless couple who had pushed past them and darted into the maze hand-in-hand. Both of them had stared at that for a moment before arriving, Evelyn suspected, at the same conclusion simultaneously.

So it was that kind of attraction.

Predictably, any hint of implied clandestine trysts had made the task of turning Oliver around and walking him straight back out again very easy to pass off as a kindness for his benefit. Having come so very close to having to admit that she couldn't cope with the claustrophobia of uncertain pathways, Evie had dealt with the sudden warm rush of gratitude by insisting on buying lunch. It was a little early, and the beer garden to the side of the tavern had very few patrons and a menu that seemed at least partially tempting. Sitting down as the greatest relief, especially as the small table in the back corner provided the option of sitting with her back to a brick wall. Evelyn fiddled with the rose behind her ear, tucking it back into place, and picked up the electronic menu disguised as a small chalkboard.

"Do we have any idea what potage might be?" The reference eluded her, though she had a feeling she'd had a closer idea once upon a time.

"I believe it's a soup," Oliver replied softly. "I only know because someone once tried to convince me Ferengi Potage is a culinary masterpiece. Spoiler: it's not." He gazed at the menu, as if looking deeper into it might hide him away. Once again, they were in a fairly busy public space. And while thankfully they were tucked away in the corner, it didn't make him any less bothered by the overlapping voices around them.

Soup sounded fairly innocuous. Of course, it was also where chefs tended to hide all their off-cuts and leftovers. Perusing the rest of the menu, Evelyn responded with the distraction of one who was attempting to play 'spot the offal'. "I've yet to encounter a Ferengi delicacy that I could stomach, so I'm not surprised." Beneath the table, a hand settled against her artificial kneecap and rubbed its heel against a protesting tendon. "I'd say stick to my usual strategy and just order a salad when in doubt but everything here seems to be some form of meat and potatoes."

"Bread is usually hard to get wrong," he replied. His food tastes were incredibly simple, having never really explored a vast amount of options. "I'm not...sure how we make a food order in a place like this?" He made the effort to peer around, almost like putting his head above the parapet to check the coast was clear. Motioning to her legs, he added, "I can check."

Usually, Evelyn would have protested the need for her lunch-date to take it upon themselves to do all the work, particularly when she intended to pay. Oliver's discomfort, which resembled hers so closely that Evelyn couldn't possibly avoid picking up on it, also prompted a quiet demand to sacrifice her own equilibrium to spare his. The problem was, and he had been astute enough to pick up on it, she couldn't imagine putting any more weight on her knee without the assistance of some kind of support, and that would just lead to both them going inside anyway. Resigned but not necessarily pleased by her limitations, she slid the coinpurse of local currency across the table towards him. "Take this in case they want upfront payment."

"I...okay." He didn't argue, although he almost objected. It was more of an instinctive aspect of 'doing as he was told' if he was honest with himself. "I'll be right back."

The minute he ducked out of sight, Evelyn regretted consenting to solitude. Their explorations hadn't been as stressful as she'd anticipated, with any wariness she'd experienced being well-within her ability to control and stabilise. There was hope to be derived from that, and the fact that her last genuine panic attack had been weeks and weeks ago, but placing herself alone amongst a swelling crowd of diners seemed the wrong way to go about trying to keep things on the straight and steady. Her eyes darted between the tables, the hand on her knee tightening its grip because pain was a strong motivational focus, and then lowered her gaze to read the menu again.

A shadow passed over the table.

"And why, pray tell, hath such a fair maiden been cast aside in such a fashion?"

Evie flicked her eyes up without altering her posture.

He was, she supposed, an exceptionally handsome man. The biggest counterweight to this was how outrageously over-the-top his appearance was, with every aspect of his costume, (if it even was a costume), radiating polish and an ornate desire to showcase wealth and prestige. They had first spotted him having an argument with a portrait artist just outside the beer garden, and Evelyn had been amused then that he had taken the time to pause in berating the poor man to remove his hat and bow to them. Now, she was considerably less amused by his presumption, and his cologne.

"I apologise, what was the question again?"

"From the moment I laid eyes upon him, I fretted for your honour, m'lady. Thou art a far too precious treasure for one such as he, and now he hath the audacity to render one such as yourself bereft of company."

He sounded....ridiculous. There was something about the way his manner of speech rolled off his tongue that seemed overly rehearsed as well as inaccurately translated. Evelyn was tempted by the word thespian to explain his mannerisms, though if that was the case, she hoped he considered it more of a hobby than an occupation. Her heartbeat clamoring in her ears, she attempted a thin-lipped smile. "I'm quite fine, I assure you. And my..." She hesitated only briefly, suddenly right up against the need to label Oliver in some way and completely addled in terms of what they'd actually settled on. "...company has simply gone to order our food." Her blue-green eyes blinked at him several times. "He'll be back shortly."

Across the bar, Oliver's somewhat furtive gaze noticed the conversation. At first he didn't react, but there was something about the man's demeanour that triggered several warnings in his brain. Leaving his own business unfinished, he worked his way around the other patrons and approached the table.

"Hello. Everything all right?" he asked, his question directed deliberately at Evelyn.

"Have you no manners? To interrupt a conversation you have not been invited to participate in?" The arrogance that oozed from the jut of the man's chin nearly provoked Evelyn to laugh. It was an impulse quickly squashed by his next sneering remark. "No, I suppose your type probably has no recollection of social etiquette."

Evie's hackles immediately bristled.

"As I was just telling this gentleman, everything is perfectly fine," she replied curtly, unblinking gazed fixed on the pompous features. "He seems a little confused, that's all."

"I am inclined to think that it is you who have been befuddled and bewitched, m'lady. To entertain such an association is a clearly indication you have taken leave of your senses."

The responding tone formed icicles as it spoke. "I can assure you, my senses are perfectly intact."

"We're not interested in whatever it is you're offering," Oliver said, voice remaining just about steady enough to sound firm. "Please, we'd just like to sit down and enjoy a meal in peace and quiet."

"I am offering to spare the lady the indignity of continued association with..." The man peered down the length of his impressively-long nose to fix Oliver with a disgusted grimace. "...disreputable types." His revulsion gained clarity as the flick of his eyes darted towards the peek of an implant barely visible beneath the collar of Oliver's tunic. A step forward placed the man's face inches from the young doctor's as he hissed, "Haven't you done enough damage already?"

"I think you should leave."

The tone of Evelyn's voice was not anything Oliver had heard before. As much as she had perfected aloof politeness when it suited her, it had been a while now since she'd been quite so guarded around her fellow medic and there had certainly never been cause yet for her to deploy venom in his presence. It caught even her would-be rescuer by surprise and, for a moment, rendered him flabbergasted.

"But, m'lady, surely you can't..."

"I don't think you want to linger long enough to discover what I can and cannot do." The veiled threat, delivered in calm and measured tones, lacked a little menace but only to the previously initiated. The foppish intruder, having focused his nosiness on the superficial aspects of appearance was left to wonder if he'd inadvertently stirred a hornet's nest and disgruntled the queen.

Oliver touched her hand, very worried that in defending him she might actually escalate things. It was a situation he was terrified of making any worse, hence his own incredibly passive response. "Please," he asked lightly.

No sooner had Oliver's hand touched Evelyn's, another hand landed on his arm. The local man evidently didn't take kindly to what he perceived as something repulsive. A deep-seated trigger pulled, Oliver's natural inclination not to be touched by anyone took over. Dropping the arm and swinging through with his right, he rammed a fist into the inner cheek of the offender. It hurt, but in that moment he wasn't thinking clearly enough to recognise it. Instead, his eyes burned at the suddenly stumbling man. The glare lingered for barely seconds before his jaw slackened and he furtively looked at Evelyn. "We...we should go..." he mumbled quickly.

The thud of her own heartbeat loud in her ears, Evelyn was poised in a moment of frozen vacancy as the altercation erupted and then very quickly receded to nothing but a murmur from onlookers and the muttered cursing of a man trying to navigate the damage to his jaw. As the seconds ticked by, the resonance of a high-pitched monotone rose in volume, a sound that only she could hear but resembled the flat-line of asystole, until its persistent hum threatened to render her deaf to all outside noise. Somehow, amidst the burgeoning disorientation, Evie found her feet, a graceful elongation that did very little to betray the pain in her leg, nor the swirl of her head. Without care for pantomime, her hand found Oliver's, fingers laced defiantly through his to announce without words her final allegiance, and with her own panic bouncing around inside her head, she nudged him forward.

"Go."

Oliver didn't need telling twice. Grasping hold of her hand just as tightly, he shuffled then shifted with a beeline for the exit. Despite the momentary commotion nobody stopped them and he felt a rush of blessed relief as they burst into the open outside. A gasp escaped his lips as he realised he'd been holding his breath.

"I'm...s-sorry..." he said contritely, still holding her hand tightly. "I...don't know what came over m-me."

There was no immediate response, though Evelyn maintained her grip on him and did her best to dictate the lead when the throb of her knee left her with at least something outside her own panic to focus on. There hadn't been, as far as she could tell, any pursuit and if they moved swiftly enough, they would out-pace the whispers that would carry news of the confrontation further into town. Veering down one of the smaller streets, and then others branching from that, the fleeing doctor only consented to stop and sink finally onto a bench when her leg threatened to buckle beneath her. The act of sitting saw her release Oliver's hand, and for a moment Evelyn retreated into palpable solitude to control her breathing, eyes closed. The point at which she mustered composure was visible by the upwards pull of her posture. Her eyelashes fluttered and she sighed.

And finally looked at him.

"You only did what I was very close to doing myself."

He had no idea what to say in reply to that, other than to just nod repeatedly and glumly. Oliver looked down at his knuckles, which already looked to be showing the soreness of a bruise. Easy enough to fix in a sickbay. But not an image he would forget so quickly.

"I think...I would like to return to the ship for a little while." It might be safer there, was what he wanted to add to that statement but he bit it back. No sense in escalating their shared anxieties.

A sense of relief rendered Evelyn immediately weary. She nodded, and with a last surge of energy that almost didn't feel possible, she pushed herself to her feet and stood a moment to absorb her knee's immediate protest. Without asking, because she was out of options if he didn't want to carry her, the doctor slipped her arm back through her companion's and just shook her head in defeat.

"Come on, let's get that hand fixed up."