O, For a Muse!

Posted on Wed Jan 25th, 2023 @ 12:04pm by Evelyn Reynolds & Oliver Lucas

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: The Festival
Timeline: Opening Celebrations
2463 words - 4.9 OF Standard Post Measure

It had seemed such a civilised idea. With the excitement of the morning providing more than enough exposure to the allure of the Hysperian festivities, it had felt a very wise thing indeed to Evelyn that she navigate the expectations she would join the crew in attending the opening ceremony with a degree of non-committal vagueness. It had been a plan made all the easier to execute when a careful consideration of Oliver's evident exhaustion provided her with an accomplice as well as an alibi. Once everyone had departed, there would be far too much going on for anyone to notice the absence of two medical staff who were unlikely to draw attention to themselves at the best of times. Even Jake, who normally would have been the main thorn in her side, had only eyes for a certain scientist. For the first time since she'd arrived on board, the messhall was empty when she'd coaxed Oliver into a break in the afternoon's studies to eat. The peace and quiet had been god-sent and would likely have endured had Evelyn not miscalculated one thing.

This crew was full of socialites.

And though she was sure that nobody had appointed Delaney the official rounder-up of any remaining stragglers, she had certainly thought to check the main areas before disappearing to the festival herself. She had argued providence, having apparently only stuck her head into the messhall looking for Curtis, who had likewise attempted to hide himself under a rock apparently, but coincidental happenstance was just as bad as intentional coercion when the end result was being poured into a costume from the redhead's impossibly vast collection and flung out into the night air with only the arm of her bewildered companion for stability. Evelyn was very much in favour of the significant improvements in the crew's moral but it was difficult to decide if she felt touched by being considered part of their social group or a little irritated by her own surrender to excessive enthusiasm. In the end she'd only caved because the other woman had made a valid point about Oliver making an appearance again after his earlier 'victory.' She hadn't even stopped to wonder why Delaney knew so much about it; as far as Evelyn could tell, that's just how things worked on the Mary Rose.

Following the procession had at least allowed for a decently slow amble, and though being surrounded on all sides, in the dark, by so many people had prompted a very strained request to veer off towards one of the quieter areas before they'd reached the final bonfire, Evelyn at least took some comfort from the fact that everyone was far too swept up in their own frivolities to worry about the awkwardness of two people who didn't really want to be there. The fires, dotted about the place, were a nice touch. And the sky overhead was possibly worth the cost of admission. She'd just really liked the idea of playing a quiet game of chess in an empty ship.

"You're not saying anything..." Oliver murmured. Not that he was expecting a conversation or anything; one of the best things about spending time with Evelyn was that she didn't have to narrate the world around them. Sure, she was observant, but she was restrained, too. He appreciated that. "I'm sure we both just want to get out of here and away from all the...noise." He almost flinched at being jostled again.

It was difficult to speak with your jaw clenched. It was also difficult to hold a conversation when so much of your focus and attention was channeled towards not having a panic attack in the midst of a crowd of strangers who likely wouldn't even notice. Evelyn had managed the marketplace during the daylight hours because it had been simple enough to avoid feeling surrounded, having mostly managed to maneuver towards the less-populated areas before anything got overwhelming. This was different. It was dark and the firelight played tricks on the eyes. Shadows and shapes without distinction.

The sound of a distant gunshot, which was probably only a fire cracker, made her jump.

"It certainly seems to have descended into an exercise in how many people can cram into a single space," she murmured.

Sensing her anxiety as much as his own, Oliver grasped hold of her hand tightly. She would assume it was for her benefit, but it was as much for his own in a situation like this. "Even a Borg cube had breathing space..." he muttered, a somewhat dark joke at his own expense. "Should we find somewhere we can get some air?"

The tension across her shoulders didn't ease with the additional physical contact, though Evelyn stopped short of yanking her hand free. A single nod agreed to his idea though she didn't risk the voice at first to confirm her approval, intent instead in watching a group of people move past them. Oddly enough, nobody was really paying them much attention and, outside a couple of very early whispers-behind-hands at Oliver's expense, it didn't seem as if the crowd was particularly invested in perpetuating old gossip when the air was so ripe for creating more.

Closing her eyes as they moved, entrusting Oliver to pick a path of least resistance, (apt for an ex-Borg), didn't really bring relief. The images that crowded into the darkness behind her eyelids were far more vivid than she would have liked this far out from the events that provoked them. You are fine. The turn of her face to settle her forehead against Oliver's arm gave away more than Evie wanted but retreat seemed a better option to lashing out.

He was initially a little surprised at just how close she was. But that made sense amid the crowd and the chaos. Eventually Oliver opted for a doorway to a shop that appeared to be closed for the celebrations. Deep enough a recess to step into, though not considerably wide, which meant although they were able to escape the crowds, they remained a little pressed together.

"Take a moment. Catch your breath," he urged gently, letting her hold him as much as she liked without doing anything to either encourage or discourage it. "I think we're out of the worst of it."

A dark seed, buried deep, twisted with the certainty that there would never be any 'getting over the worst of it'. Deflection never worked, Evie had paid attention enough during psychology classes to realise that putting off crisis management only lead to prolonged trauma. The blood pounding through her ears afforded the scene a distorted confusion but even as her head rang out with the imagined scrape of metal across floor plating, Evelyn found reprieve in the spaces between her breaths. Her workload recently, the sheer amount of time and effort she'd invested in setting up the medical facilities to train her two proteges, had done a sterling job of distracting the doctor from the constant, niggling suspicion that her past was waiting just around the corner to grab her when she wasn't alert enough to avoid it. Now that she was standing, in the dark, in a setting where that might literally become possible, Evelyn felt stupid. Not for panicking but for placing herself in a situation where anyone actively looking for her would have no problem remaining hidden until it was too late. As had been the case a lot lately, anger at herself seemed to break the cycle of anxiety enough for her to lift her head and, with a final sigh, risked opening her eyes to see where he had placed them.

In a box. Oddly enough, that seemed to work somewhat.

"Do you think we've participated enough yet?," she asked wanly, an attempt at humour that fell well short. Part of her was already sprinting back to the ship, but her physical state, not to mention her costume, and the tide of people flowing in the opposite way, would probably have something to say about that.

It was strange for Oliver to encounter someone who seemed to be thinking and reacting to situations much like he did. When Evelyn had first offered to mentor both himself and Beya, he had seen her as exactly that: a mentor, someone who had it worked out, with a career and a well-rounded life. And yet the more he spent time with her the more he was starting to see the cracks. Underneath that practiced shell she was just as broken as he was.

"We can go if you want to." He was totally willing to admit defeat, much as she was. Part of him, perhaps in a complete fantasy, had hoped they might have been able to take in more of the culture. Perhaps a dance or something new. Almost certainly that was indeed just a fantasy at this point.

There had never been anything that Evelyn could recall wanting more than retreating and leaving the crowded darkness, with all its obscured threats, far behind. Left to her own devices, she would have done exactly that, though in those circumstances it could have been argued that she wouldn't have allowed herself to be dragged out in the first place. She couldn't do a great deal about the irrationality of her associations, the traumatic recollections triggered by particular sounds and smells were involuntary and unlikely to dissipate without direct intervention. Concern over being followed, however, was not outside the realms of possibility and quite aside from any of her own considerations, Evelyn didn't want the crew subjected to her past catching up with her. Oliver in particular was a charge to be shielded as much as she possibly could. He had already born the brunt of too much bigotry on account of their association.

"What would you like to do?," she asked quietly. It was something she felt he didn't get asked enough and, yet, robbed of any certainty about interpreting the blurred lines between fact and fantasy, Evelyn found distinct comfort in placing the decision in his hands. She was decidedly lacking in any answers herself, perhaps he would fare better.

Oliver was not a decision-maker. He knew that deep down. He was very much a follower. So being asked what he wanted was usually met with a 'whatever you want to do'. But he was very aware that giving that response wasn't going to be what she wanted at all. Of all people, she almost certainly meant it far more earnestly.

"I..." his heart lurched in his chest a little; fear of saying something inappropriate. And of being rejected. "I would like to...try the dance."

As it happened, genuine surprise seemed to have a rallying affect. Evelyn wasn't sure she'd be able to employ it as a reliable strategy for circumventing her self-destructive thought processes but it was a novelty at least. Curious blue eyes, having previously turned their gaze inwards to stare at inner demons, fluttered briefly as she processed the response and then Evie looked up at her companion. "Really?"

His face probably couldn't have turned a deeper shade of red. "I-I mean...I've n-never really done it before. The holos make it look...I don't know. Liberating." It was a word so commonly associated with XBs being un-assimilated. And chosen somewhat deliberately on that account. To be in-step and interacting with someone, yet to not be under a shared consciousness. It was almost a fascination.

Glancing back out into the writhing sea of bodies, Evelyn paused long enough to give the idea decent thought. On so many levels, it was not the easiest thing to agree to since the dancing areas seemed popular and it would be difficult to keep a wary eye on the exits if she was concentrating on learning the correct sequence of moves. There was also the fact that she hadn't tried anything as complex as dancing as part of her recovery and the prospect of an aching knee on top of everything else would only impede a hasty getaway if required. But it was hard to ignore the wistfulness in his tone, or the look of wretched hope in his eyes, and Evelyn found herself far more captivated by both than she would have previously anticipated. She had built an entire career out of service to others. Nobody who knew her well would have found it odd to see her so compelled to rise above her own anxiety in an effort to support someone else's. It wasn't just that Oliver had been forced to endure Crispin's prejudice and ire, that had simply been the confrontation of a sentiment that likely followed the man throughout all his attempted interactions. For a moment, Evie considered a dear friend, whose counsel would have been easily a boon right now, and her brow knitted in consternation at her own hesitation.

We are still people in the end, Evelyn. We still want what other people want.

"Then, let's do it." Her tone was a familiar shade of decisive, a far cry from whatever had faltered her steps moments earlier. The arm hooked through his tightened with purpose and Evelyn tried to rise on tiptoe to see over the crowd. "Can you see where we need to go?"

He almost didn't answer at first, he was still processing the fact that she had agreed to his wish. Before he could speak he was trying to gather his sudden jumble of thoughts. Anxieties and awkwardness aside, he hadn't anticipated a positive response from her. And now his fluttering heart flittered onto the prospect of dancing. With Evelyn.

"It's just...past those structures..." he managed to explain, mind whirling just as much as the crowds around them.

Mustering a smile that was far more reminiscent of her usual attempts to take control of the emotional dynamics of the situation, Evelyn swept her free arm towards the street. "If sir would be so kind as to lead on, I believe he may have a better chance at navigating than I." It was another aspect of the suffocation. Evelyn wasn't exactly short but she was by no means taller than average. Getting swallowed by the crowd was a palpable threat.

In his heart, Oliver felt a mixture of joy and abject terror. After all, this was what he wanted; to feel able to do something that he wanted. Something normal. The doubt in his mind was what had held him back in the past. Could he just let himself go and have the happiness he wanted? In the end, he just about mustered the willpower to match her effort to 'get in character'.

"My lady."