Presumption Abound
Posted on Sun May 31st, 2026 @ 11:15am by Evelyn Reynolds & Kaelen & Oliver Lucas
Mission:
Veils
Location: The Planet
3067 words - 6.1 OF Standard Post Measure
In a classic example of the foibles of judging a book by its cover, Evelyn had always been a fan of gothic motifs. It was a bit of a stretch to say that she was very conversant with Halloween, though she was not against a masquerade ball if the occasion warranted it and might have secretly found the prospect of fancy dress quite appealing if there had been any cause during her childhood to participate in ancient sugar-laden schemes. It was a concept she'd encountered more in holo-novels than in real life, however, and since most of her exposure to spooky ambience was confined to imaginative entertainment, it had always proven a far more satisfying use of alloted time to explore an actual horror story than dabble in the reenactment of childish endeavours. Trick'or'treat may have appealed to her when she was much younger but even then, it took a degree of getting to know Evelyn Reynolds to understand which of the two options she would have favoured.
She wasn't big on sweets even now.
At first, she'd been content to give shoreleave a miss, but an attack of guilty conscience had seen her reneg on an initial refusal of Oliver's suggestion and scramble for something suitable to wear. Working only on the information that it was 'quite cold' and 'a little eerie' hadn't been a lot of help but at least it had convinced her to dress in multiple layers, which was just about all that was keeping her fingers from dropping off, or so it seemed. It was definitely keeping her warm enough to enjoy the atmosphere, and since she hadn't really expected to be anywhere near as intrigued as she was, this was not a terrible turn of events either. To top it off, there was something infinitely less awkward about spending time with Oliver away from the rest of the crew, and even though it involved being in unfamiliar places surrounded by unfamiliar faces, Evelyn had managed to relax enough to settle on being glad she'd come. There was something very quaint about the market they'd found themselves in and, as a bonus, they had yet to encounter anyone who had sought to besmerch Oliver's good character. Evie couldn't say for sure but she was reasonably certain Beya was probably glad enough not to turn fighting-for-his-honor into a habit.
"I wonder if it's always like this."
It had been the thought that had kept her quiet for the last few minutes, a pensive curiosity that proved the sincerity of her interest.
"It seems a little oppressive for everyday living."
"I grew up on a Borg cube. It sort-of trumps this when it comes to 'oppressive' vibes," Oliver replied. It was a moment of levity that he had grown more used to employing in the last few months. Having been able to feel a bit more relaxed with Evelyn had helped in that regard. "I never quite understood peoples' need for false scares when the real thing is bad enough."
"That's the point," Evelyn countered, drawing her gaze away from the smattering of wandering patrons to consider the man beside her. "Exposure to scary situations that aren't real offers a measure of control, stops people feeling so helpless. Adrenaline without the consequence." Turning her attention back to the marketplace, Evelyn frowned a little, caught somewhere between amusement and concern. "Though there's probably such thing as a little too much ambience."
Kaelen pulled the collar of his heavy thermal coat tighter, grateful for the hum of the miniature heating unit embedded in the lining. The coat was a relic from his decades in the Command division; while the rank pips and the iconic Starfleet delta had been meticulously removed, the distinct red shoulder markings remained—a lingering crimson ghost of a life he hadn't yet managed to fully shed. To a Denobulan, the environment of Allhallow Prime was more than just unpleasant; it was a physical assault. The planet possessed a bone-chilling, humid cold that seemed to bypass regular insulation entirely, clinging instead to the skin like a wet shroud and leaching away the body heat like some comfort parasite.
He moved through the marketplace with a slow, predatory pace. His hands, tucked into deep pockets, itched to be working. In his quarters aboard the Mary Rose, a small collection of dismantled figurines and trinkets stood as a testament to his evening past time. For Kaelen, restoring toys was the ultimate diplomatic bridge; it was a way to touch the heart of a culture through its simplest joys. To understand a civilization through the concepts they engrained in their youth. His collection never grew too large, however, as he inevitably found 'reasons' to gift the refurbished treasures to children he encountered on his travels. There was a profound, quiet penance in fixing a toy; a broken plaything was a localized calamity he actually had the power to cure, unlike the sweeping, systemic failures of his past life.
He paused at a stall overflowing with mass-produced "Spirit Orbs"—cheap glass baubles that the locals sold to tourists by the crate. He sifted through the glittery tat with no real interest when something at the far end of the stall caught his attention.
Kaelen leaned over the counter, his wide smile stretching his facial ridges into a mask of pure, unadulterated enthusiasm that caused the merchant to instinctively recoil an inch or two. "A magnificent display! Truly. Tell me, my friend, what name do you go by? I find it so much more difficult to appreciate fine craftsmanship without knowing the soul behind the stall."
The merchant, a pale-grey local whose irises reflected the street lanters with a dull, commercial glow, blinked slowly. The Allhallow people were accustomed to tourists, but usually the quiet, reverent kind who spoke in hushed tones about the 'eerie beauty' of the mists. This man, however, radiated enough energy through his coat to power a shuttlecraft, was an entirely different matter. "I am Myllos," the local replied, in a tone that would have shut down any further attempts at communication. In anybody but Kaelan that is.
"Myllos! A sturdy, resonant name," Kaelen declared, plucking a tarnished brass automaton from a pile of discarded clockwork. He held it up, examining it with a manic intensity that seemed to fascinate and disturb Myllos in equal measure. It was a small, multi-legged creature, meant to mimic the local 'Mist-Skitterers,' but its primary spring was snapped and one of its glowing eyes was dark. "And this! This is a charming piece of debris, Myllos. Truly. It captures the melancholic despair of the highlands perfectly by refusing to function. It is a masterpiece of unintentional symbolism!"
Myllos sighed, his pale features remaining perfectly still while Kaelen’s face continued to move in a constant, expressive dance of nods and grins. "Five credits. It’s an antique. Ancestral craftsmanship."
"Antique? Myllos, we both know this was stamped out in a foundry three sectors away less than a standard month ago," Kaelen replied, his smile wide and devastatingly polite. "And 'ancestral craftsmanship' usually implies the craft actually... crafts. This is currently a very intricate paperweight. I’ll give you one credit, and I’ll even refrain from pointing out to your other customers that those 'hand-blown' Spirit Orbs over there still have the tell-tale injection-mold seams of an off-world factory in the Rigel system."
The negotiation was a dance Kaelen performed with puckish relish. He didn't need the four credits, but the persistent, obnoxious back-and-forth was a way to ground himself in the present. It was a diplomatic skirmish where the stakes were comfortably low. After five minutes of relentless, smiling attrition—during which Myllos seemed to grow increasingly weary of the Denobulan’s unflagging cheer—the merchant finally grunted and took the single credit, looking relieved to be rid of the exuberant visitor.
Kaelen tucked the broken skitterer into his coat, his fingers tracing the cold brass.
As he turned away from the stall, he took a moment to survey the crowd. The locals were a fascinating study in biological adaptation—their ghostly, ash-colored skin and faint ocular luminescence made them look like they were perpetually fading out of existence. Against the vibrant orange and crimson of the festival lanterns, they looked sickly, a population of beautiful wraiths.
And, like any good masquerade, the outsiders stood out like blood on snow. The crew of the Mary Rose, with their varied hues and vibrant, living warmth, were impossible to miss. His eyes sharpened as he spotted two familiar figures near a display of carved pumpkin-analogs.
There was Evelyn, wrapped in layers like a sophisticated, somewhat detached cocoon, and Oliver, whom Kaelen had yet to form a proper opinion of.
He noted the tension in the Doctor’s shoulders—the "oppressive" atmosphere she had likely just been commenting on. He recalled their last meeting in sickbay; the cold walls she’d built up, the "prickly" armor she wore to protect her equilibrium. Here, under the orange glow of the Allhallow sky and away from the sterile authority of her ward, the armor looked a little thinner.
It was an opportunity Kaelen had no intention of wasting. Negotiations, after all, were always more effective when the opponent was off-balance.
"Exposure to adrenaline without consequence," he murmured to himself, catching the tail end of Evelyn's thought as he closed the distance. "A very human philosophy, Doctor. Though on Denobula, we find that the most frightening things are rarely the ones wearing masks."
He stepped into their line of sight, his wide, friendly smile cutting through the twilight gloom.
"Doctor Reynolds, Mr. Oliver, a pleasure to see the medical department out in the wild. I trust the 'Trial of Masks' hasn't claimed your professional composure just yet? Or are you here to certify that the local delicacies meet the minimum requirements for consumption?"
"Who... oh, the new person," Oliver murmured, caught in the minor whirlwind of the conversation and the man's tone. "We were just walking. Together." His cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. "Just taking things in. You know." His eyes flicked pleadingly to Evelyn to bail him out of the mire he was starting to dig with his words.
Kaelen didn't wait for the Doctor to provide a rescue. Instead, he smoothly inserted himself into the gap between them, his thermal coat brushing against theirs as he claimed the center of the trio as if he was natrually supposed to be there. "And quite right too!" he declared, beaming at Oliver with an intensity that bordered on assaulting. "Sights are indeed best taken in together. On Denobula, we consider a solo stroll to be a sign of either profound genius or a very worrying lack of social standing. To witness the 'thinning of the veil' without a companion to verify the chill down one's spine... well, it simply wouldn’t be proper, now would it?"
He hooked his thumbs into his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the nearby food stalls where steam rose in thick, spicy plumes. "But one cannot live on atmosphere alone, even in a place as hauntingly picturesque as this. I was just about to investigate the 'Glimmer-Root' cakes at the corner stall. They are supposedly a local favorite, though knowing this market, they are likely just sweetened tubers with a dusting of bioluminescent algae. Still, it seems a shame to leave Allhallow Prime without sharing a profoundly local culinary experience. Shall we? I find that shared gastrointestinal risk is the fastest way to forge a lasting bond between colleagues. Isn’t that right, doctor?"
If she'd had her way, Evelyn would have steered the pair of them as far in the opposite direction as possible by now. That it was getting a little difficult to navigate the crowds swiftly was not the fault of anyone but the sweeping gaze she'd sent around in search of viable exit routes had landed several proverbial cold slaps to the cheeks of unsuspecting obstacles, most of whom were simply trying to conduct business as per the area's main intent. With no other option presenting itself, Evelyn eventually turned her attention back to their uninvited guest, whose presumption wouldn't likely have earned him a very warm welcome even if there hadn't been plenty of other reasons for immediate dismissal.
"We were only just in the process of weighing up our options," she replied, ignoring the attempt at dredging up their prior interaction. "Don't let us deter you, if you've already made your choice."
Kaelen’s expression shifted into a look of exaggerated, sheepish concern, his eyes wide with a playful innocence. "Oh, Doctor, you wound me! Why, I might even require medical assistance. I wouldn’t dream of depriving myself of the expertise that comes with a palate as developed as yours. To venture into the culinary unknown without your discerning judgment would be a tragedy of the highest order." He gave a conspiratorial nudge toward Oliver, his grin widening until it occupied a truly impressive portion of his face. "This must be a prime example of that dry wit people from your native islands are alleged to possess. A masterful deflection, indeed! But I’m afraid I’m far too full of anticipation as to what we might find to take offense. Oliver and I will gladly follow your lead."
"You don't find it a little presumptuous, to expect medical supervision outside of normal office hours?"
Usually, and even Jake might have given her the benefit of the doubt in this regard, Evelyn chose politeness whenever it felt like a viable option. Sometimes, she even managed it graciously, though her knack for deploying covert sarcasm meant that only the most oblivious would actually give her credit for impeccable manners. There was a definite point at which she could be pushed into more direct lines of communication, however, and the distinct inflection on the word 'presumptuous' invited a whole wealth of interpretation outside the etiquette breach she'd drawn direct attention to. Crew dynamics might take a while to dissect but Evelyn didn't think much of a diplomat who couldn't tell when he'd planted himself in the middle of a date.
Not that she thought a great deal better of them in general, if she was honest.
Kaelen’s laughter was a short, musical trill that seemed to vibrate with genuine delight. "Presumptuous? Perhaps! But I was under the impression that the Hippocratic Oath was a somewhat more... holistic commitment, Doctor. I hadn't realized it kept strict office hours, or that it was union-regulated to prevent social interaction on shore leave!" He turned his beaming gaze toward Oliver, who had fallen rather silent during his exchange with the doctor. "Tell me, Oliver—is she always this deliciously witty? I really should endeavor to visit sickbay more often; if this kind of spirited verbal jousting is provided besides the usual remedies."
"Uh, I think so..." Oliver remarked, immediately on the back foot from the direct question and the way it was asked. "I mean, I'm learning a lot from Dr Reynolds' bedside manner." The look he got from her suggested that using her title and last name just made things worse. "I mean, er, Evelyn has been a great teacher. Anyway, are you having a good time? Did you find anything interesting?"
Kaelen’s smile softened into something more contemplative, though no less bright. "A wonderful time, indeed, Oliver! I find that one hasn't truly arrived at a destination until they have stepped off the paved paths and immersed themselves in the local rhythms. To experience a culture is to experience its anxieties, its celebrations, and—most importantly—what it values when no one is watching."
He reached into the deep pocket of his thermal coat, his fingers maneuvering around the internal heating unit until they closed around the cold, tarnished brass of his earlier purchase. With a flourish that would have made a street magician proud, he produced the broken "Mist-Skitterer" automaton, holding it out on his flat palm for them to inspect.
"As for finding something interesting... I believe I located a tiny, mechanical soul in need of a resurrection. You see, toys are the most honest ambassadors of any civilization. They tell us exactly what a society wishes to impart to its children." He nudged the snapped spring with his thumb. "A society that builds such intricate playthings values patience and observation, but also embraces the what lurks out in the dark. It’d be a shame to let this little fellow stay broken, don't you think?"
It had been too much to hope that Oliver would be any use. As much as Evelyn was irritated, her mood wasn't improved by the sudden arrival of intense lonliness to ride in tandem alongside her agitation. She'd never kept a particularly large friendship group, for all her professional social sphere was much wider. It really ought not have bothered her half as much to be so independently in charge of her own well-being because that's exactly what she'd insisted upon, with stubborn tenacity, for most of her life. Logic, as it happened, wasn't much help in thwarting the pang of disappointment, no matter how unsurprised she was, that Oliver's lack of perceptiveness provoked.
She had no desire to be in this man's company, much less wax lyrical with him about conversational topics he chose to manipulate into completely disregarding the privacy of the pair he'd decided he had a right to intercept. But it was more than that. Though Kaelan's behaviour wasn't entirely unusual for a diplomat, Evelyn would still have begrudingly bestowed a better opinion of his intelligence than to actually believe he didn't know how presumptuous he was being. That only left room for intention, and with that came the onrush of previous suspicions.
She didn't speak. If Oliver wanted to entertain the man's company, he could do it alone. More to the point, she wasn't going to play into this invasiveness even though it was taking the bulk of her resolve not to scan the immediate area for exit points...and any signs of additional survellience.
What she didn't account for, as it turned out, was being barrelled into by someone running as if the hounds of hell were after them. Really, Evelyn realised much later, that should have been her first expectation.
