Fancy Footwork

Posted on Sat Sep 19th, 2026 @ 2:42pm by Kaelan & Neda Amariah

Mission: Veils
Location: The corridors of the Mary Rose
4872 words - 9.7 OF Standard Post Measure

It was, she supposed, as far as ships went, quite a nice one. Of course, after a quarter of a century of amassing comparative examples that fell well short of expectation, Amariah's standards were flexible to the point of being non-existent. Currently, the Mary Rose was not in a state of imminent self-destruction nor was she bound for any kind of intended destination that might warrant a second thought if a person had, say, a small list of planets they typically tried to avoid. These two basic facts earned the starship the privilege of being considered near-perfect as far as present options went and, thus, the Bajoran had surveyed her small passenger berth and adjacent amenities with a pragmatic sense of gratitude and only the merest niggle of an impulse to suggest improvements once the journey was actually underway. Begging wasn't her style but if she had at some point been reduced to it, there would have definitely been cause to consider her ill-equipped to be a chooser. She would probably get a decent night's sleep and not get blown up in the process. Overall, a net gain on her recent prospects.

It was not an optimism likely shared by other members of the crew, with whom she was vaguely acquainted and whom tended to have a rather unflattering opinion of their own prospects whilst caught in her vicinity. Amariah considered this a dramatic overreaction, at least as far as going on official record went, and was more than ready to argue that just because his sudden appearance happened to coincide with her present need for timely transportation, and just because she knew well enough of his preferences to favour a vessel he had chosen for his own requirements, did not automatically constitute stalking him. Really, if Kaelan's ongoing boasts about his priorities were to be believed, he ought to be positively aching with motivation to help a girl out of a tight spot but somehow that had never been the case. It was a shame, actually, because there was the tiniest chance of a remote possibility that his assistance might actually prove useful. Not necessary, of course, but...useful.

Thoughts to this effect were at least partial impetus behind her eventual decision to explore. Initially, Amariah's plan had been to limit herself to her room until the ship was underway, having reasoned that the likelihood of her being threatened with immediate expulsion were at least somewhat reduced by limiting the options to airlocks-only. Diplomats didn't typically commit acts of violence, it was a philosophy she'd banked on quite heavily in the past. The slight problem behind this otherwise-brilliant strategy was a mixture of a deactivated food replicator, (Amariah was sure that was just an oversight, it didn't seem like her berth had been used for some time), and generalised impatience. Boredom, some might have called it. Waiting had never been her favourite past-time. An innocent computer query had presented an alternative in the shape of a public setting, and though having an audience was not enough to convince Kaelan to abandon accusations entirely, he could probably be coerced into not demonstrating a complete lack of compassionate control in front of his new friends. Besides, Amariah liked bars. Lots of interesting things happened in them.

As it so happened, she was the one to have grossly underestimated just how interesting in this case.

And now she was trying to move very quickly down a corridor without appearing to be panicking, (she was, just a little), and without appearing like she wanted to sprint herself to the nearest airlock just to bypass the oncoming storm, (she did). The strutting had been a little more ostentatious than she'd expected but Kaelan's antics alone were no reason to abandon her attempt to surprise him with his new favourite crewmember for the week. It was who he was gyrating towards, with the kind of reckless abandon that was surely only derived from years' worth of mutual indifference for social appropriateness. And he had the audacity of accusing her of ambushing him when his entire alleyway heist was premeditated from the start!

Stepping out into the ambient, low-frequency hum of the primary corridor, Kaelan smoothed down the front of his tunic, keeping his posture composed and his expression a masterclass in casual curiosity. Yet beneath his well rehearsed calm, a rather visceral jolt of alarm was bouncing around his hirsute chest. Planetside encounters with Amariah were one thing; out on the fringe, one practically expected rogue operators and charming opportunists to materialize out of the shadows. But aboard the S.S. Mary Rose? This vessel had, in short order, become something of a cozy sanctuary—a comfortable, temporary home filled with good food, eccentric crewmates, and warm conversation. Finding Amariah casually strolling across the lounge threshold felt less like a chance reunion and more like discovering an errant tribble nestled inside a freshly sanitized biobed. Scratch that. A rogue tribble with explosive diarrhea. 

I must intercept her, he thought, lengthening his stride into a rapid, deliberate march, yet not breaking into a full run. I shall apprehend her, demand an explanation for this audacious intrusion, and... Kaelan hesitated for a fraction of a second as he rounded a bulkhead corner. And then what exactly? He honestly didn't know. Drag her to security? Hand her over to Burnie or Gregnol? Have Dr. Reynolds examine her for rampant impertinence? He pushed the lingering uncertainty firmly to the back of his mind. The what comes next could wait; right now, the immediate tactical priority was closing the distance.

The rounded, utilitarian corridors of the old Constitution-class starship offered a strange, nostalgic contrast to the urgency of his chase. Kaelan knew these deck layouts intimately. During his long-past Starfleet Academy days, he had spent more than one training cruise aboard a refitted Connie, memorizing the heavy structural ribs, the exposed conduits overhead, and the distinct, retro-industrial geometry of the access ways.

Yet despite his familiarity with the ship's architecture, Kaelan was coming to a rather frustrating realization: Amariah was gaining on him.

No matter how briskly he walked, every time he rounded a corner, her dark-haired silhouette was disappearing around the next bend just a fraction of a second faster than before. Denobulan biology was built for endurance, and as he pressed on, Kaelan’s mind briefly conjured up grand, ancient tales of the Ghal-Thar—the legendary cave hunters of early Denobulan mythology who would tirelessly stalk their prey through leagues of pitch-black subterranean caverns using sheer patience and acoustic tracking. It was a noble, inspiring heritage, though Kaelan couldn't recall a single saga in which the hunter's prey managed to outpace them simply by power-walking away without ever having the decency to break into a proper run.

He paused at a major intersection, his brow curling in recognition as he watched the corner where her shadow had just flickered out of view. She had taken a sharp left into corridor 4-B. A sudden, brilliant realization illuminated Kaelan’s memory of the Constitution-class blueprints. That particular corridor was an auxiliary access loop—an old design quirk meant to bypass the primary impulse conduits. It curved sharply back around, terminating directly at a secondary junction just a few meters to his right. She wasn't leading him toward the shuttledock or the transporter room; she walked straight into a self-contained ring, completely unaware that her exit path would bring her right back to where she had just taken a turn.

Kaelan looked around the junction, his eyes lighting upon a small, illuminated environmental pictogram embedded into a nearby doorway.

For as long as she could remember, Amariah's life had been defined by the overlapping rules that occasionally contradicted one another, and the various stakeholders' attempts to maintain control. Don't speak to anyone swiftly became create a distraction when the situation suddenly warranted a change of heart, and stay out of sight likewise had a tendency to morph into hide in the open depending on which side of predictable any particular job landed. She was well-versed in navigating a world that perpetually lacked the ability to make up its mind and had built her own internal philosophy to hover over the top of it all and pass silent shrewd judgement on the general ineffectiveness of an idiot's imperative.

One thing she rarely compromised on, however, was knowing her surroundings before attempting to operate within them.

She was mildly frustrated, therefore, to be thrust into a position of having to flee through a network of corridors she hadn't taken the time to properly explore yet. There had been plenty of time, she'd briefly argued with herself, to better acquaint herself with the idiosyncrasies of her new lodgings. Plenty of time, that is, until there suddenly hadn't been and she was stuck like a rat in a maze, maintaining a fool's hope that she could out-pace her quarry by sheer belligerent refusal to admit defeat no matter how inevitable. It wasn't the first time Amariah had taken flight with no clear idea of her intended destination but it was uncomfortably one of the few where her mid-flight calculations failed to present any evolving possibilities. At some point, she was going to run out of starship and the computer's traitorous internal bio-scanners would make pinpointing her location laughably easy no matter how brilliant her strategy for getting there was. They'd done a perfectly good job of tracking down Kaelan in the first place, after all, and Amariah was decently sure the onboard computer wasn't an entity liable to look upon bribery or coercion as an attractive consideration.

Stay creative. It was a core tenet of her personal code. There's got to be someone around here somewhere. That was another. Metaphorically speaking, it might have resembled throwing someone in front of the cart in an effort to slow it down but only melodramatic diplomats with theatrical impulses would try to take something as perfectly innocent as a diversion and turn it into a second-degree murder charge. She was a guest here, after all, meeting people was a sign of respect and an opportunity to convey gratitude for the opportunity to benefit from this very well-maintained, frustratingly-vast ship. A nice chat with a lonely engineer would be just the thing and on a ship this bloody big, there had to be one hiding somewhere...

The arm slung across her chest was a bad idea. The second iffy choice was dragging her sideways into a dark alcove without so much as a hello, let alone an offer to buy her a drink first. The brief struggle dislodged an arm, which in turn provided just enough leverage to let her elbow do its job.

Even much later, when painstakingly replaying the sequence of events in his head, Kaelan couldn't quite identify the exact split-second where his masterfully executed tactical snatch had unraveled. One moment he was stepping smoothly from the shadow of a doorway to secure his elusive quarry, and the very next, the universe had condensed into a singular, agonizing point of kinetic energy focused squarely against his lower ribs. The end result of his brilliant ambush was undeniably clear: he was now sitting unceremoniously on the deck plates of a dark cleaning supply closet, a dull numbness radiating through his posterior while a sharp, rhythmic throb pulsed across his side.

This particular outcome was, he noted with bitter irony, another detail glaringly absent from the ancient sagas of the Ghal-Thar. The legendary cave hunters had apparently never been rebuked by an unecessarily sharp Bajoran elbow while attempting to apprehend an uninvited guest among industrial floor polishers. Attempting to take a full breath sent a sensation akin to a heated par'Mach dagger driving straight into his lung, forcing Kaelan to settle for shallow, carefully measured gasps.

Kaelan swallowed hard, doing his absolute best to reassemble his facial features back into an expression resembling dignity. He gently cupped his bruised side, offering her a weak, breathless grin. "I have to ask... why did you bolt from the lounge? Was my singing that far out of key?"

Though she would never admit it openly, there might eventually come a time where Amariah would wistfully hope that her hesitation in that moment counted for something. It was completely out of the question to convey remorse in the thick of things, naturally; apologising was reserved for situations where a cajoling parody of contrite sympathy might leverage the upper-hand, but it was a small matter than might be considered fact that her reaction had belonged, in the split-second that mattered to Kaelan's ribs, to her subconscious and was therefore a little less the product of calculated intent than the Bajoran was usually accused of. It was a case made simple by a singular defense; had she meant to hurt him, she would have aimed lower.

It was also the case that the initial flow of motion after she'd bargained for her release involved a lot more instinctual panic than the woman normally allowed herself to exhibit. The dawning realisation of her blip of composure failed to be subtle enough to pass as the smug nonchalance that swiftly followed, ensuring that, for at least the count of several combined jagged breaths, Amariah better resembled a cornered animal than someone who deployed their elbow as a form of social banter. It was the latter, however, that scrambled for interpretive relevance as she quickly folded her arms across her chest and did a decent impression of feigning disinterest in his discomfort.

"You really are too fond of exaggeration. I did not bolt." A pair of raised eyebrows dared him to argue. "I just didn't want to interrupt and be accused of ruining your diplomatic endeavours again. Not after you'd gone to so much effort to make a better impression on your new friends." Amariah did very little to disguise the implied disbelief behind the observation, and a heavy emphasis on the word new did all the work required of it to call bullshit on his performance planetside.

"Ah, semantic pedantry—the traditional sanctuary of the cornered operative," Kaelan wheezed, letting out a soft, gingerly controlled laugh as he eased his posture. "Call it what you will, but executing a sudden, about-face pivot and power-walking oneself into a dead end the exact second our eyes locked is hardly the behavior of a patron of the arts seeking not to interrupt."

He rested a palm against his bruised ribs, his dark eyes sparkling with unflagging good humor as he looked up at her. "Though if I didn't know better, Amariah, I might almost detect a delicate note of jealousy in your voice. Are you genuinely aggrieved that I have been expanding my social circle? Because to be strictly accurate, those companions are not entirely new. Our Chief Engineer was already a longstanding friend of our mutual acquaintances—and they came aboard at his explicit invitation to enjoy the hospitality of this fine vessel."

Kaelan offered her a wide, genial smile that remained entirely devoid of malice or upset despite his current position on the floor of a janitorial closet. "Which brings us, naturally, to the far more captivating riddle of the evening. They were invited aboard. But you? Who could have possibly summoned you aboard? Or did you simply sense a comfortable sanctuary and decide to grace us with your unannounced presence?"

A calculating silence lingered just long enough to be obvious. There was a lot of intentional information being handed over with minimal effort required to extract it and, in Kaelan's case, that was cause for immediate suspicion. He was trying a little too hard to lay down the ground rules for his blatantly-opportunistic socialising with a pair he'd previously tried to convince needed to stand aside and allow him to seek her arrest. A guilty conscience? Amariah doubted it.

"You've had a change of heart," she eventually observed, her disposition brightening to a controlled optimism that was remarkably familiar. "Either that or you're content to be wildly inconsistent with your expectations around coincidences. I didn't need an invitation," Amariah changed tracks instantly and, with it, her expression sobered to an unimpressed deadpan. "I paid for a berth because I needed one and this ship is headed somewhere that will fall in the general ballpark of where I need to go. There weren't a lot of options," she added, which was possibly truth. She imagined it was anyway, despite the planet's festivities drawing a decent tourist crowd. "About as many as being confronted by your choice of recreation left me, actually."

The Bajoran frowned and then lifted an eyebrow.

"Would you have stayed? If it were me up there dry humping the air to impress a couple I'd previously attempted to persuade of your short-comings? No," she answered for him without waiting, an index finger jabbed in accusation towards his chest without making contact. "You would have accused me of colluding with them from the onset, labelled our 'chance' meeting in the market an elaborate premeditated charade and then placed a call to local authorities before you were halfway down the corridor in retreat. Oh, but it's very different when it's your foot wearing the shoe, isn't it? Twice." Amariah held up two fingers. "Twice in as many days you've grabbed me and shoved me into a cramped, dark place just to tell me how displeased you are to see me. I'm not the one with attachment issues here, Kaelan."

Kaelan let out a soft, pained scoff that immediately turned into a wince as the movement tugged sharply against his bruised side. He placed a hand over his heart in a gesture of mock artistic indignation. "First of all, my dear Amariah, I was not dry humping the air—I was performing the Time Warp. Again! And while I have yet to be graced with a demonstration of your own choreographic talents, I can assure you that I would have at least granted you the basic courtesy of letting the final chorus resolve before passing such crude judgment."

He eased his back against a stack of industrial cleaning barrels, his dark eyes twinkling with sharp, amused intelligence despite his uncomfortable position on the deck. "Secondly, you can comfortably drop the routine of the 'victim of unfortunate circumstances' production. There is no captive audience down here among the mop buckets for you to sway, and we both know your capacity for the 'unintended'."

"And as for why I might harbour a rather keen, personal interest in precisely who purchases passage aboard this vessel... I am not merely a guest enjoying the amenities, Amariah. I am a member of the crew. The Mary Rose is my home. So you can imagine my natural curiosity when a notorious figure from my past just so happens to check in."

As with any situation where one was trying to maintain social footing against an unpredictable force, there was something a little unsettling about the silence that immediately followed Kaelan's revelation. Silence, he would be right in pointing out, was not typically Amariah's preference unless absolutely necessary and, even then, it usually involved a vicious amount of scheming that churned the thoughts over in her head fast enough to create the suspicion of gears grinding even if the sound itself was the product of pure imagination. Silence bred too many opportunities for others to catch up and much of Amariah's technique, indeed practically all of it, relied on maintaining a pace that squandered any chance for a rational thought process.

Silence was not her friend; until it was, of course. Life on a pendulum swung pretty swiftly through extremes at times.

This was something far more fragile, brittle even. Nothing about her expression gave away much in regards to why she was suddenly struck by a pensive lull; a whimsical little smirk counted as one of her plethora of smokescreens and the little huff that eventually punctuated it seemed like acceptance of a lack of surprise but the Bajoran wasn't exactly forthcoming about which specific correction had warranted such resigned amusement. Perhaps it was the irony of him denouncing familiar behaviour patterns whilst simultaneously failing to recognise his own. Perhaps it delved more into the nature of victimhood and the capacity of certain people to look beyond their own experience to the bitter origins of a degenerating spiral of mistrust. Perhaps it was his insistence that his pelvic thrusts were part of a perfectly normal social discourse. She didn't elaborate. Instead, when she finally chose to speak, she plucked from his retort the single piece of information most likely to impact her current situation and feigned casual indifference to her own query.

"Did they not tell you this ship is no longer Starfleet property?" It was a remark that cost her an amount of plausible deniability because the only reason she would know that is because she'd checked. "Are you here to diplomatically negotiate better rates on coffee beans or has Starfleet deemed the civilian merchantile industry worthy of interference?"

Kaelan let out a soft, amused chuff that he immediately regretted as his bruised ribs protested the movement. He shook his head slowly, a knowing, buoyant smile returning to his features despite his position among the floor polishers."Ah, so you did do your research before purchasing passage, a most prudent precaution, though I would expect nothing less from you. Alas, I fear there was one oversight."

He let the statement hang in the air for just a moment longer than conversationally called for, letting out a measured breath before continuing. "You see, the Mary Rose and I share a rather fitting commonality. Much like this old starship, I am no longer tied to Starfleet's roster. I resigned my commission almost four years ago."

Kaelan offered her a casual gesture of his hands, as if it alone sufficed to fill in the details. "So no, Amariah, I am not here on official Federation business, nor am I negotiating trade tariffs for coffee. I am simply a civilian making his way across the fringe, lending my experience to a group that has graciously welcomed me."

Long ago, under circumstances that occasionally paraded as an unreliable narrative easily dismissed when she ventured to elude to them, Amariah had learned the merit of separating her facial expression from her internal monologue. As frustrating as her antics had reputedly been, this careful cultivation of composure had been less a pantomime for entertainment's sake and more the cornerstone of a necessary survival instinct. Readjusting expectations on the fly had become a talent forged under pressure and assimilating new information with the casual self-assurance of one best advised to pretend they already knew was a skill honed on the back of countless failed attempts and the immediate consequences that followed. The only tell, if it really counted, was the subtle intensity of her focus as it locked in, a direct stare that didn't shift sideways as part of a coy attempt to disarm or distract. In Kaelan's case, he earned the rare privilege of a twitched brow, though it was mild and could easily be construed as surprise that he was welcomed anywhere rather than a specific reaction to his change of circumstance.

Behind her eyes, her thoughts spun wildly. Well, that changed things. Damn.

"I suppose that somewhat accounts for your lapse in manners." Her eyes drifted to his hand, nestled against his ribcage, and though nothing about her disposition changed to convey an inch of regret, her next words seemed to attempt some sort of compensation. "And there really isn't any need to interrupt your morale-boosting, if that's what the chest hair was in aid of. You can also stop cornering me to tell me you haven't any desire to deal with me. Maybe you could wear a bell around your neck," she suggested, her features breaking into a familiar smirk. "That might avoid any awkward conversations with the cleaning crew about marking your territory."

Kaelan didn't need a Starfleet tricorder to know he had struck a nerve. One of Amariah’s most reliable, subtle tells was a sudden, sharp spike in snide deflection—a tier above her habitual razor-edged banter—whenever a shift in variables caught her off guard. Whatever detail about his civilian status had just thrown a wrench into her wroks, Kaelan knew from long experience that the most effective way to locate a crack in somebody’s armor was to keep increasing the pressure and watch for the inevitable leak.

"Why, thank you for noticing!" Kaelan chimed with buoyant cheerfulness, looking up at her from the deck plates. "It is quite lush, isn't it? You are entirely welcome to stroke it if you feel the urge, though I must offer a fair warning—you may come away with a rather generous dusting of glitter on your fingertips." The final words were underlined by an almost ginger pat on the dense thicket, which caused a little glittery puff to appear from the kreatine carpet in response.

With a carefully suppressed grunt that tested the absolute structural limits of his injured thorax, Kaelan braced a hand against a stack of cleaning supplies and slowly pulled himself up to a standing position. He paused to let his breathing settle into shallow, measured rhythms before smoothing down the front of his tunic. "And as for your delightful suggestion regarding neckwear... are you perchance familiar with the Terran concept of Suzu? Small bells traditionally worn to ward off malicious spirits and uninvited misfortune? It strikes me as an exceedingly elegant solution. It would not only give the cleaning crew fair warning, but also safeguard my ribs from further unscheduled kinetic trauma."

He took a short step toward the open doorway, offering her a wide, disarmingly pleasant smile as he gestured for her to step back into the corridor. "Which brings us, regrettably, to our immediate logistics. I shall now make a somewhat dignified pilgrimage to Sickbay to let Dr. Reynolds handle the damage. And while she tends to my chest, I might strongly advise that you head back to your passenger berth and begin packing your bags. Our Captain takes a rather dim view of physical assaults on members of his crew. And given that the Mary Rose is still holding in orbit, it would be far more convenient if you were fully packed and ready when security escorts you down to the transporter pad for your return trip to the surface."

It was a low blow. Up until that part, though she'd navigated each reunion with just the right amount of convenient pedantry, Amariah had still understood, without having any inclination to admit it, where Kaelan was coming from. There had been the slightest element of indignation in the fact that, at least in terms of their first interaction on the planet, she really hadn't been intentionally seeking to involve him but she operated on the cusp of constant hyper-vigilance at the best of times and couldn't really deny the powerful instinct of self-preservation that came with prior learning. It might have been technically unfair in the moment but it was a permissible precaution given the source material. She had a long list of associates whose first impressions were locked in as the ultimate litmus test of what to expect and life certainly did its best of not giving you the luxury of altering those opinions quickly.

This, however, was calculated nastiness or so it felt. Leveraging his familiarity with the crew to push his own version of events to leave her intentionally stranded. And perhaps that was justified! Or at least, perhaps it was just karma doing its thing. But the accusation that sat behind it stung because Amariah knew that this damn diplomat with his wretched ability to read a room knew enough to understand that her elbow had been deployed in panic, not premeditated malice. Here, for the second time in two days, he justified using physical force to interrogate her and she was the one being framed as the aggressor. Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised her, the universe could only take so much prodding before it started pushing back but as much as she had maybe earned this man's ire, it hit a little differently to have warranted his cruelty.

Her wry smile conveyed very little of it. Perhaps more telling was her immediate acceptance of the implied invitation to leave. "I look forward to their interpretation of the security footage."

It was all she said, a single statement devoid of a pithy follow-up as she left him to hobble towards a version of events that sought to tar and feather her without due process. Four years was a long time, she supposed. Long enough to have changed the way Kaelan played the game. It was a shame, really, she might have been impressed had it not been so damn inconvenient.