Big Bad Seven

Posted on Sat Jun 25th, 2016 @ 7:15pm by Captain Rueben Gregnol
Edited on on Sat Jun 25th, 2016 @ 7:16pm

Mission: Mission 1 - Bridges
Location: Deep Space 7 - Promenade
Timeline: MD 01 - 11:23 hours
3520 words - 7 OF Standard Post Measure

::ON::

"STOP!" Shouted a security guard as a group of them tackled a Bolian woman. Rokar had slipped a piece of stolen merchandise into her bag as she left one of the shops. He'd watched as she had shouted and whined at the poor boy manning the shop in place of his mother, whom was in the back. The El Aurian grinned madly as he watched her struggle with the guards, calling them all sorts of names, and raving about how she'd have them all locked up once her husband found out.

Barton had followed the spry looking fellow for some time, keeping his distance, carefully weaving through the crowd and watching him out of the periphery. He had a fast gaze and a dancers gait, so it was easy for him to appear uninterested and detached, like a passer by. You would tend to think his flagrant fashion would catch the eye, draw attention, but it tended to be so gregarious that people paid him no heed at all.

It was a chance impulse that had him swerving to follow the humanoid, a sudden departure from his planned stroll down to the lower-business quarter, where he was to be looking over some possible applicants for the crew. Now Barton was not a truly observant man, not unless the situation called for such a thing. A gentle stroll along the promenade was usually his chance to let free the bounds of his mind, keeping is faculties tuned only to avoiding those bodies ebbing about his own, while his thoughts churned through the many other musings that oft kept him enraptured. Questions about the nature of the universe, stray thoughts about various boon he'd caught wind of, dreams of his Rosie and the future they were yet face. All the things they were like to uncover on the trip to Heg’La, those snapping mouths still waiting just beyond the Space-Station doors. As if life were nothing but a giant jig-saw puzzle, Barton was forever turning the various pieces over and over in his mind, searching for how they all might fit together into the neat image he just knew must be hidden within.

So it would have stayed all the way to the lifts, down into the bowels of the station, to where the scrappers and pushers and wheelers and dealers plied their trades; if not for a glint of light shining off the most peculiar thing. Barton knew a little about a lot and a lot about a very little indeed, all the same he was fairly certain that was no piece of jewelry adorning the brow of the black haired man who had past him buy. If it where hacker-tech, it was not of a make he was familiar with, which is like saying there was word Whitman knew not the definition of. No, it had a vaguely Borg feel to it, and that piqued Barton's inquisitiveness like a kitten to a mouse. Was this a new piece to his ever growing universal puzzle?

Taking a seat at a table which overlooked the promenade, Barton kept his gaze loosely affixed to it's target, watching and learning all that he could. There was a mannerism to the mans movements, not exactly sly, but certainly artful. He was about done with the puzzle, bored of it, certain the flavor was all but enjoyed, when he noticed this stranger slip some small piece of bric-a-bac into the bag of unsuspecting Bolian.

The ensuing events where rather predictable, a confused and bleating woman who would startle even the most bomb-proof of steads, flustered guards and a ring of onlookers. A dreary scene which showed all Barton detested about such a place. Civilization, such a petty waste of humanity. But not the man he was spying upon, for he watched on with a devilish grin so acute, a pitch-fork and horns seemed suddenly missing from his visage.

As the man with the devil grin moved swiftly across the promenade floor, easing away from the ensuing crowd that grew ever-thicker, he came within ear shot of Barton. Giving an easy come-hither gesture, Barton implied friendly if he might step up to the railing running quite close to his table, there was something Barton was now to curious not to ask.

"Rather a show." His accent was thick now, suggesting he had received more education than he really had. Making a generous sweep of his hands that indicated the scene across the promenade. His eyes however never left Rokar. "Here I was thinking I'd need to travel all the way to New York, the real one, to take it in such a live ensemble. All seems rather clear-cut, alarms go off, guards apprehend the last soul to walk past the scanners, and there in her bag lies the stolen item. Neat and tidy. Here is what I can't figure, help me tie up this loose end. Was it the sheer thrill of anarchy that filled with you with the impulse to slip that item into her bag? Or did you perhaps owe this woman a score, a sordid affair ended badly? Tavern tab she left un-paid? What part of this picture am I missing?" Barton did not like not knowing

Rokar arched a brow at the man who'd spoken to him. After all, it wasn't every day that someone caught him red-handed. Especially from a table in the replemat across the promenade.

"Would you join me?" Barton inquired of the man who so far had answered only with a somewhat quizzical expression. "Fret not, I've no intention of alerting authorities, that would only land us both in hot water. I'd say we tend to avoid the same people, you and I."

Barton thought the stranger; who looked decisively Terran, American-Indian even, if Barton had to place it, if not for that eyebrow implant, still appeared a little unconvinced as to his intentions. That was fair, considering Barton himself was as yet not certain to what they were. "You're very..." He made a show of searching for the appropriate word, gazing at the ceiling as if it might just be dangling there, waiting for him to pluck it down, "Dexterous." He finally chose with a knowing grin, thinking it the perfect compliment. "Oh, come come, you're among friends now." He let such a friendly expression warm the skin on his face, that it would almost be hard not to want to join him. Standing from the table, Barton began walking away from the replimat, leading the charge in no direction in particular.

Rokar followed the odd man as he led them away from the scene. "And you're very sharp," he responded as they passed the shop where his little performance had begun. "I saw her creating a ruckus earlier, and I decided that it would be a good idea to teach her a little lesson in humility." By the time he'd finished, they approached a small eatery tucked in the back of the promenade's outer core, not too far from the lifts.

"How about here," he said as he motioned to the door. "The owner is an old friend of my father's, we can speak freely in here." It wasn't much to look at from the outside, aside from its sign, which read: 'Restaurante en Semprevivo'. But the heavy wooden doors set it apart from all of the other shops on the Promenade. Not just from their size and apparent lack of advanced technology, but also from the intricate carvings, reliefs and friezes which adorned every inch of its surface. From the outside, the entire establishment appeared locked. But, with the flick of his wrist, the El Aurian was able to trick the long, brass handles into turning.

Barton was not accustomed to following people into dark spaces, but he recalled once a tale about a girl following a white rabbit down a burrow, through which a whole new world had been revealed unto her. If this man was a threat, he could not sense it, besides he had just followed Barton quite willingly, even if only across the promenade before taking the lead. Tit for tat, eye for eye. With barely a nerve twanging against the idea, Barton followed into the dimness beyond.

His awareness stiffened slightly as he crossed the threshold, the dark of the interior subduing the light of the promenade like a giant tree blocking the sun. With quiet attentiveness, his subconscious automatically began scanning like a ships short range sensors on yellow alert. He’d do his best to avoid walking willingly into a mugging. It would be Barton’s usual luck, if this intriguing, slightly sinister looking man was merely intending to lead him into an alley, lift him up by the ankles and shake him till he dropped his loose change.

If it came to it, Barton would be black and blue before he even knew what was happening. The stranger was not tall, but if he was to put money on a fight between his leads frame, and a 500 pound oxen, Barton was not certain which beast he would lay his latinum on.

It was the smell that finally sold him. Having the habits of most men who struggle with addiction, eating little infrequently and finding no pleasure in the taste of his food, Barton never much cared for fine eateries. White bread, plain eggs, these where his staples. But the scents now lazily drifting about the interior of the deep mahogany restaurant, was enough to make even Barton ravenous. For the first time in his life, he found himself pondering just how long it had been since last he ate.

They moved through several rooms, each appearing more ornate and splendid than the last. Overall, the restaurant had the feel of dinning rooms frozen in time, plucked from the ancient manors of Italian Nobles. The chattels of just half this place, would pay for Rosie several times over.

"This place seems befit for a king." He mused inattentively, his attention finally dropping away from Rokar and his motions, from the surrounding room and it’s nooks and crannies and exits. All he could think about now, was eating.

"I should hope so," the El Aurian Replied. "Its owned by one of the oldest monied families which arose from Earth's 3rd World War over three centuries ago." He grinned as they brushed past a wall of vine lining the doorway of one of the private dining rooms. Rokar reached out and grabbed a bundle of grapes at they passed.

How quaint, Barton found himself thinking. A family of chefs who had taken on the far reaches of space. He could not imagine a more terrible reason to conquer the vast stretched of nothing mind, to bring cuisine to people. There was much more to the void than that, more waiting in the black than a cook book and undiscovered spices.

He ran a hand along the vine as he followed Rokar through the door frame, enjoying the sensation of real flora on his skin, the slow-grown kind. His fingers glances a bundle of grapes, though he took none, just tried to remember what they tasted like.

Before either could finish their trains of thought, a small pot banged and clanked as it banged against one of the doors to the kitchen and the sounds of a woman shouting. "Ho avuto abbastanza!" The El Aurian cringed and flinched as his eyes darted back to the room they'd just passed.

What ever could make a sinuous, lean and rippled looking man flinch, must have been a formidable force indeed. The bangs rippled through the restaurant with increasing fervor, even some of those seated turned in the chairs and back in the direction the noises were coming from.

“Friend of yours?” Barton asked, watching the wince ripple the skin around the borg implant he was so curious about. He wondered how he might ask about it, get his name, find out his story. Hopefully the women shouting would provide Barton with an ‘in’ of some sort. That’s how it always worked for him, the universe provided, he just had to be quick enough to notice when and how.

Rokar turned and nodded at the human, "Sort of," he replied. "That's Amelia-" Another bang rang through the hall, this time a lid from a pot. The smell of the broth still steamed from the metal as it clanked to the ground. Then they saw her; this tall, voluptuous woman in a green dress who came strutting from the kitchen, flustered and brow knit.

The universal translator buzzed to life as "And you can take your ladle and shove it up your- Rokar!" She stopped as soon as she laid eyes on the pair. Her eyes lit-up like a pair of emeralds as she smiled seductively.

"Well, well...if it isn't my old innamorato," she said. The El Aurian's brows raised as he tilted his head in coy surprise.

"Really now? The last time I checked, our 'love' was one-sided. Or maybe you've gotten me mixed-up with your God-father?" He crossed his arms as he spoke. Despite the slight, Amelia laughed at his reaction.

"And here I thought your little torto had clouded your mind!" Smiling at her old friend, she finally noticed Harkins standing at his side. Almost immediately, she went into full seduction mode.

"Mio dio, I'm so sorry my dear! In all of my ramblings, I've completely neglected to introduce myself!"

Who ever she was, her formidable nature seemed clear, in a friendly kind of way. Barton felt his toes curl up in their socks as her face melted a little, taking him in. It was involuntary, his reaction of disgust when people flirted with him, and something he had learned to hide many years prior. She seemed the type to flirt with anyone new, so Barton did not take it personally, not that he would have. As far as women went, he had peculiar tastes; which meant specifically he had a singular taste for a peculiar woman.

Other than her, Barton kept is romancing to a paid service. People who flirted, and more, were always after something in his opinion, he admired strumpets for how direct they were about the exchange!

"Pleasure." Barton laid his accent on thick, packing all the charm he could into the word and letting none of his disinterest in the woman show. With a gentle hand, he raised Amelia's palm to his lips, and placed a cordial kiss atop her knuckles. "Barton Harkins, Captain; At your service Ma'am." He gave a slight bow after this, lowering his head just below her own, in a subservient manner.

"Rokar here..." Barton gestured to the man trying to avoid Amelias gaze, he'd got his name from her, that was a start. "Was just telling me the legend of your families fine cuisine. Can't say I'm well educated in the culinary arts, but one needs no schooling to see he is among true masters. A fine establishment, the finest even. A true compliment to the definition of restaurant the galaxy over. Italian, I assume, judging from the dialect?"

"Hm, you would be correct" Amelia responded incredulously. "This pile di merda belongs to my brother," she waved her arms, causing the tassels of her purple shaw to flair out before bringing her arms back in to be crossed over her chest. "The food is decent, but I've been trying to convince my brother to let me give the atmosphere a little more flavor by combining our businesses." Rokar chuckled at her response as he placed his hands on his hips.

"And no doubt, Enzo said 'No' to letting you rent out some of the private dining rooms for your sector-famous orgies." Again, the woman smirked at his response, unfolding her arms to mirror his own stance.

"Why thank you my dear amore, its nice to know that somebody around here appreciates my sense of business.”

Barton relaxed all over, despite the sudden turn in dialect. She was not a flirt, but paid to flirt. He admitted it explained much about her projected personality, and chosen grab come to think of it. Though, it explained nothing about why she might be aboard; Starfleet had always taken such a negative view point on the oldest profession of Earth.

“I admit at being rather taken aback.” He said cooly, addressing his words to Amelia but still keep Rokar in his gaze. “I figured castration the main requirement of joining the ranks of Starweak, that combined with their staunch view on personal satisfaction; how ever do you stay lucrative in an environ such as this. The station, not the restaurant of course.”

Amelia smirked at the other Human's response, letting the insult slide just a bit. "Careful now, mi amore, my God Father is in Starfleet. Although, he does manage to get himself into trouble quite often for his tastes..." She trailed off just a bit as she walked over to one of the benches lining the wall, and made herself comfortable.

"Besides such, you are correct; the porco running this station have repeatedly stopped me from offering my services to their populous." She sighed as she leaned in onto one of the ancient grapevines growing around the archway.

"No, I keep my headquarters aboard a civilian-run station, out on the Federation Frontier." She smiled as she eyed the El Aurian, whom, to his credit, paid little attention to her musings. "You remember the place, no, Rokar?"

He sighed; "Its kind of hard to forget," the former officer replied. "Especially when somebody on your staff stole something very important from my commanding officer."

Barton found his hand naturally rising to give Rokar a light tap on the back, as he stated with just a hint of a chuckle, "Can't have been his dignity, poor blight surrendered that when he donned the uniform." He gave Amelia a quick, condoling gaze, "No offense meant to you and yours. His virginity perhaps?" He added, turning his attention back to Rokar and his little part of the evolving tale.

It was hard, not to enjoy belittling Starfleet. Barton had despised them so long, and with such fervent passion, that is was almost a staple need for him now, to elucidate other on his entirely irrational antipathy for them. It felt like half of his personality was built around the fact, perhaps it was.

The pair eyed the human with a more serious tone as they waited for him to calm his mirth. "It was actually her late-wafe's engagement ring," answered Amelia. She shook her head with disgust, even as Rokar shot her a pleading gaze to tone-down her usual antics... and she of course, completely ignored him.

"I have a strict rule about stealing, missere Harkins." She rose to her feet; her posture now much more professional than it had been before. "Just because I allow others to use the time of myself and my sons and daughters to ward-off the loneliness for a short time, doesn't mean that I allow them just do as they please!" She huffed as her irritation began to rear its ugly head. Even after all of this time, that betrayal was still a sore wound for her.

Barton frowned but nodded as he saw Rueben walking over, that was all they needed.

"Hello... What is going on?" He demanded his dark eyes looking everyone over quickly judging and analyzing.

"Starfleet fools," Barton explained with a smirk at the muscles that twitched in his friends left eye. Rueben was former starfleet as far as Barton was aware, Rueben on the other hand knew he couldn't defend Starfleet, had no right to as they were wrecking his life recently.

The El Aurian cleared his throat in an attempt to relieve some of the tension he could sense was building. "I believe Amelia and myself were discussing our... employment prospects with Mr. Harkins," he said with a measured tone. Amelia however, wasn't as impressed.

"Occupanzione indeed!" She huffed. "It has just been one insulto after another!" She huffed. Rokar placed his scarred hand her shoulder; almost instantly, she began to relax. Her entire composure changed; returning to its previous, accentuated state for the most part.

"I'm sorry, my dear. This station and its governo have had me wound tight lately."

"Fair enough." Rueben didn't want to know what kind of people were coming on the ship but he would stand by Barton's judgement. It was like the Deities were shining down on his sometimes.

With a nod, Rokar motioned to one of the empty rooms. "Shall we speak in private?"


::OFF::


Rokar Quas,
Head of Ship Security,
SS Mary Rose

Amelia da Semprevivo,
Owner, La Bella Rosa,
Ship's Madame,
SS Mary Rose

Rueben Gregnol
Executive Officer
SS Mary Rose