PLOT - JL | Cmdr Valeese, Lt Nimrox | "Namárie"

Posted on Tue Mar 13th, 2018 @ 4:44pm by Commander Valeese Stacker & Captain Jacob Satie & Commander James Stacker

Mission: Lacuna

Valeese was beginning to wonder about the validity of the claims that the arboretum was home to anything other than birds and insects. Had she not cleared the beasts through their quarantine on Earth, she’d have been almost certain that the deer were nothing more than a fairy tale. Some rumored to have caught rare glimpses, but the more she waited and watched, the less and less signs of them she saw – as if they were erasing themselves from history beyond the occasional rustle of a bush. Mildly crestfallen, though far from deterred, she plucked a single red maple leaf from the grass and held it up for observation. It could have been the duplicate to the one that she’d ‘tortured’ Stacker with. Her lips curved into a smile, soft and genuine as she pressed the soft, cool leather of it to them. The memory of that event was all too happy to come flooding back – and from it sprouted each and every encounter and sensation she’d experienced thereafter. Their game of cat and mouse, the not so subtle touches, the knowledge of safety between them though they both were so very aware of their, perhaps, conflicting alliances.

Choosing to leave the peace and quiet of the dusky swatch of nature came easily when her chosen destination meant something more than the loneliness of a novel. He’d be off duty, or close to it, and she’d have just enough time to get home, change, and set out to surprise him with her find. The leaf, with its trident shape and bright ruby color, was significant – as were the plans she had for it.

Life, and fate, would have other plans. The door hissed shut behind her, encasing her once more in the sterile environment of the station’s corridors – the trilling of birds and insects locked away even from her super sensitive ears. Had she been more aware, less in her own head, she’d likely have homed in on the sound of a muffled cough and the increasing tempo of heavy foot falls. Maybe she’d have felt eyes boring into her back, sensed their predatory nature – but life and the pursuit of her own happiness had left the normally skittish little Vorta in a rare state of oblivion complete with a one track mind that didn’t leave room for the possibility that she was being hunted in the empty hall.

Nimrox had been tasked to support the operation and act as muscle. He was about to leave the level when a demure and graceful creature stepped out six doors down. He quickly ducked into a deep doorway slamming his back against the solid bulkhead and knocking a small cough from his lungs. Most of the station's occupants were eating their evening meal and the corridors were empty. Nimrox had noticed many of the quarters and rooms on this deck were vacant and that had been their reason for hiding out here while waiting for the other team to accomplish its task. As the woman neared she looked lost in her thoughts. Nimrox could see she was Vorta, her hair pulled back over one vented ear. She was but a door away now, he could kill her, knock her out, or... take her as a prize. There were many who would pay well for a Vorta pleasure slave. The slave pens of the Syndicate surely awaited as their destination after this mission.

She passed him without even looking his direction, What luck! he thought to himself. He allowed her to get a few steps ahead and then stepped out of the cover of the doorway, moving quickly. One of his large hands gripped her by the shoulder moving across her chest as he closed on her. The other smacked hard over her mouth and nose, stifling a scream. The knuckle spines of his hand repelled her grasping attempts to pry his hand free from her mouth. She was short and he stooped adjusting his grip to put her in a sleeper hold.

At first touch she'd shuddered and tried to spring away, but he was far too large and too quick to ever let her escape that easily. Her thoughts were with the Bajoran that had tried to rip her arm off for sake of a show, but this felt far different. This felt darker, more sinister... Carefully timed. Though rough, whoever held her within their grasp did little to hurt her, but everything to subdue. With size and surprise on his side, Valeese's hold on her trophy leaf failed without notice, allowing the bit of foliage to fall to the deck below as gravity caught it and tugged it to its resting place. Her nose smarted, painfully throbbing beneath the rough hand clasped over both it and her mouth as she struggled to rip it free and he, in return, began to close his other arm around the fragile daintiness of her neck. She could see him, but barely, the coloring and jarring lines of him giving away his heritage long before anything else - and she knew then, once identifying the species, that the best she could do would be to fight. Talking would do little, not that she could muster more than muffled screams. Fighting would buy her a little time in hope and prayer that they'd be discovered before the anaconda like arm managed to choke her out.

In that moment - her path decided - the soft spoken, gentle little Vorta became a hellcat. Valeese's body twisted as she crow hopped, using the deck as a spring board to drive herself, and her attacker, backwards. He wanted her head back, she gave it to him, throwing it against what she could only assume was his chest and collarbone as he stooped to try and subdue her. Her legs became pistons, forcing her heels into his shins, the tops of his feet, his knees, thighs, ankles... It didn't matter. Valeese wanted him hurt, and more importantly, she wanted him to fall - preferably not atop her. In a ground fight, especially pinned, there'd be very little she could do save try and let out a scream or a yell and pray someone would hear her struggle. Beyond that... The fight to rip his hand from her mouth became more of an assault on the bits of uncovered flesh her nails could sink into. They ripped and clawed, digging for purchase as she continued to buck and writhe in a manner that would have made most decent bronc ponies jealous. It wasn't about escape as much as it was about survival. It was about trying to breathe and finding herself unable to as her lungs began to ache and then scream. She could hear, as much as feel, her heart racing wildly out of control even though her pulse, beginning to be deprived of oxygen, began to become thready and weak even if it was hummingbird quick.

Purple. Her head swam as her vision became tainted around the edges by the bruising color of purple that came along with hypoxia and she knew, knew, that she was going down within a few short moments. The more she panicked and fought, the more oxygen she wasted - but the more she panicked and fought, the more likely it was that someone would notice something. Even the pain in her finger tips, especially the index of of her right hand where the tip of one manicured nail had broken away during her assault on his flesh, began to diminish. It was a matter of time now, struggle freed ink black hair blotting out most of her vision, before the fight was lost.

She fought and kicked but to no avail. Nimrox was larger and far to heavily armored to be phased by her meager assault. She was a fighter, he knew many buyers would be happy about that. He tightened his grip and the fight began to wain from her. For a member of a race once so feared, this tiny Vorta proved powerless in his grasp. As her body slackened he held tight waiting for the collapse of weight that would signal him to release her so as not to deprive her of oxygen longer than necessary to knock her out. When the flailing stopped he bent and scooped her into his arms and over his shoulder like a bagged animal. Carrying her, he melted into the shadows and into the Jefferey's Tube where he wound though the deck to the beam out point. All he had to do now was wait for the other team.

---

Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170

Lieutenant Nimrox (APB NEIL)
Orion Syndicate