JL | Cmdr Valeese, LtCmdr Stacker | "Kilig" Pt 1/3

Posted on Fri Mar 9th, 2018 @ 6:35pm by Commander Valeese Stacker & Commander James Stacker
Edited on on Mon Mar 12th, 2018 @ 8:44pm

Mission: Lacuna
Location: Arboretum

For once, Valeese was relatively at ease among her peers. No one stared at her the way gazelles would a leopard; nervous and stiff legged, waiting for the slightest provocation to bound away. No one eyeballed her with contempt or disgust. They simply looked upon her with curiosity - wondering who it was beneath the mask of silver filigree that hugged the precious contours of her cheeks and the dainty line of her nose. What it didn't do was hide the brightness of hers eyes. If anything, they stood out like jeweled beacons against the smoky richness of the eye makeup worn beneath the scrolls of argent metal as they reached up and away towards her ears. As if by magic they'd been altered. A simple holoemitter was all it had taken. Set against a bit of her mask it created the illusion that they were smaller, still tipped and pointed, but in a far less dramatic fashion. Even if she hadn't gone in that direction, the curls of her hair would have been enough to hide and disguise them. All hints of her heritage had been replaced with those of one of Tolkien's fabled elves, lending her presence to the night of enchantment and magic the command team had tirelessly worked to create.

It did nothing, however, to ease the budding feeling of disappointment that came with the steadily realization that while she'd seen him, caught glimpses woven within the dancers, he hadn't figured out her careful ruse. So far, the little Vorta had done her part; sharing in a handful of easy dances with other masked party goers as they all worked to figure out who was who before the stroke of midnight when all would be revealed. With her last dance finished, albeit one between minds in the form of carefully orchestrated conversation, complete with the ease and flourish of a courtesy, Valeese had stolen away towards the privacy of the deeper, fairy-lit gardens with little more than sigh on her lips. To expect a ghost to want to 'enjoy' a night of fanciful merriment was perhaps a bit much. Though... There were things to be said about candle light and hanging lanterns setting trees and vines of wisteria all aglow. More things to be said about the soft serenade of strings and woodwinds that did nothing but enhance the natural music of the arboretum's night and the trickle of fountains. While not the ideal element for a spook, it certainly wasn't without its charms.

Free from the majority of revelers, Valeese paused to study and enjoy a particular species of blooming night jasmine, she couldn't help but smile a small little smile of appreciation as she cupped a cluster of blossoms. Fragrant velvet, they were near weightless in her hand and simply magnificent as their white petals reflected the light of the lanterns strewn above. And while it was hard to feel anything but humbled by the success of the project combined with the intricate details of the Venetian masquerade and how well it married to the location at hand - the niggling twinges of longing and, perhaps disappointment, still tugged at the edges of her psyche.

In a nod to history, Stacker had found himself hard-pressed to don anything but the uniform. Perhaps calling it 'the uniform' was incorrect: it was a uniform tailored to resemble something of a distinctly-older vintage, but it was also equally-true that he had once worn something quite similar for a party many, many years ago. Well before joining Starfleet. It had been a hit, at the time. To his dismay, however, he had found that one had to make certain allowances for growing up. His chest was larger, for example. Also his neck. The computer had been quick to flag the originally-input dimensions with a hint of 'I-told-you-so' when it confirmed, to him, that it would be impossible to close the collar. As for the chest ... forget about trying to button the jacket. He had had no choice but to make allowances and let the machine have its way.

It was interesting, and perhaps somewhat telling about his character that the uniform he wore was that of a soldier, right down to the elaborate ornamentation. A shoulder-to-hip bandolier was festooned with enough replicated - yet inert - cartridges to supply a squad of Victorian-era England soldiers for a day of hard combat. Two pouches to the front held small weights to counteract the extremely lightweight pack he wore, topped with a bedroll that would, with luck, never be unfurled. The jacket was blue, the pants, spats, and boots white, and it even included a sword hanging at his side (which had thankfully not proved an extreme hindrance during the dancing). The rifle had been foregone in the interest of not furnishing station security with reports of a crazy individual on the promenade with an antique weapon.

Now, though, his attention turned away from the dancing and to a more pressing personal concern, for it stood to reason that Commander Valeese was here. He knew, from their conversations, that she considered herself alone. An opportunity to blend in and disappear, even for a short while, would be like a siren singing only to her. She wouldn't miss it. But what was she? The ballerina in one corner? Unlikely. The liberally-festooned joker. Not her style. It was only when he was lurking around the banquet table set up to one side of the room that it hit him. Romance novels. She would be ... something elaborate. Ornate, without being as 'blingy' as another soldier that marched on by, sporting row after row of gaudy medals that competed with his olive uniform and the solid red star at the front-and-center of his cap.

Lost in thought, he slowly made his way out into the garden, not paying any one person strict attention. The eyes behind his 'mask' - a small holoprojector that distorted his nose and cheekbones, not to mention giving him a longer beard - roamed the few revelers out here without fail, picking their way hither and thither.

An ear twitched towards the scuffling sound of a boot against the cobblestone behind her. It was almost out of place, but not quite. It was heavy, the steps uncertain, and they certainly didn't belong to someone that was steady with their surroundings... Lost was a word she may have used, trying to pick out the details without turning away from the heavily scented flowers in her palm. The music and the talking made it difficult, near impossible to ascertain who or what they were and, as it was, her curiosity was near insatiable on that strangely intriguing evening. He, however, wasn't what she'd ever expected to see. The beard was wrong, the cheek bones high.. His nose far more arrogant and perhaps aristocratic - but there was something about the soldier that piqued her interest. Perhaps it was the authenticity of his chosen garb, or the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the intensity of his eyes that made her dip her chin to one side and gaze at him sidelong in appraisal and approval. "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo." Valeese greeted, the make believe language of the elves pouring from her lips with practiced ease as she approached, though quietly thought to chastise herself for the silliness of the gesture about as soon as the last vowel disappeared between them. He, if it was him, hadn't read the novel in a dog's age and the copy she'd gifted likely sat on a shelf somewhere out of mind for one as busy and pragmatic as he was.

Even with the population of the starbase growing by the day, he was convinced that there were few aboard the facility who would have known such a fascinating language. Was it her? He wasn't convinced. Surprisingly, he did find his mind - which sometimes surprised him, even thought he had lived with it for years - obliging him with the relevant section, even though it had been days since he had come across it while reading the book late one night. Galadriel? No. Gildor. A greeting from Frodo, translated to "A star shines on the hour of our meeting." He found his right arm slipping across his waist, the left going behind his back, to offer her a slight bow from the waist. His head dipped at the same time, chin turning slightly to the left, eyes not once leaving those that were framed by curving argent metal and silver filigree. "Milady." The voice was pitched a tad lower, the tone slightly more nasal. All the while he found himself increasingly captivated by the intensity of her gaze, and a voice in the back of his mind whispered that it might well be her. Let the hunt begin it seemed to say.

He bowed, she dipped in a delightful curtsy of her own, and the greeting phase was quickly done with and over with the glitter of a spark in each set of eyes. Once again, they were playing a game of intrigue, one that drew them together like moths to a flame and Valeese knew, without a doubt that she was likely to burn for her choices. Still, to know him... To be with him... Was worth it. The strange character before her would either prove her right or be something horribly wrong - but it was a chance she was willing to take and those eyes, fathomless and ripe with intelligent ardor, promised her more delicate sensibilities that she was right in allowing herself to be drawn to him. A hand extended, an offering for that first touch and her heart, she was sure, was going to leap from her chest as she watched him right himself. It had to be him. Even if things were a little off, it had to be him. "Tant óni?" The game continued, the little Vorta asking him to dance with her in a language she was certain he'd have trouble following. Even still, it gave her that delicate edge as she fought to maintain just that little bit of distance between fantasy and reality, fact and fiction, and still dared to tempt fate in ways the imagination found irresistibly delicious while the rest of her begged that she quail and leave such folly behind for sake of self-preservation... Before she sank too deeply beneath the surface of attachment and emotion associated with it.

His hand was unconsciously taking hers as a stray thought crossed his mind - to take care lest his altered voice change and give away his identity. That one nagging reflection built in a matter of seconds, occupying a growing piece of attention as he dwelt on this. What made the entire situation so damnable was that, if asked, he probably wouldn't have been able to supply a precise answer as to why he had come to this conclusion. Was it the dress? The makeup? The hair hiding her ears? He was so preoccupied that he initially failed to notice his other hand moving of its own volition, encircling her waist as he stepped into her. It was only when he felt it spread and press lightly, but firmly, into the small of her back that he was jerked into the here and now, finding himself suddenly much, much closer to the 'elf.' Despite his momentary surprise at such an out-of-character move, on his part, it felt ... right. Clearly, his autopilot was working just fine...

She blinked a few times as she found herself suddenly ensnared by the so called soldier and all the intimacy and heat that came along for the ride. The hand on her back, with fingers splayed wide, felt possessive but hardly domineering. The confidence in which he held her was refreshing as much as it was thrilling.... All under the proviso that the soldier was indeed her spook, the hope for which continued rise as she rested her free hand on his chest. Valeese's nose wrinkled as she did her best to suppress a smile and beat back the churlish bits of desire and curiosity that spelled out her own undoing during that ball if they remained unchecked or were otherwise allowed to grow and run wild and unruly. It was a difficult task made nearly impossible when he took the lead at the first few lilting notes sung by a lone violin.

Standing perfect still was one thing, but to glide with, counter, and match the movements of a partner, especially one perceived to be him, was quickly finding a place high on her list of favorite things and feelings. It wouldn't be long until midnight came and the spell would be broken, masks removed... For the here and now she was content to live in the moment, in the fantasy that she'd chosen correctly and wasn't a fool for allowing the space between them to close to the bare minimum necessary to allow for movement and her hand left his chest to toy gently with the fabric of his collar. The textile had become a point of focus, allowing her to ground herself before those two deadly little vices got away.

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To Be Continued...
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Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
Cold Station Theta, SB-1170

&

Lieutenant Commander James Stacker
Chief Intelligence Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170