Ebbtide - JL | erie'Ssiebb Tr'Bak, Rochelle Ivanova (MU) | - "Sanguine"

Posted on Fri Apr 13th, 2018 @ 4:36pm by Commodore Rochelle Ivanova

Mission: Lacuna

Rochelle twirled in front of the mirror, holding the red dress she’d pulled from the closet in front of her. Her expression could have almost matched that of a child in a toy store, and the gown was the new toy she’d been waiting and saving her allowance all month to finally purchase – only in this case, however, the fact she wasn’t paying, per se, weighed heavy in the air.

No. She was paying alright. The dress was nothing more than a chance for her to occupy herself. It hadn’t been the first that she’d pulled from the rack, as was evidenced by the dozens of empty hangers and the crumpled heaps of exotic fabrics left in the wake of the red hurricane herself. Said reason for occupying herself didn’t take much to figure out. The noises coming from the next room over ‘said’ it all… And then some. Muffled chuckles, pained grunts, loud cracks, followed by a short, raspy, purring all out laugh could be heard taunting whoever the poor individual grunting was. Poor individual, so to speak, was just another exploited operative who had fucked something up. Something Rochelle hadn’t been privy to, but the conversation had turned sour quickly and she’d been asked to excuse herself from the room and get ready for dinner.

Whatever he’d done, he should have thought twice. It didn’t help that the man was a newcomer to the sector and all Rochelle could think was that he hadn’t gotten the memo that the Vrith Tr’Bak wasn’t someone you wanted on your friend’s list and now the poor son of a bitch was in the other room having who knows what done to him – all the while Rochelle raided her closet. She’d have loved to be standing there by Tr’Bak’s side, but he’d down right insisted upon settling it privately – not even pouting had worked.

With pursed lips, she held the fabric against her naked thigh and peered back at her reflection in the mirror. This one had been a hold over from his wife’s collection and it wasn’t doing it either. Like the seventeen others before it, it flew into a heap upon the disheveled floor and her gaze flitted over to the last remaining memory of P’Mai Tr’Bak’s life. A photo, a single photo he’d kept for the sake of posterity and in it, the woman looked miserable as ever. Stern. Glowering, “For having the galaxy on a string, you had crap taste in clothes, lady.” Rochelle chided her. A rather loud crack followed by an anguished scream caused her head to snap in that direction, and she gasped, catching herself as she jumped.

That wouldn’t do.

Being nervous and antsy wouldn’t do. Whatever the Romulan had in store for the bastard that vexed him was best left there… And not on her. Not on her at all. The very thought left her sauntering quickly off in the direction of the closet, catching sight of a lovely black sequin cocktail dress that held promise, “So you did have better taste in clothes. I’m impressed.” She muttered, looking over her shoulder at the photo of the woman she’d decapitated only a couple months prior, “You don’t mind if I borrow this one, do you? No… Of course you don’t. Thanks.” She forced a grin. One could have sworn the woman in the photo protested, but Rochelle was already on her way towards the bathroom in search of jewelry, the dress dangling over her shoulder – only to pause in front of the ‘parlor’ Tr’Bak often conducted business in, hesitating. A couple seconds of listening later, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and knocked.

A sigh sounded and a “One moment, please.” Followed before Tr’Bak himself opened the door and peered down at her, scowling. “What is it?”

“You don’t have to snap at me.”

“Well, sweetheart, I’m very very busy.” The last of his words carried a resounding bitterness to them, and if she had to judge by the dark, wet stains on his clothes, she had evidently interrupted something profoundly important.

Her arms crossed over her chest, pulling the dress into them in the process. “I’m sorry, but aren’t you any closer to being done?”

Another annoyed sigh left the Romulan’s lips and he pressed his palms together, leaning against the door for support. “I could be closer to being done if you weren’t currently interrupting me, my love.” He replied, reaching to grab her chin just slightly, cupping it as if her face were the most precious thing in all the universe. In many ways it ways. It was his key to success.

She tugged away from him, unaware of the blood stain left smeared against her satiny skin.

“Look, it’s not my fault this guy screwed up. Why don’t you finish making yourself all pretty and give me a little more time to finish business?” Tr’Bak asked, forcing his lower lip out in a slight pout of his own. Albeit it was as fake as fake could be and he was utterly certain they both knew it.

Rochelle blew a heavy sigh, forcing back a copper tendril of hair that had fallen into her face and her eyes locked onto his, demanding. Pushing. Screaming of boredom.

Reaching again to pat her cheek, Tr’Bak grinned and stepped back, allowing the lingerie-clad woman entry into the room before shutting the door. All at once his loud voice boomed with demands that nearly set her to jumping again and they were met with echoed sounds of panic coming from their friend. The unfortunate soul was babbling, muttering about being sorry for missing the point, for not being more astute and not stopping someone before they could cause more trouble than they were worth. The rest of the babbles were all about people, officers – Rochelle didn’t quite care. All she cared about was watching Tr’Bak watch the man with steel in his otherwise green eyes. It clear as crystal, at least to her, that he didn’t buy a damn thing the man was saying and halted before him, but did nothing yet.

The man coughed blood, spitting it out onto the floor before attempting to speak, “I-I didn’t know! I didn’t know he’d know! He’s a misfit! A clown! Desperation was strong in his voice, “Please!” He begged, “Just give me another chance! erie'Ssiebb! I promise I’ll do better!”

But he was cut off and Tr’Bak leaned forward and pressed a single, slender finger against the man’s lips. Making a shushing noise with his own. “Ah ah, wrong answer. You were supposed to do this right because doing it wrong even once can get people killed.” He moved his finger down to where he’d put a rather beautiful bruise on the man’s jaw. Black and swollen, it depressed as he applied cruel pressure against it and hummed in pleasure as his victim shifted uneasily and squirmed in his seat. The finer turned, allowing a well manicured fingernail to press into the skin instead. Hard. Hard enough the swollen flesh began to split beneath his insistence.

“Look at her, Martin, Look at her long and hard.” Blood began to trickle from beneath his finger, “She’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, isn’t she?” He crooned, and Martin nodded emphatically. “Yes. Yes she is. You’re a nice fellow, Martin, and I like you. But tell me how I’m supposed to trust you when you can’t even do me the favor of making sure she can’t do her job? Lest you forget… I’m not that lenient.”

The shrouded one too a step back, admiring his handwork as he gathered up a small blade, it’s hilt jewel encrusted, “So I’m going to make this easier on you. I’m going to let you leave this life with your last memory being her perfect body. Look at it, Martin. Look at it long and hard.” Martin sputtered on the blood in his mouth again and stared openly at the redhead as Tr’Bak tugged the sequin covered fabric from her hold.

She, in turn, instinctively felt the desire to cover herself up somehow in spite of having the dress removed from her grasp. Standing there in heels and her lingerie, Rochelle felt truly vulnerable. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to being nude, or nearly nude, with complete and utter strangers – it was the way in which she was being used… And why. Far be it from her to hold anyone’s life in any kind of high regard other than her own, but here was a man being executed for failing to do something for her. Another needless death in this game of intergalactic cat and mouse, and she felt her heart sink because of it.

It was a swift death. A quick plunge of the dagger through the man’s throat, followed by a rapid tug to the left and Martin was suffocating and bleeding out at the same time. His eyes would be what haunted her the most, not the way the first spray of his severed and gaping jugular had hit her foot with the hot liquid of his life force. His eyes. And after he was gone, nothing more than a corpse and memory, Rochelle held out her hand for the dress.

Tr’Bak was happy to oblige her, handing it to her and pressing his lips to her temple. “Now… Be a good girl and go get dressed for dinner.”

The redhead snorted softly and chose to slip the smooth black dress over her head, relishing in the way the skirt flounced about just above her knees and concealed her body from view. Walking away from him, she’d never look back and managed to make it to the bathroom before falling against the wall, shaking. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anxiety. It was anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.

----

The Anima Venator was a magnificent piece of machinery. Large. Robust. Armed to the teeth, the D’Deridex class warship was as sleek as she was dangerous and, in many ways, echoed the same heartbeat of the woman sat across the table from it’s master. Tr’Bak couldn’t help but smile at the thought as he looked upon the redhead, a glass of sangria roosting within his grasp as they savored the first course of dinner and waited for the second. “You’re quiet tonight.” He said, bringing the crystal to his lips, watching her as he partook of the deep purple liquid, “A woman of your caliber and talents should never be so… Sullen.” The smile broadened as he set the glass down and folded his hands on the table in front of him.

Not all that long ago, the victrix had ended P’mai’s life in a flawless execution that had left his wife’s head stowed away in a decorative box, tied with a ribbon, and presented as a gift over dinner as if it were nothing more than a token of affection. He knew well that it wasn’t, that it was a blatant warning that he was playing with fire and not to take her for granted or underestimate the power that surged through those veins with every beat of her savage little heart. It was proof, more than anything, that Rochelle Ivanova was his equal in every way, but naïve enough to believe that Starfleet was in the right when it came to how the Galaxy should be managed and run. It also was proof that he’d been correct in picking up and training the version the Mirror Universe had offered up. Yes. There were plenty of reasons for him to smile and to admire his handiwork. Plenty.

Her eyes flicked up to catch his and her face soon followed, long chandelier earrings swaying and shining in the mood lighting. Dinner was always an occasion Tr’Bak insisted upon being consumed while dressed to the nines, the earings were a perfect touch to the dress she'd 'borrowed' for the evening. Wine. Champagne. Fine gowns and jewels unlike any she’d seen before – they graced the night whether she liked it or not. “I’m quiet because I’m tired, not because I’m sullen.” She replied with a small smile of her own and shifted to business as usual, “The diplomat was a train wreck after one measly glass of rosé, it was difficult to understand him, much less deal with him.” She huffed in disgust, waving away the thought with one of her hands and a shake of her head. The earrings followed the movement, the stones and metal jingling as they collided. Only that’s not how it had gone at all. John had been tired, weary, nearly broken by his experience and the way his own mind threatened to wrestle him down and leave him second guessing his entire existence in the position he found himself in. And what had she done? She’d comforted him. Deviated off course and comforted him. The information she’d obtained was excellent, but it didn’t feel like much of a victory… If anything, it left her full of concern and worry for the man with the gentle eyes and even gentler soul.

And then there was Merlin. Strange. Obtuse. He’d figured her out, but she’d planted her shoe up his ass with verbal backlash. The fact he knew would come out sooner or later – and where did that leave her? Useless. Dead. Her eyes followed the line of Tr’Bak’s face, wondering when the amusement would droop into a scowl and he’d remove her from existence for letting him down, dropping the plot, being discovered as the clone. Of course, she reasoned, Merlin had no idea who it was that she worked for – and that still gave her a chance to shoot for success so long as Merlin didn’t interfere. The only way he wouldn’t interfere was if he were dead or distracted. Distracted would likely work for the better as ever rumor on the street, every bit of Starfleet scuttlebutt, pointed to him having an affair with some Empress and Vrith, the man peering back at her, had already instructed that such an Empress be left well enough alone… For now.

“And what did the little man say?” Tr’bak asked, painfully amused and waiting for the sweet seductive sound of news. Information by which to build an empire on.

“Nothing of consequence.” Rochelle replied, lying through her teeth without much issue at all. Lying for the sake of who? John? Did it truly taste so bad to use information she’d gleaned from someone who had entrusted her in a fit of despair versus the throes of passion? It seemed John had been set aside and excluded from the diabolical nature of her plans – and Vrith Tr’bak. “He blubbered about being fed eyeballs by the Empress. It was pitiful.” She scoffed, smoothing her hands along the sequin and rhinestone covered length of gown along her thighs, “I mean really… He pretty much just fell apart and couldn’t be put back together again enough to formulate a coherent question, let alone say much of anything.” She shrugged gently.

The Romulan's eyes flashed with knowing mirth, "Then there won't be war." He commented, seemingly pleased with that particular bit of news.

"What makes you think that?" She couldn't help but ask, honestly intrigued by his quick turn of foot. She hadn't said anything remotely of the kind, nor had she any intention of further extrapolating data or running it past the Cimmerian man. The may his mind worked both mystified her and left her profoundly frustrated. It was if he was the all seeing eye, unable to be avoided, unable to be escaped. Yet somehow, unless he was saving it for dessert, he hadn't found out about Evan Merlin and the little witch hunt he'd begun to set up.

Vrith leaned against the carved mahogany arm of his chair and flipped a hand up on its wrist in gesture, "It's simple, really." He smiled, reaching to stroke her wrist as he spoke, "The eyeball is from a beast called an Acmaranth. When it's offered on the dinner table it's a sign of respect and good virtue. A peace pipe, if you will." At about that time their second course was served. Lamb. Sweet, succulent lamb. "I'll never truly be able to appreciate Romulan fare after sampling Terran flavors, you know. I've been spoiled." He chuckled, drawing his olivine fingers away from Rochelle's creamy wrist. "I chose this tonight for a reason, though. Do you have any idea what that may be?" His fork and knife didn't wait long to cut into the perfectly presented shank laying on his plate. Mashed potatoes, various vegetative mater, and a thick gravy laced with Guinness straight from Ireland itself made him nearly swoon, but there was business to attend to just as much as there was food to savor.

Easter had been the week, or was it two? before. Lamb had been a thing to eat then, but it had been a holiday bypassed for the sake of Tr'Bak's growing need for information - primarily about the Commodore ever since she'd freed herself from Captain Neyes. Without the Trill in place to vex Tr'bak, the man had become almost giddy... As if he deluded himself into truly believing that she would somehow choose to seek him out and join his hand in whatever sick form of matrimony he was thinking of. Rochelle, thinking of what else the occasion could possibly be to warrant such a unique cut of meat, found herself coming up blank and forced to gently shake her head, "No, I can't say that I do."

The Romulan's smile broadened, "Well, then you're in for a surprise." He answered, abandoning his succulent meal for sake of slowly walking around behind the magnificent redhead and resting his hands upon her shoulders, rubbing as he leaned against the back of her chair, "It's because I feel as though I'm sending a wolf in lambskin into the slaughterhouse." He whispered against the lobe of her ear, "I know about Merlin and the only other person who did is now dead because he failed you." His lips feathered against the perfect line of her porcelain neck while his fingers worked to release the knots in her shoulders, "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. I won't let you be slaughtered. In fact, it will be you who does the slaughtering and once done, dearest, you will be where you're supposed to be."

Rochelle fought the urge to shiver, the urge for her skin to crawl beneath his grasp and ministrations. She was caught, and she knew it, between a rock and a hard place - her life so far from her own, "What about the Commodore?" She managed to ask. tilting her head off to one side to give him better access to her neck.

He took it, allowing a hand to follow the line of her delicate, creamy throat. One good squeeze and he could collapse her windpipe, a hard twist in either direction and her neck would snap. Killing her made no sense, not even now when it came down to her being burned by an idiot with a crystal ball up his sleeve. "She will be here, you will be there, some people will die, others will live. All is well that ends well." Tr'bak murmured against her neck. "Just you wait and see. Tomorrow we fit you with a holoemitter and you join Starfleet. Tonight we celebrate our good fortune and toast to the loss of dear old Martin." He smiled brightly, releasing her from his grasp and making his way back to his seat. The intent was to fulfill his desires for the evening, starting with the lamb/

Rochelle, however, wanted to fork his eyes out and scream.

---

erie'Ssiebb V'rith Tr'Bak
Senator
Commander, 3rd Tal'Shiar Task Force
Commanding Officer, Anima Venator
Romulan Star Empire

&

Rochelle Ivanova (MU)
Privateer
Romulan Star Empire