Obsidian Command

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Posted on 06 Nov 2023 @ 8:02am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 10:13pm

Mission: M4 - Falling Out
Location: O.C - Kreca’s Guest Quarters
Timeline: M4 D2 23.45
1642 words - 3.3 OF Standard Post Measure

Armed with a bottle of Eelwasser, Brek finally resolved to have a word with Kreca. Since his grandmother was conspiring to change the course of his life, he figured that he could do worse than make an ally of the artist. With this in mind, temptation had been great to bring a better present. Something expensive that sparkles, for instance. However this would have cast him as someone who is oppressively kind. The type of person who hunts for a ‘yes’ no matter the question asked. To put it another way: a creepoid. Besides, he had already left some painting material in her quarters as a welcome gift. Even with good things, there was a time when enough was enough.

When Kreca greeted him she looked cheerful enough - although this might have been because there were paint stains on her face. Red and yellow and white. It made her look busy, in a nice way. So was the smell that pervaded her quarters: some type of oil and thinner, quite different from what his Romulan artists liked to use. The canva she had been working on was placed in such a way that he could only see the back of it and he didn’t insist on seeing what her new project was. Artists often preferred to show their chef d’oeuvres only when they were completed.

Alas, some fifteen minutes after his arrival, all banalities had already been exchanged. Two glasses of Eelwasser stood in front of them, untouched and a heavy silence had imposed itself, as thick as a forcefield. What a lousy start...

He took a sip of the quintessential Ferengi drink and pursed his lips. It wasn’t that the taste was bad, only that it was attached to a shipload of childhood memories he would rather not confront. “Maybe you don’t like Eelwasser?” Brek asked in an attempt to revive the conversation. “All the same, this one is a collector bottle. You see, it’s got the FCA logo on it.” He taped the silver and gold logo with his index finger. “Even empty, this bottle will fare well on the market. My first idea was to bring champagne, but you seem to prefer Ferengi stuff.”

“Stuff you don’t like, I know.”

There was regret in Kreca’s voice and Brek felt bad. It was as if, by not enjoying all things Ferengi he was a bad person. A Ferengi with little merit. “I never say that. Being cosmopolitan isn’t a crime, is it? Besides, I didn’t come here to nitpick on our Ferengitude. I thought we should join forces to fend off Ara’s plan.”

“Is that so? It is almost midnight, though, and I’m wary. Can we maybe have this discussion tomorrow morning? Whatever war plans you have in mind to curb your grandmother’s plans, I’ll be more receptive in the morning, in a lounge. Nice setting, nice food, even Terran delicacies if you insist. It would make for a lovely experience.”

“But I’m here now, why waste time? By tomorrow we are likely to find that Ara’s produced a whole set of activities for the two of us. We’ll be stuck.”

“Because it is almost midnight, Brek. Are you really immune to hints? It is late, I’m tired and the fact you are here so late, as opposed to earlier this evening, is quite suspicious. It’s making me feel nervous.”

She crossed her arms on her chest, revealing new paint smudges on her sleeves - she was, it seemed, a messy painter - and he adopted the same posture. He was no longer used to women seeing him as a potential menace. He had discovered, decades ago, an infallible equation: B+F-L=HP. Brek and females minus latinum always led to huge problems. And so, him being here at a late hour wasn’t an issue.

“By all that shines... I joined you as soon as I could. I had a bad experience, in a holodeck, of all places, then I met a Vulcan diplomat who was unpleasant to a fault. It’s not been a wonderful day. And now you tell me you don’t want to talk to me while I feel pretty sure that the moment I leave you alone, you’ll be painting till 4am and you won’t be available either in the morning, even if I invite you to the best restaurant on the Station. I’m beginning to think you are on Ara’s side. What with your long silences this afternoon and your withdrawn attitude. If it is the case, be blunt and say so.”

“The only side I’m on is mine.” She realised that her shirt, a bright affair best described as lemon yellow, was spoiled with paint and she sighed. “How can your day be worse than mine when I’ve spent hours listening to the ramblings of your grandmother? Go on, tell me. For if you don’t, you’ll simply sound like a fibster.”

By an odd form of mimetism, Brek also sighed. Awkward women, he was sick and tired of them. “You can take my word for it. My day’s been horrible. So much so that I’d better spare you the details.”

“A fine fibster, as I said,” Kreca nodded her head. “There are plenty of them on Ferenginar, you should be proud to have such a splendid trait!”

“No more splendid than your uncooperative behaviour, Kreca. I’m asking again: are you in league with my grandmother?”

“You should leave. I’m not talking to liars.”

“What a dumb stance.” He drank his glass of Eelwasser, giving the impression he would not leave a full glass behind him, no matter its contents. However, when the soda was gone, he didn’t move. “Frinx. You win. Here is how I spent my afternoon and evening...”

He proceeded to tell her about Kyrill and his stupid holo-forest. However, he promptly ignored the fact that he had been drugged (which implied that, at 36, he was still incredibly naive) and plagued by a persistent hallucination from his past (meaning his sanity was questionable). Then he moved on to his meeting with Cmdr T’Sheng who had been supremely rude and annoying.

“And then when the Vulcan pest left, I felt so worn out, I slept for a few hours, on my desk. The way I used to, 20 years ago, when I was stupidly industrious and still believed that everything I touched would turn to latinum.”

Kreca stared at him, visibly unconvinced by his words. Women and their sixth sense... He almost sighed but instead he looked at his perfectly manicured nails. The signs of a man who had not done any hard work in a long long time.

“That’s it?” She said with contempt. “I think the problem is, Brek, that you are not used, at all, to real life. What did I expect? Men love to make a big fuss about nothing. At least you are right, T’Sheng is unpleasant. I met her on the ship that brought us here, the Cassiopiea. A beautiful vessel.”

“Really!?” Now that was interesting news. “Are you going to drink that?” He asked, pointing a finger at her glass.

“I won’t. Such a drink is unhealthy at this time of night.”

He took the glass and went on: “Who else did you meet on this journey? I’m willing to pay for any information you have.”


They both smiled. They were now in their element, that is to say, in business. Once a sum was agreed upon, Kreca made a few revelations:

Moon’s mother, described as a dragon, had been on board the Cassiopiea, and so had Ms Xeri’s parents, who were apparently pleasant enough. Several diplomats had also made the trip to Obsidian Command, but Kreca had only retained a few names: Vice Admiral Harshman, who seemed to hate everything and everyone, her shadows T’Sheng, along with a man whose name was too foreign for her to remember. There had also been Ambassador Stillwell, a rather nice hewmon whom Moon’s mother knew, a Grazertie, and someone else, made mysterious because they had been discreet and Kreca had only seen them once.

“A fine group of people,” Brek said dreamily. Something important was happening on this Station, meaning he would have to keep his eyes and ears wide open. “A-List people, I love them... Still, back to our common affairs. I have a radical plan to curb Ara’s intentions towards us: we should stage a full blown fight in front of my grandmother - but not to the point of ending up in sickbay of course. This will show once and for all that we can’t stand each other. The old bag will be forced to get the message.”

“The old bag?”

Brek shrugged. “Yeah, it’s an affectionate term I’ve got for Ara. You know, like she calls me little beetle half the time yet its’ properly ridiculous, but she keeps doing it. So what do you reckon, about my plan?”

“It’s unusual, to say the least.”

“It will be a show, nothing more. All we have to do is pretend to be, literally, at each other’s throats.”

“I don’t know Brek, I think you should sleep on it. And we’ll talk about it again tomorrow, alright?”

“Hmm... if you say so...” He drank the second glass of Eelwasser and then he bid her goodnight.

So what? The fact she wasn’t keen on his plan didn’t mean he couldn’t put it into action, tomorrow morning, at the first opportunity... If not with a proper fight, at least with relentless arguments.


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