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Posted on 10 Dec 2023 @ 3:54pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Ara Guest Quarters
Timeline: M4 D3 0700
1408 words - 2.8 OF Standard Post Measure
Before Brek could barge into his grandmother’s quarters, Thitur placed a hand on his arm, so as to stop him.
“I need some reassurance here.” He said, solemn as ever. “Your grandmother is a delicate lady, of this I have no doubt, and she will be, of course, clothed in the most respectable manner.”
Brek looked up at the Romulan, piqued by his words. There were maybe 15 billion Ferengis in the universe, why would everyone of them behave like a swine? “It goes without saying. We are not animals. Ara, you will find, is very dynamic, avant-garde even. Practically unstoppable to tell the truth, and she doesn’t entertain silly notions. I’ll let you be the judge.”
Without further ado, they announced their presence, and were allowed to join Ara. In her quarters, they were assaulted by intense orange and green walls and large flowers everywhere - Brek’s idea of a feminine environment. He had, indeed, spent hours decorating the place. The old Ferengi woman, despite being slightly smaller than Brek, looked imposing in a long flowy dress that was as yellow as the Terran fruit. Her feet were invisible. A good thing, Brek reflected, for she usually wore comfortable shoes that liked to advertise they were special need shoes and not just ‘regular’ footwear.
“You brought a guest?” Ara asked, as she stared at Thitur, whom she obviously perceived as being an intruder. A Romulan one at that - one of her least favourite species.
“Senator Thitur, retired, and very much obliged.” the Romulan said with a slight bow. “I’m a good friend of your grandson.”
“You don’t say...” She muttered those words with a grimace, which intensified as Brek took the liberty to unfold the breakfast treat that he had brought with him. The moment the foil, beautifully shiny, revealed its greyish content, a waft of ammonia, old fish and foul barnyard odours invaded the room like an additional guest. Its nature absolutely evil.
“What is that?” Ara grumbled behind a protective hand. “Are you trying to poison me?”
Brek forced himself to smile. He wasn’t immune to noxious fumes, but to make his point, he was willing to endure as many uncomfortable moments as needed. “It is a present for Kreca”. A rare delicacy from Earth. Where is she?” He made a show of looking around the room. “Still in bed I suspect. I knew she would. Our Kreca, she is no early bird, is she?”
“This abhorrent dish must go, this instant,” Ara gasped. “Terrans, it is well known, have the stomach for all sorts of atrocities, the rest of the galaxy, however, is more refined.” She coughed. “Get rid of this thing, this instant! Do you hear me, little beetle?”
“Let me do the honour,” Thitur rasped out. Stoic, he wasn’t protecting his nose either, but judging by the stern look on his face, one might think he had been subjected to an hour-long poem composed by the worst Vulcan rhymesters in the universe. He promptly repacked the old fish and cheese, and recycled it within seconds. The ghastly smell lingered behind, of course. “I’m afraid Brek, in his eagerness to make his point, has been insensitive. I have known him to be better inspired. He rushed his declaration, I fear.”
“His declaration? What are you talking about?”
Without waiting for an answer, Ara spoke in Ferengi, asking the computer to infuse the room with a scent most liked on Ferenginar. Soon enough, a fragrance of citrus fruits, amber and cough medicine filled the air. Although an acquired taste, it nonetheless allowed them all to breathe better.
“What Tithur is saying is that I don’t want to entertain a life with Kreca. I told her so last night, and I’m telling you so now. I’m done with your silly plans, Ara.”
“Have you noticed, my dear Senator,” Ara continued as if Brek wasn’t there, “how, in most species, wisdom is pretty much non existent until we reach the age of fifty? Unfortunately, from that moment, everything slows down. Why must we learn our lessons when it is too late?”
“You make a good point, Lady Ara,” Thitur agreed, a slight smile dancing on his lips. This annoyed Brek. The old Romulan was seldom accommodating. To see him trying to be pleasant, well, it was suspicious. “We all have to make our own mistakes. If we don’t, can we say that we have lived?”
“Of course we can! The trick is to avoid going through life blundering at every opportunity. How can we reach our goals, otherwise? This is why we, elders, play such an important role: we educate.”
“It is true, we have this opportunity, when we are being heard, obviously.”
Brek stared at Thitur. Had anyone heard so much nonsense coming from the mouth of a Romulan?
“Where is Kreca, anyway?” Brek asked in an attempt to get back into the conversation.
“Why should it matter to you?” Ara replied, looking at him with contempt. “The less you see her, the better apparently. Make yourself useful instead of saying silly things. Fetch something decent for us to eat. Something that looks nice and smells equally gorgeous.” Dismissing him, she went on: “I sure wished I had listened to my grandma, when I was a youngster. I’d have suffered less.”
“Among my people, to live is to suffer.” Thitur pointed out.
“This is a sound comment, but must we make an art form of all this suffering? Why not take as many shortcuts to happiness as we can?”
“Contentement, joy, positive emotions and the sense of being valued... all those things require extreme hard work. I fear few of us reach this elevated state. Except fools, maybe.”
“Fools?” Ara echoed, unable to grasp what he meant, and concerned that he was disparaging her.
“Those simple minds who never grow and would rather wallow in instant gratifications.”
At the replicator, Brek was tempted to order a plate of epic full English croissants, a festive recipe packed with super crispy bacon, baked beans and runny fried eggs, but the two ‘bright minds’ behind him would probably complain about his choice. Instead he brought a stack of golden-brown pancakes with bright red cranberry butter. The sort of dish that made you feel warm just looking at it.
“Here we go,” Brek said cheerfully as he went back to the table where Ara and Thitur were exchanging banalities. “I’ve heard it said that the more stupid you are, the braver. It makes sense. The less questions you ask, the less you know. You just go, go, go in a direct line. And then you die.”
His remark seemed to have a devastating effect on his little audience because both Ara and Thitur stopped talking. They even looked at him as if he had spoken in a little-known language from the remotest corner of the delta quadrant.
“What?” Brek questioned.
“You and your questionable shortcuts,” Ara finally said. “I suppose we had better eat, then. At least what you brought us this time looks edible. Do I recognise toast and strawberry jam? I had that sort of fare once in a Terran Hotel - despite its seven glorious stars. It was much better than a doughnut, mind you. You have, maybe, encountered this sort of food yourself, Senator? A pastry with a big hole in the middle. Very Ferengi in its concept: you pay more for less.”
“Terran cuisine is not something I know much about,” Thitur admitted. “But in the name of friendship, I’m willing to give those toasts a try.”
Both Ferengis observed the Romulan with some concern. ‘Friendship’ was one of those unpleasant terms that are best left alone. A friend can be demanding, troublesome and also a plain embarrassment. It was best to do without them. A business partner, on the other hand, could be priceless. Especially when you could manipulate them. This wasn’t to say that Brek didn’t have friends. He had a nice collection of them, but he made sure to never advertise them to Ara.
“Those are beautifully rich pancakes, accompanied with cranberry butter,” Brek corrected. “I would not impose toasts on anyone. They are too banal. What is life without refinement?”
“Boring.” Ara and Thitur almost said at the same time, as they both took a fair share of pancakes.
