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Ensign
Join Date: Aug 2012
Posts: 4
# 39
05-30-2013, 01:56 PM
((i know that I am late to this party, but I just saw the challenge earlier this week.

My Romulan character really surprised me. I initially envisioned him as an old grognard, product of long campaigns and long service to the government. As he listened to the representatives on Kitomer, I thought for sure he would go Klingon. This is the story of what happened to change his mind.

Comments and criticisms are welcome. It's a mature scene, for those who might need a warning of such things.))

Her pale skin glistened in the faint light as she crawled out of bed. The room smelled of sex and the coppery tang of sweat. He watched her as she crossed to a chair and began to gather her clothing.

"Does it ever get heavy?" he asked in the semidarkness. "The uniform?"

She grunted, tossing her auburn hair off her shoulders as she slipped on a pair of functional, Starfleet issued, black underwear. "Does yours?" the tall woman nodded in the direction of his closed closet. S'Tolan pulled himself up in bed, wincing at the sound of every cracking joint. He settled his back against the Spartan headboard.

"Sometimes," he confessed. "That's why I keep it in there." Her lips curled into a smirk as she carried her bundle to the bed and plopped on its corner. "It suits you, you know," she told him as she pulled a dark stocking up over her calf. "I watched some old captures. You looked," she struggled to find the correct word as she pulled another sock from the pile, "honorable. Every centimeter a commanding officer."

He looked towards the closet, then returned his gaze to the half-naked Starfleet officer at the foot of his bed. "You didn't answer the question." She looked back at him as she tugged and pulled black pants over pleasantly curved hips. "I'm not even sure I understand what you mean, S'Tolan."

The old man rubbed the ridges of his forehead and his bald pate as he thought. "The regulations. Your Prime Directive. That uniform is a symbol of hope for many, a target for others."

"It's not like I follow all the regulations," she answered, deftly maneuvering a bra over her breasts and fastening its clasp at her back.

"Technically," he countered, "you're not in my chain of command."

"I'm sure that will go over well at my fraternization hearing." The woman lifted her shoulders in a shrug before pulling a tunic over them. "If you don't like regulations, you should have sided with the Klingons," she told him.

"You ever bed a Klingon, Jal?" he said. "These bones don't heal like they used to." Jal's long hair swayed back and forth as she shook her head in mock disbelief. He heard a quiet chuckle as she lifted up the edge of her tunic to point out a long scar on her back, faint in the low light.

"I am delighted that you take your cross cultural liaison work so seriously." A short, sharp bark of laughter echoed in the room. Jal shifted closer to S'Tolan and laid a hand on the gray hair of his exposed chest. Her skin felt cool against his. She leaned over to brush her lips across his nose.

"Veruul."

"Your accent is getting better," he said. Her grin exposed the lines and wrinkles of her own face. "I am also thankful that you've decided to treat this old man with a more gentle touch." Her smile widened and she let her lips linger on his with a kiss.

"Seriously, S'Tolan," she continued. "Why did you decide to ally with us? I know Sugihara turned you off to Federation at the conference on Kitomer."

"The man does prattle, doesn't he?" Jal nodded her head as the old Romulan answered, then waited for him to continue. "I was going to side with the Klingons right up until I talked to their representative in the flotilla," he confessed.

Jal gave him more time. "When I was young," S'Tolan finally explained, "the Star Empire needed soldiers. We, as a people, needed to band together to protect our way of life." He sighed. "I was naive. I believed it. I became want my people said they needed. A soldier."

"After the cataclysm?" He paused to rub his hand over his ridges and skull, settling it on her shoulder. "After the cataclysm, we needed farmers and builders. No one had to tell us this. It was clear. I became what my people needed. I took off my uniform and picked up the tools of a workman's trade." His fingers twiddled with the ends of her hair. Sight of a few strands of gray raised a smile on his face.

"And now, my people need soldiers again, not only to protect our very lives or our way of life, but to protect our home. No one needs to tell me this. It is clear." He swallowed. His eyes lowered. "The Klingon spoke of a life of vengeance, revenge against the Tal Shiar for the crimes they committed against their own people." His eyes lifted and found hers.

"I don't want a life of vengeance, a life of fighting. I will serve the needs of my people for a little while longer, then I will return to our new world, pick up tools, and build my own life, my own legacy" Her lips found his once again.

Jal stood and pulled her jacket over her shoulders. She walked towards the door and paused with her hand on the latch. "Sometimes," she murmured, "It does, get heavy. The uniform." Her head turned towards where he lay on the bed. "It feels good to take it off," her eyes traveled around the room, "here, with you."

S'Tolan nodded once then spoke. "I will see you on the bridge."
a

Last edited by rexcelestis; 05-31-2013 at 05:36 AM.