People Watching

Posted on Sat Aug 8th, 2009 @ 10:24pm by Commander Jordan Gunning

Mission: Dark Discoveries
Location: Starbase Ronin - Promenade

[ON]

A woman moved from table to table in the cramped cafe, cleaning tables, sharing flirtatious laughs with the assembled patrons- all the while making sure they were keeping their behaviour in check. She looked around her constantly as though she were being chased and the glances of the officers were her pursuers. As though engaged in some claustrophobia-based ritual, she danced between tables ensuring she was never caught on the leg of a stray chair or in the arms of an inebriated ensign.

Jordan sat quietly in the rear of the cafe awaiting his drink. He had opted for a non-alcoholic beverage to slate his incredible thirst, brought on by the sheer embarassment of his experience aboard the Hopper. Pre-judgement had never seemed to be an issue for him but nevertheless he was left with an incredible sense of shame having thought of the marine as a complete oaf. His eyes left the flickering light of the candle in the centre of the table and returned to the auburn-haired vision who floated so gracefully around the rowdy centre of the cafe.

His drink was brought over by a slightly dowdier looking woman, probably in her mid-fifties who had some form of seniority over the place. She carried herself with all the bitterness and regret of a middle manager. She moved slower than the woman who had first caught Jordan's attention. Through the crowds, not around them, not taking any care to avoid trailing feet and arms and making no apology for it either.

He took a sip, unable to fully enjoy the taste of the brandy he had ordered, as he kept his eyes fixed on two officers who casually strolled into the cafe. The noise level seemed to erupt as the large group of starfleet personnel greeted their colleagues. One, an Andorian, seemed to take great delight in the acceptance of his peers and proceeded to begin acting out and interrupting the enjoyment of the establishment's patrons. Arms flew as he launched into a story of insubordination and neglect of duty. His huge blue hands smashed into the back of a small man at a neighbouring table. The Andorian apologised in a sarcastic tone and moved on with the next chapter of his story.

The other man, who seemed to be human, sported a neatly trimmed beard and an ensign's pip sat laughing uproariously at the tale the Andorian was telling. Jordan's attention was locked on them. Unable to put a finger on the reason for this lack of trust he pushed his chair out a little. There was nothing Starfleet about these men. In a different lifetime this group could have been Klingon warriors, hunkered down amongst barrels of blood-wine telling stories of glorious battles fought on unforgiving fields.

The auburn-haired waitress carried her tray high above her head as she once again danced through the thronging horde of Starfleet officers. Her body was lost if only for the hand which carried the tray, sticking out through the upright bodies of the officers. The tray disappeared from view and was followed by a loud crash and a squeal which ripped through the cafe, silencing everything. The crowd parted as glasses cracked and smashed on the floor. This left the group slightly dispersed where the ensign with the beard could be seen holding onto the waitress while the Andorian continued to gesticulate wildly.

Seeing that the woman did not wish to be on the man's knee, Jordan stood and pressed his comm-badge. "Security to Cafe Silvestri." His stride was full of authoritive anger as he came to a halt in front of the ensign. "Let her go."

There was no response to the order.

"Ensign, I order you to let this woman go." He put out his hand to the woman, a gesture which seemed to be sensible at the time but once she had taken it the grip of the ensign was no more loose than it had been. Without any kind of armament Jordan was left in an unenviable predicament.

The situation had now escalated to the point where Jordan was surrounded by Starfleet personnel, all of a lower rank than himself. They pressed in on him and he could feel the breath of one or two of them on the back of his neck. The muffled commotion from outside the circle suggested no positives and he stood, holding the woman's hand in his, ready to lash out.

He stepped forward, at which point the ensign threw the woman to his side; she was only kept upright by virtue of her holding Jordan's hand. The security man let go and she bolted through the crowd which had gathered and back behind the bar. The ensign was taller than Jordan had initially thought and looked down on him through dark eyes.

"DISPERSE!" Came a booming voice from beyond the last head in the crowd.

"DISPERSE NOW OR YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON!" Came a second, no less unsettling command from a different voice.

The crowd began to move back as the ensign pulled his hand back, forming a fist on the way through. Time seemed to slow down as Jordan watched a searing beam of light strike the bearded man in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. The crowd dispersed further as the familiar sight of the station's chief of security came into view. He patted Jordan on the shoulder and then looked down at the ensign.

The chief spoke quietly and assuredly. "We've had trouble with him before. He'll be dealt with."

Jordan had no interest in the consequences for the ensign and was purely focused on making sure the woman was okay. He made his way over to the bar. Pushing through the remainder of the crowd he saw the face of the woman who had entranced him for almost an hour. Her face encapsulated everything that Jordan had ever considered about beauty. It softened as he approached and he smiled a reassuring smile in some vague hope that she would realise everything was alright.

"My name's Jordan," he said, "I'm sure he's going to be reassigned as soon as possible."

"Th-thank you." She said with a voice which lilted across Jordan's ears and left him speechless.

The dowdy woman was silent as she sidled up behind the pair. "Get back to work, Allina."

"C-can you meet me here in three hours?" She asked Jordan, seemingly unabashed.

"I'll be here."

[OFF]

Lieutenant Jordan Gunning
Chief Security / Tactical Officer
USS Iapetus [PENDING TRANSFER]