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Paris in Springtime

Posted on Mon Jan 7th, 2013 @ 3:38am by Captain Charybdis MacGregor & Lieutenant JG Kale' Yamparti

Mission: The Road to Sto'vo'kor
Location: Starbase 23, Command Deck

Strolling into Ops uninvited was seldom a way to enter a commander's good graces. After all, there were protocols and security procedures to be observed. And one simply did not waltz unannounced onto the deck of Starbase Twenty-Three, smile and ask, "Where would I find Commander Paris, please?"

Not even starship captains.

Especially not starship captains.

Commander Albert Paris had a theory that starship captains were in point of fact the most insufferable pack of spoiled brats he had ever encountered, and the entitlement that accompanied such a mindset was unfailingly impressive. So somehow having one display the unbridled temerity to come strolling into ops was unsurprising... still unforgivable, but somehow unsurprising.

Given that it was the Vulcan Vixen, he was somehow less surprised.

Paris turned with his arms clasped behind his back, a thin-lipped smile ready to greet the commanding officer of Victory. He admitted inwardly that she had not changed a bit... damned woman couldn't even have the good grace to show a few years... she nearly still looked like a teenager. Though typical of Vulcans he found it difficult to think of her as a Vulcan. She gave that solemn and noble race a bad name.

He now crossed his arms, peering at her in addition to the thin-lipped smile. Ops personnel who knew him watched nervously from the corner of their eyes.

"Charybdis, I'd say it was a pleasure but then I would be lying. What do you want?"

Eyes lazily scanning the room to take in the rest of the personnel the smirking Vulcan woman finally settled that violet-eyed gaze on the station commander. A few steps up so you are always looking down on people from your office.. nice touch, Vienna Sausage. All righty, let;s play this game, shall we?

"Commander Paris, I've come to offer my salutations and pay my respects to the commander of the station, of course. If you've a few moments, might we speak in private...?" She kept her tone respectful, her hands clasped behind her back and an even pleasant smile on her face.

"Aboard Starbase 23 we have something called 'appointments.' You remember what those are? You kept quite a few in medical as I recall from the academy." He puffed up his chest. "A lot of people come through here and every last one of them wants to see me for some 'save the universe' emergency. You can do like the others and wait your turn. Now," he gestured grandly toward the lift, "Get off my command deck before I wonder how you got here without authorization in the first place."

"Awww, you old softie, you haven't changed a bit!" she cooed, grinning ear to ear. "Well, I would recommend you have me thrown in the brig, but yours just had a riot that someone might be reporting by now. Which is going to happen again in about 20 hours give or take if you don't do something about it."

At that she began strolling slowly toward the lift. "But obviously you're too busy for the likes of me... I'll throw myself out so I can go file my report with Starfleet about the state of your security forces..."

Paris turned slowly to his security chief who had been quietly attempting to catch the Commander's attention. On getting it he wondered now if he wanted it. He cleared his throat, "Yes sir, she's right, we're getting reports of a riot in the brig."

"Isolate that riot Lieutenant," he snapped at the Security Chief. "Seal all access between the brig and the promenade. God knows we don't want this becoming a hostage situation. Charybdis," Paris turned her name into a long, slowly growling curse against all he abhorred. "My office, now!" He marched to his office with all a charm and pleasantry of a tyrannosaur.

The curvaceous commander smiled sweetly and tapped the security chief on the arm as she passed. "My chief's down there now cleaning up, she'll explain everything... might want to check your logs. Good luck," she added without much cheer as she swiveled up the steps to the station commander's office.

Entering, she struck a demure pose in the doorway to look around Commander Paris' office and take it all in. The office seemed little used, that or Paris simply designed not to personalize his space like many commanding officers did. There were a few small touches that spoke volumes about the man.

A small model of an Antares-class ship sat proudly on a side counter next to bottles for various sorts of spirits along with drinking glasses. Photos of the family rested on his desk along with friends come and gone. A Starfleet and Federation flag stood proudly on display in the corner next to the viewport looking out into space. Otherwise, it seemed that Commander Paris held no attachments.

Eyes half-lidded, Charybdis took it all in a glance and strode forward to pose like an ancient pin-up in front of Paris' desk, which he was already standing behind, his posture stiff and militarily erect. She somehow suspected that she knew how this was going to go, she she waited for him to launch into his speech.

"What in the hell lets you think you can waltz into my station and cause a riot?" He took a deep breath, building a head of steam. "You're as much a menace as I remember and I'm not standing for it, not here, not on MY watch! I want to know what did and what makes you think it's going to happen again in 20 hours?"

The sultry siren looked up from under her brows, her fingers walking slowly along the edge of his desk, her expression of of a feline who had eaten the proverbial canary canape. "I remember you as well, Mister Paris. You are also much as I remember you from our Academy days. As for me and what I did, well... I transferred prisoners to your brig... as per regulations. Under heavy guard and with specific instructions that were ignored. I know, I know..."

"It is not for me to order your men... of course not, Commander. But detailed biohazard instructions of dangerous prisoners weren't orders, you see. They were recommendations. I wouldn't order someone under your command. That would be against... oh, what is that phrase again..." she rotated her finger in the air slowly as if she were trying to wind it out of the air.

If the human face got any redder it might have required medical attention. For Commander Paris it was just another day on the job at Starbase 23. "Military Protocol," he enunciated each syllable precisely.

Snapping her fingers she pointed to him and smiled. "That's the one. You are very, very fond of military protocol, aren't you Commander Paris?"

"I am, and as a Starfleet officer, so should you. That green blood must account for something! Why didn't you alert me that you were transferring prisoners under heavy guard before you beamed over?"

"You're right... oh wait. I did. I alerted your security forces... as per regulations. It was their responsibility to follow the chain of command and inform you... not mine. For me to step outside that chain of command would have implied a lack of faith in your choice of security personnel, and that in turn would have shown a lack of confidence in your command... wouldn't it Commander?" While she was not smiling her expression was still pleasant, and those big nebulous eyes of hers were blinking slowly as if she were confused.

"I'd slide a PADD with the signed orders and transfers and so on but I'm sure you'll look all of that up later at your leisure to find out that old saw about Vulcans and lies," said the Romulan in a surprisingly seldom pierced disguise, who was not lying about being Vulcan.

After all, she didn't claim to be one. She simply allowed everyone to assume.

 

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