Sumiregusa

[NDak 0]

Just because the Arcadia had docked at a starbase did not mean that everyone could go and play. On the contrary, docking at base meant Security had to work harder. Koshic didn’t know how many times he’d read reports of ghastly activities occurring on starships after they’d docked at a starbase.

 

Koshic glanced sideways as he walked past an airlock. The security officer stoo at attention. Good. Doing their job. Koshic knew how hard it was to watch everyone else go off and fraternize, especially with so many other ships docked at the starbase. But such was the life of security. The ship’s safety trumped all others, and Koshic intended to keep the ship that way.

 

He rounded the corner and headed to the next deck. Patrolling empty corridors relaxed him, allowed him to think.

 

“Chief,” someone’s voice called out. Instinctively he flexed and tensed, turning to see who’d called to him. Ensign Hughart approached. Koshic sighed inwardly. Hughart reminded him of a lovesick puppy.

 

“Yes,” Koshic said flatly.

 

“Chief, I need to ask a favor.”

 

Koshic’s eyes narrowed on the young Halian. “Oh?”

 

Hughart shifted his weight nervously and pursed his lips, unsure of himself. “Its….ummmabout….”

 

“If this involves giving you leave so you can go off on an attempt to secure a date with Crewman Thomas….”

 

“Oh NO sir!”

 

Koshic folded his arms and narrowed his gaze yet further. After a few moments under ‘the look,’ Hughart reluctantly confessed.

 

“There will be plenty of time for that when you’re off duty, Ensign.”

 

“….Yes sir.”

 

“Now run along.”

 

What they taught Cadet’s these days, Koshic wasn’t entirely sure.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The doors to Koshic’s quarters slid open and the slight rush of air whistled past him. Smiling as he entered, he noticed the blinking of a light on his desk. Unzipping the duty jacket he shrugged it off and headed over to the glass desk. He pushed the small ‘accept’ message button. It was text only, and a reply at that.

 

His eyes flickered over the message; a broader smile went across his lips—starkly contrasting his hard, well etched facial features. Glancing down, he looked at his watch. Thirty-seven minutes. He made his way to the closet with a grin. He slid open the doors. What to wear? His gaze ambled across the garments. Just because he was a Starfleet officer, did not mean that he’d lost his fashion sense, he was after all Betazoid...a relative of a Lawaxanna Troi at that.

 

Running his hands over the hangers, he took in the feel of each material. Mentally assessing which outfit would be the most appropriate. His hand stopped at a soft, delicate fabric. He pulled it out and looked it over.

 

He fastened the last of the walnut buttons and looked in the mirror. The silky back kimono jacket fit him snugly, but in a good way. The light crème undershirt barely showed, and his the simple silken black pants made him seem taller. He put his feet in a pair of slip on caramel-brown leather loafers. Hand-made, they fit like Cinderella’s slipper. The cool caress of the real leather felt good against his sock-feet. He gave his sandy-blond hair a last zuzge, making a mental note to make an appointment at the salon and headed out the door.

 

The wide-leg pants swished against each other slightly, the smooth silk lining rubbing against his legs as he walked. He didn’t notice the glances coming his way as he strolled down the corridors. He stopped at a small vendor on the promenade of the station. He glanced over the flowers the elder lady had arranged in decanters.

 

He leaned down, checking them over.

 

“Something I can get you?” The old ladies voice was warm and comforting.

 

“Yes,” he said smiling. “I’d like a solitaire iris.”

 

She returned the smile and set to work on his request. A few minutes later she produced a magnificent blue-bearded Iris. He took it and went for his pocket, but the old lady held up her hand. “No need,” she said with a smile.

 

“Thank you,” he said nodding.

 

He looked down at his watch again, and headed towards his final destination once more. He finaly arrived and entered through the swanky doors, stopping at the maitre’d.

“Koshic N’Dak.”

 

The man of around 40 glanced up with a welcoming smile, and then down at the reservation book. “Ah yes,” he said looking back up. “Your companion arrived not to long ago and is in the bar. Your table is ready, if you wish to be seated. Javier will collect her for you.”

 

Koshic nodded as the Maitre’d summoned someone to lead him. The lighting was low, and soft gentle music played in the back ground. He glanced at the name of a menu as he passed. “El Cuarto De Collonade.”