99 Problems but a Rish Ain't One

Posted on Sun Oct 6th, 2024 @ 9:59pm by Lieutenant JG Ryland Dedeker & Ensign Rozreell Purr

Mission: S1E6: Where Skies End
Location: Tuatha De Danann | Limbo System
Timeline: MD 7

After the drydock encounter with the Rish leaders concluded, the orders for the next phase in their mission arrived. Passage to Fiddler’s Green would be provided tomorrow, giving the crew the evening free in Tuatha De Danann. The team was dismissed and they were free for the evening. Each one went about their assignments, but the field team had little left to do but wait. It was up to personal preference to either stay on the ship or explore the Rish colony.

After returning the science equipment to ship and changing out of her uniform, Rozreell knew that she would be returning to Tuatha De Danann. The cold confines of the ship were of little appeal to the Trill, the warmth and merriment of native people was always preferred over the formalities of Starfleet. Her position on the ship was new so she cared little for any other members of the crew. Without the need to wait for others, Roz left the ship before anyone else and ventured deep into the city.

The sound of music seeped from the windows and door of a Tuatha De Dannan tavern deep inside the colony. Few crew members had ventured this deep into the colony. Accommodations such as the Rich offered. like eateries and trade stalls, were close enough to the dock that made it less appealing to wander this far away. So when Ryland found the familiar face of Rozreell Purr inside, it was more than a surprise.

Dressed in burnt orange tunic that complemented the chocolate brown of her hair while contrasting the deep purple of her spots, the Trill woman held a tin whistle to her lips as she played a jaunty but foreign tune. The Rish drinking tankers and glasses of alcohol either clapped along with the beat or danced to it. It was a merry and celebratory atmosphere as the working class Rish looked to unwind after a hard day of labor. Roz’s dark eyes finally noticed Ryland and as the song ended, she returned the whistle to its owner before grabbing her mug and standing to meet him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Rozreell greeted him with much more warmth than was expected. As Ryland took a moment longer to observe her, the flush of her cheeks and the laxity in her stance told him everything he needed to know, Roz was drunk. “I haven’t seen anyone else from the ship. Come have a drink with me.”

Ryland had been crawling between what passed for pubs on this forsaken rock. While it wasn’t the first Rish enclave he had occasion to visit, Ryland had to acknowledge it may have been the liveliest. On the literal ass end of nowhere with nothing but scraps picked from the bones of wayward pirate vessels, the math wasn’t hard to add up. These Rish lived by feast or famine even more than their counterparts that could be found at any other inhospitable piece of oblivion throughout the galaxy. Right now, they were feasting, which was just as well because fortunes could soon turn and send them spiraling into lean times.

The pretty little scientist probably had no idea what she walked into. Ryland flashed her his best shit-eating grin. “Well, hello there, lil’ lady. Fancy running into a doll like you in a place like this.”
He raised his fist to the watering hole where a handful of servers were filling drinks into cylindrical metal tankards from much larger but otherwise identical metal casks which were being fed directly from a gurgling still. Before the server surrendered the drink, Ryland had to present payment. He reached into his boot and pulled out a single strip of pressed latinum which he laid on the table top. “She’s with me,” he said. “Make it two.”

The Bajoran with a scar down the middle of his ridged nose picked up the latinum strip, bit it in his teeth, and nodded with approval. “You got it.”

Turning back to Roz, who did not appear to be in need of another drink but was about to get one anyway, Ryland’s grin turned to a smirk. “Look at you, going all native and shit. Careful about any deals with these gypsy space folk. They won’t kill you but they ain’t shy about leaving you cold and naked if they get the notion.”

“I’m not the one flashing latinum around this place,” She took a drink from her cup that could best be described as a gulp before she continued. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m good at making friends, not enemies.” Roz raised her tankard to the group that had allowed her to borrow the whistle, the grubby men returned the cheers with crooked smiles before taking sips from their own drinks.

As the music stopped, the patrons of the tavern went back to their casual conversations. Despite the two newcomers, they seemed unbothered by their presence. Deep enough into the colony these people seemed to care little about the wheelings and dealings of the dock. It made it easy for Roz and Ryland to sit down and enjoy their drinks without prying eyes or crew gossip. “Besides, I would rather sit at a tavern like this over the ship’s bar and its synthehol. People onboard are too scared or tense over ship politics to really relax, it feels different here… free in its own way. Why are you so far from the ship? Looking for a more authentic souvenir?”

Ryland shook his head, his smirk swaggering like his gait when he’d entered. “Nah. I was born to boltholes like this. Literally. My registered place of birth is a frozen little rock we never set foot on. Ma and Da just finished dropping off a cargo run when I popped out in the main hold just outside orbit. Got registered on their next check-in with a Federation port and that was that.”

He sipped his drink and made a smacking sound before letting out a long, satisfied, “Awww yeah!” Once his palate had acclimated, he took a longer swig. “That’ll strip the enamel right off your teeth for sure. Cheers!” He held up his drink without waiting for Roz to meet it before taking another swig. Aliens missed that human cue as often as not. “So tell me about you, miz. You look a little too well read and bred for this kind of scene. What’s the story that brings you down to the dregs like yours truly and company?”

“Who me?” Roz said with a wry smile as she slouched in her chair. “Let’s just say I am a multifaceted creature.” She gestured towards her abdomen and general location where the Purr symbiont resided. “I have been so rich and famous that the finest libations were served to me in pristine crystal and I have also been so poor and miserable that discarded half full glasses from the tables I bussed were my only drinks. Nowadays, I can be either.”

Rozreell took another long swig from her mug, there was no flinch in her response to the harsh, high alcohol content of the drink. “I find working class people to be a bit more genuine in how they talk and in how they live. Federation life makes people fat, happy, and boring. So when I have the chance I enjoy the slums of life. And before you say it, yes I know that’s a tad hypocritical… just consider it part of my charm.”

“Nothing hypocritical about it,” Ryland quickly countered with a wink. “You see who I fly with and yet here I am. Honest work is a thing of the past, I reckon.”

His eyes darted down at her abdomen and the Symbiont within. “So you're one of those, huh? I met a roughneck way back in the Nyberrite Alliance who swore you're all mind fucked and brainwashed. Told a pretty good ghost story, Maker of Ways guide his path.” It was a Rish idiom that showed Ryland's familiarity in the current environment. He spat on the floor. “But you probably got other thoughts.”

“Yes, I’m one of those, someone who enjoys self-preservation and continuing to exist.” Roz’s comment was coated in sarcasm and she took another sip before she continued. “The ability to hold onto generational knowledge and expand upon it is unsurpassable, Trill culture thrives because of it. But there are a lot of problems with the whole symbiote selection process and the social taboos surrounding us are incredibly archaic. However resorting to violence, like what they tried to pull on DS9, that isn’t the way to elicit change. They just look like the sad sacks that nobody asked to dance, now they want to burn the whole dancehall down.”

Roz seemed a little heated over the current Trill situation but that ire soon cooled thanks to the buzz that drinking provided. “Besides, being mind fucked isn’t all that bad… don’t knock it until you try it.”

“Oh I tried it.” Ryland grinned so hard at Roz's ire over the Trill Liberation Army topic that his tongue poked through his teeth. “Betazoid orgies are not for the faint of heart, let me tell you.” He took another sip, slowly this time so he could study her reaction to the hard shift in conversation. “Might take some extra kissing before I let a smart worm crawl inside me though. You're sitting there giving me the hard sell that it's worth it…but how can you know those are really your thoughts and not your hitchhiker?”

“Because I wanted it,” Roz seemed unfazed by this type of question, there was a level of unwavering confidence in her response that some would find attractive. “I begged for it and pined for it. I have always known what I’ve wanted for myself with or without being joined.”

She paused and got up for another drink. Roz leaned against the bar in a way that put her assets on display in a very intentional way. She was no shrinking violet or awkward introvert like so many in Starfleet, she seemed to relish any type of attention that was provided.

Taking her drink and offering another raised, celebratory gesture to her Rush friends, Rozreell returned to her seat next to Ryland. “Just because you want the same thing as other people doesn’t necessarily mean you’re forced into conformity. To assume we’re all manipulated into this life is ignorant or a soured response to being rejected. If these radical Trill don’t want to be joined, then don’t do it. There is enough space for all of us to exist.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Ryland said, raising his cylinder of bulkhead cleaner again. “To living and letting live.” It wasn’t that Ryland was a sucker for bold women. He viewed himself as a connoisseur of women, a sommelier of sex, and it just so happened that Roz’s tenor enhanced her already considerable appeal. Not that the make and model of her ass needed any help standing out.

“Fuck them haters and their sour grapes,” Ryland said after clearing his throat again. “I say a lady can breach her wormhole with whatever she wants, whether a demon cave slug or a devilishly handsome scoundrel.” He waggled his brow as he took another drink only to realize he was empty. “Another!” he shouted as he pounded the table. Latinum talked and he was quickly refreshed. “So,” he said, kicking his boots up on the tabletop. “I thought you and your two friends were tight. Why aren’t they here closing the still down alongside you?”

Roz chuckled a little from Ryland’s over the top choice in words and behavior. Bombastic behavior thrived in the world of acting and the stage, she was no stranger to people seeking reactions. “Bolk is a stick in the mud and Zh'shrallak isn’t a fan of crowds. Both of them would prefer to faff about the ship rather than explore a scavenger’s colony.”

Ryland received a few side glances for his boots on the table. Between the latinum and his over the top behavior some of the patrons were annoyed by him. A beautiful trill playing a tin whistle and listening to their stories was one thing, a loud human looking to get drunk was another.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something? Shouldn’t she be arm and arm with you as you attempt to get blackout drunk?” Roz examined her drink before taking a sip, she should slow down but she didn’t want to. “The snot-nosed brat from the dock earlier today, right?”

“Yeah…” Ryland rolled his tongue around his mouth and grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Soph and I are a might complicated. Don’t know rightly whether or not she’d claim me, to be honest. We just… fit together. That’s how she likes it and works better for us that way.” He leaned in closer as if to tell a secret. “You missed our shore leave to Risa. Lemme’ tell ya, things did not go well when we ran together on Risa.” Shifting his weight back, though not enough to plant his boots in the air again, he went on. “Had a much better time flying solo. In the end, everybody dies alone.” He sniffed his drink. “Shit, this is bringing out real talk, isn’t it?” Shrugging, he took another swig. “What about you? Knockin’ boots with anybody special?”

“Me?” Another coy smile followed by flippant laughter. “No, I’m not really the sort of person who has a drawer at someone else’s place if you catch my drift.” Roz sipped more of her drink, the big gulps had slowed now that she was thoroughly intoxicated. “Trill don’t really die alone, not when they are joined. But their constant need to experience and do more drives us forward.” He heard a touch of bitterness in that statement despite her previous want to be a joined Trill. “So I have fun in my relationships, seek out new harbors and adventures all in the name of exploration… to boldly go.”

“You sound like a worm after my own heart, Purr.” Despite his lackadaisical demeanor, Ryland had known enough Trills to identify when the host was speaking and when the Symbiont poked through. Whatever people said about joining, there were different personalities. Ryland figured you’d have to be blind not to see who you were talking to. “Being tied down is for the dogs. The longer a body lies somewhere, the more rot sets in. Even this gig…” He trailed off. For the short time he had been in Memory Theta, he knew most people didn’t make it out alive. Some thoughts were best kept to himself, like the urge to ditch. “Heh. You think you’ve been on adventures before. Just you wait. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“Here’s to being scoundrels while we adventure!” Roz raised her mug into the air and waited for him to crash his own into it. The celebratory cheers gesture he had given up on earlier, she had picked up on it and attempted it with him.

With their cylinders clanking together for the first time, Ryland couldn’t help but laugh. The Trill was a fine specimen to be sure but there was something to be said for the ageless creature that spoke through her as well. Most joined Trills were pompous or overbearing. Roz had a smarmy streak and made no attempt to hide it, but she was still interesting enough to hold a conversation. Resilient, too. Most people took Ryland’s bait and told him how disgusting or uncouth he was, but Roz took it all in stride.

Ryland sipped his Rish moonshine and realized he could get in trouble with this one. Real trouble. “To adventurous scoundrels.” He polished off the rest of his drink in hopes of burning away the tingling feeling that had sparked between their makeshift flagons. He deflected by nodding at the fella’ with the flute she’d played. “So you always get your drinks for a song?”

“What?” Roz said with a laugh “I paid for my drinks, he just didn’t believe that I knew the music to Yma o Hyd. So I told him to give me that flute and I put him in his place.”

The man near the bar heard her mention his song and story and he raised a glass in salutation. His eyes already glassed over from intoxication, he’d lost the ability to add more to the conversation.

“What kind of manic bard do you think I am?” Rozreell chuckled before slouching on her chair.

“The kind who could score me free shit,” Ryland shot back without missing a beat. “Nothing’s free with these Rish. Never let them persuade you differently. Always a catch. But sometimes they trade weird shit like a rowdy tune or fancy bauble. Not exactly the lap of luxury, as I’m sure you figured.”

The local color didn’t much appreciate Rylands loud and blunt summary of their way of life.

“P’raps you betta’ leave then,” one of the rougher looking drinkers said.

“‘P’raps’ I haven’t got my latinum’s worth yet.” Ryland raised a rude gesture at the other man as he sipped his drink. “I could do with another,” he said to Roz. “How about you?”

“If you’re willing to carry me back to the ship or find me a bed for the night, then yes, I’ll have another.” Roz replied before a single drunk hiccup escaped her lips. She placed a hand over her mouth in disbelief before she laughed at the awkward sound.

Ryland smirked at that and the subtle if insincere flirtation it carried. “You got it, Purr.” He held up his fist and then held up two fingers. “Another round for me and the worm bucket here.”

It wasn’t that Ryland was a human supremacist. He just enjoyed singling people out by their distinctive traits no matter what they were. But diversity was more than the spice of life among the Rish. It was their lifeblood. Few children to speak of meant that they attracted drifters and vagabonds whose covenants were thicker than blood. All they had was each other. Talking shit as Ryland had been was most unwelcome.

“Dram said it was time for you to go,” said the Bajoran who’d served them earlier. “I think he was right.”

“Come on!” Ryland groaned. “I just want…”

A stinky boot came sailing through the air and struck Ryland in the face. “Hey, what the fuck is that?!” He jumped out of his seat and put up his fists. Ready as those were to fight, his feet told another story. “Aw, shit,” he said to Roz. “We better make ourselves scarce. I wouldn’t want to send these vole fuckers to their Maker of Ways with my boot up their asses.”

Despite the building tension and the horde of Rish scavengers that all stood up in unison Roz remained in her seat, lost in a fit of laughter.

“That…boot…hit… you… right…intheface.” She heaved and gasped the words as her laugh renewed over the memory of the current event. Ryland would have to drag her from her chair as Rozreell doubled over in hysterical laughter. “Right in the face.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Ryland said, not nearly as amused. He took Roz by the hand and ushered her out of the makeshift pub before things got any nastier. “Let’s beat it.”

They stumbled together into the catwalks that stretched between the various nooks and crannies of the wrecked starliner that had become a permanent fixture on the lava-ridden moonscape. Ryland caught himself against the railing and let his head hang over the side. At least 30 meters of empty air rose up to greet him from the greasy deck below.

“Whoa, that’s a long way down!” His bellowing voice echoed back at him. “...long way dow-, ay dow-down!”

Other people down below didn’t appreciate his exclamation. “Hey! Shut the fuck up!”

“You shut the fuck up!” Ryland shouted back, then started laughing at his own rudeness. “Oh, shit! He looks mad!” There was, in fact, no clear way to identify who had yelled their protest, but that didn’t stop Ryland’s imagination. “We better get out of here!”

“Then we better get moving,” Roz said with a laugh before she shoved him out onto the catwalk. The action was slightly dangerous but also thrilling, behavior that a daredevil, risk taking pilot would see as playful rather than aggressive. Without hesitation she slipped past him on the narrow walkway and began to run. “Come on, Bootstrap, keep up!”

Once they returned to the winding, improvised walkways and alleys of the Rish slums, Rozreell took off in a sprint. She created some distance between the two of them before she dared to look back at Ryland. There was mischief and life in those rich brown eyes of hers and without having to utter a single word she dared him to catch her.

Ryland couldn’t keep his feet under him enough to fight, so running was proving to be difficult as well. Didn’t stop him from trying. Starfighter pilots were made for pursuits. While she managed to sprint faster than him, he navigated the passageways without the need to slow down or decide which way to go. Dodging through tight corners and twisting routes while trying not to fall on his head or over a railway to his death brought out a belly laugh that he hadn’t felt in a long while.

Eventually Roz turned a corner that ended in an airlock. Ryland stumbled around the corner and held himself up with a hand haphazardly slapped against the bulkhead. Once his drunken eyes took in the situation, a smarmy grin spread across his face.

“End of the line, baby girl,” he said, chuckling through his attempts to catch his breath. “Your big, smart space worm brain didn’t see the airlock?”

“Maybe I was tired of running?” Roz said with a panting chuckle “Or maybe I was planning on shoving you out of the airlock because I find you insufferable?” She wiggled her eyebrows and provided him with the same smarmy smile. Roz could make plotting homicide charming.

Looking around and attempting to get her bearings, Rozreell realized she had no idea where she was. All the markers she had mentally mapped were now gone and they had zigzagged through the streets until she was all turned around. “Where are we?”

After his take on the general run of the local area, Ryland couldn’t be sure himself. “Hard to say. This whole colony is a shipwreck turned into a spaceport. This here airlock probably leads to some kinda’ annex built off the main wreckage.” He waggled his eyebrows back at her. “Could be anything through there. Only one way to find out.”

Ryland lowered his hand over the airlock release, taunting Roz with a venture into the unknown. “Could be nothin’ but the dead end we thought too. Maybe it’ll set off an alarm and we get detained.” His hand hovered just above the manual lock while a mischievous chuckle dared Roz to say one way or another.

“Don’t be such a wuss, Ryland.” Rather than wait for his hovering hand to take action Roz invaded his personal space and slipped her hand into the space between his and the airlock. “Besides, if we do get in trouble I’ll just blame it all on you.”

“Yeah, that figures,” Ryland grumbled, though he couldn’t hide his approving chuckle.

With a hard yank, Rozreell pulled on the manual lock and waited to see what happened. And it was nothing. No alarms blared, no lights flashed, no ventilation of atmosphere or rush of poisonous fumes. It was just a modified docking collar reinforced to hold up to permanent use in the harsh elements. Dim emergency lighting pushed back the gray pallor of the uninviting space.

“I’d say age before beauty,” Ryland said with a wink, “but I think you got me beat on both counts, Purr. Guess a fella’s gotta’ be rude.”

Ryland walked through the hatch into the collar-turned-corridor which extended ten or twelve meters into another structure. There was a crusty viewport that nobody had bothered to clean in ages, so he just opened it. And it resisted. He looked back over his shoulder.

“Hey, go on and seal that one. I don’t think they both can be open.” Ryland heard the hiss of the hatch they’d entered seal behind them. A resounding click signaled the latching mechanism had actuated.

Taking a breath, unsure of what to expect but too invested to turn back now, “Here goes nothin’!”

As Ryland opened the next hatch, the door swung wide to reveal a glass-encased terrarium. There were a few isolated greenhouses along both sides which separated flora by climate-specific needs, but the largest feature of the space was an enclosed rock garden filled with shrubbery, creeping ivy, and clovers.

“By the seven sisters, ‘tis ‘bout time ye showed up!” A wizened old woman with a muddled accent from a dozen ports hobbled from out of a dark corner. “Been waitin’ myself half to death for maintenance to finally get here. My lower decks can’t handle waitin’, I tell you what, and I don’t mean what’s below our feet. Next time I call you in, you come in a hurry! No more o’ this steady as she goes business.”

Ryland looked at Rozreell with a raised eyebrow. “What?” he asked both women.

“The pipes are blocked!” the old woman snapped. “Dontcha’ read the report? I even filed it neat as you please in the fix-it office. But does anybody ever listen to Ole Nellie? Hand to Maker, I know they don’t!”

Nellie pushed herself between them with a bump from either hip. “Pardon me now while I take care of my downstairs. Maker knows no one else is gonna’ do it. Set the timer when you leave.”

And then she was gone before Ryland could ask any more questions, such as what timer and what it might be for? He looked at Roz with an even bigger question. “I have a confession. I am way too drunk to remember any fuckin’ thing she just said.”

“Do you think she meant…” Roz began to laugh again over the multitude of answers to the suggestive commentary from the crone before she glanced over at Ryland who seemed too drunk and hazy to pick up on anything of substance.

“You’re a mess,” Rozreell said with a sigh as she glanced over at Ryland. “You shouldn’t drink so much if you can’t hold your booze afterwards.”

The Trill looked around the garden space, the green was a sharp contrast to the rust and metal of the rest of the Rish colony. “Well, if we’re going to have to wait for you to sober up, this is probably one of the nicer places to do it. Have a seat on one of the benches by the rock garden. Maybe I can find a hose to spray you down with…”

Rozreell wandered around the terrarium, opening the doors to each greenhouse and glancing at what was inside. She didn’t seem shy about investigating the space, but based on her arrival to The Phantom Roz didn’t seem to be the type of person who loved rules and regulations. She eventually found a greenhouse with a squat apple tree in the middle. Roz helped herself to two yellow apples before sitting down next to Ryland.

“She wanted the stopped pipe to be fixed,” Purr replied before taking a bite from her apple.

“You mean this?” Ryland nodded downward at his feet. A pry bar lay beneath a spigot with a busted handle. “Maybe if I…” Picking up the pry bar, he shoved one end into the spigot’s valve release and torqued it into the open position. Water sprayed up in his face until the backflow regulator kicked into gear.

“Shit!” His wet hair flopped over his forehead as Ryland wiped his face dry. “Now I know why that old bag didn’t do it herself.” He peeled his soaking wet shirt over his head and hung it against the greenhouse where Roz sat. “Let’s see if that heat lamp is worth a damn.”

Turning around, shirtless and wet, Ryland looked at Roz who seemed to be very pleased with herself and her apple. “Hey, that looks pretty good. Toss me one!”

Roz threw him the second apple she had been holding. She leaned back in her seat on the bench as she took another bite from her own apple. She examined him with a quizzical cock of her head to the side.

“Do you do this with me everyone or am I just special?” Rozreell gestured at his shirtless physique to better clarify the this she was talking about. “Or is it some sort of test?”

“What?” Ryland caught the apple and took a bite as he processed her question. “Oh, this?” He looked down and waved his free hand over his midsection. “Does all this make you feel special?” He grinned at her while chewing the apple to a pulp. “Figure I could set my pants out to dry and really make you star struck.”

“Oh no please!” Roz waved a dismissive hand through the air over Rylan’s arrogance. “I’ve seen better…Hell, I’ve been better. I was a sex symbol three lives ago. Besides, you humans think if you can last more than three pumps you’re god’s gift to any female.”

Ryland rolled his eyes at the whole nonchalant package. “Ain’t no god out here, Purr. Been all over the black, maybe as much as you, and I can tell ya there ain’t no kid with a magnifying glass lookin’ down at this ant farm.” For good measure, he kicked his boots off and dropped his pants as well, though he left them on the deck in a pile since they didn’t need to dry out. Then he sat himself in front of a heat lamp in just his briefs and soaked up the rays. “Ah, that’s good stuff. Still artificial light but it’s like booze on the skin. You should try it.”

Roz finished her apple in a few hungry bites while she considered his proposal. She glanced at the airlock door and then back down at the shitfaced Ryland who was now sunning himself like a reptile. If they were going to wait out their buzz before they staggered back to the ship it could have been a lot worse.

With an easy shrug Rozreell chucked her apple core into the bushes before she began to disrobe. She stripped down to underwear that was anything but Starfleet issued under things. Draping her clothes across the bench she stood over Ryland with her hands on her hips. “At least scoot over so I can get some too.”

As Ryland scooched over and made room for Roz on the crate, he couldn’t help but admire the view. “Nice spots,” he said. “They really bring out your tits.” And then he threw back his head with an ugly cackle.

It was a usual tactic, anytime he ever got close with a woman outside his own terms, the wall would go up. No self-respecting woman would put up with that line of talk. Especially not a smart and confident joined Trill who had an answer for everything and not a care in the world. Multiple lifetimes’ worth of indignation was no doubt welling up inside that little worm basket Roz called a body. Ryland poised himself for a scolding, an eye roll, and maybe even an offended tantrum if he were lucky. He even smirked, ready for Roz’s best shot.

“Oh you think so, Bootstrap?” Rozreell sat down next to him and rolled over onto her right side so the temple to toes trail of spots were on display for further examination. “I have one that’s shaped like a heart, see if you can find it.”

Purr looked up at him from her position of repose with a smirk that matched his own. He was trying so damn hard that she couldn’t help but chuckle over it as she rolled back onto her back and stretched out underneath the sun lamp. He was playing a game as far as Rozreell was concerned, like any other wordsmith who wrote poetry or sonnets. Ryland was a crafter of the obscene and crass, pushing people to their limits as far as tolerance and decorum were concerned. “You keep on trying, Bootstrap, sooner or later you’ll push the right button… if you’re lucky.”

“Right, the heart-shaped one,” Ryland said with a lascivious grin. “I’m familiar. Very familiar.”

Roz put her hands behind her head as she settled into her sunbathing sport. She closed her eyes as she began to enjoy the warmth the light provided. “Which one do you like better… when people get so mad at you they turn red in the face or when people are so repulsed by you that they throw a drink?”

“Oh, my favorite is when they can’t decide whether to beg me to stop ‘cause they can’t take no more or to keep on going,” Ryland said. His smirk had taken on an edge of curiosity to match its mischievous frame. “Either way they’re screaming the name of yours truly. I’m sure you’d know all about that from the sex work in your past lives or whatever it was.”

“Something like that…” Roz murmured with shut eyes as she grew more and more comfortable.

Rolling his neck around, Ryland began to loosen his joints as the heat warmed them. Soon he was rolling his shoulders like an invisible massage, fully engrossed in his sunbathing without a shred of attention sent Roz’s way. After a moment, he managed to get a satisfying crack from his neck, after which he let out a satisfying moan. “Aww yeah, that’s the ticket.”

Ryland opened his eyes and looked at Roz as if he had forgotten she was there. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“I didn’t say anything, Bootstrap.” Rozreell shaded her eyes with a hand before cracking one open to look up at him. “You’re the one who’s grunting and fidgeting like a child right next to me while I’m trying to peacefully enjoy the artificial sunshine.” Her voice took on a patronizing maternal tone. “Did you eat your apple snack already? Think you can be a big boy and sit still for a little bit? Better yet, how about we play the quiet game.” The hand that was shading her eyes dropped down to a shushing gesture in front of her lips. Roz snickered to herself as she closed her eyes and placed her hand on her bare stomach. The self-induced laughter turned into a coy smile as she went back to sunning herself.

“Bet you haven’t been quiet a minute of your life,” Ryland retorted. “What was she like before you, Purr? Timid and bashful with a coy smile she never had the courage to spread wide as the dawn, maybe.” He clicked his tongue and laughed at his own measurement. “Also bet she was a squealer too. Tickle the bean until she sings like a pot o’ tea or a pinhole leak in a plasma vent, loud enough to say thank-you-sir but high enough to be just below the edge of humanoid hearing.” He looked Purr right in the eye and let his smirk turn into a taunting grin. “That’s why you play so nonchalant, isn’t it? You turned the bookish little virgin into a moaning goddess and you want the whole universe to know it.” His next works were punctuated with a wink. “I see what you did, Purr. I see you and I salute you for it.”

Rozreell laughed at his summary and subsequent approval, “No, not exactly.” She rolled over onto her stomach and began to warm her backside before she continued. “I was pretty fed up with Trill politics and their process for selecting who would joined and who wouldn’t. To some extent I sympathize with those radical Trill who hate our culture because a lot of practices are absurd. I joined Starfleet and was happy to forget it all in the sticks of the universe until Purr selected me. Then I was in the special club and you know what? It’s great.”

Roz rested her head on her hands as she settled into the new position. “But to correct your summary I wasn’t some shrinking violet who never spoke her mind or knew a moment of pleasure before Purr came into my life. Things just became a lot easier afterward. The reason I’m so nonchalant with you is because I’ve met your kind before.”

“Yeah, we humans get around a lot,” Ryland agreed. “It's kind of our thing. I'm no James T. Kirk but I've sowed enough of my wild oats to earn a badge or a demotion for it, depending on your view of shameless philandering, of course.”

His alcoholic buzz compelled him to laugh at that little caveat which passed for wit in his pickled state.

“You ain't got nothin’ to worry about me, Purr. I'm wise to your game but I won't tell a soul.” Ryland went back to his taunting tone. “You do a real good job too. Almost sounds like the girl’s own voice coming out of her mouth instead of yours. Bet you fool all kinds pretending to let her speak for herself, don't ya?”

“You don’t think we’re one and the same?” Roz actually sat up a bit with this question, her back bowed and curved so she could look at him. “Did you sleep through your Academy biology classes?”

Ryland shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think. Learned that lesson a long time ago.” He laced his fingers together behind his head and leaned back to enjoy the fake sunshine. “Always somebody out there higher up the food chain with a different notion and them’s as ready to shed blood over it as any flea-bitten mongrel you ever did see. Nah, a body’s gotta’ go along to get along, and holdin’ tight on what you think is the surest way to fuck that up. Go with the flow, Purr. If the universe is tellin’ us anything, that’s it. Go with the flow or get swept away.” He tapped the side of his head for emphasis. “As soon as you think you got it figured out, that’s when you’re wrong.”

Roz looked up at him with a furrowed brow of confusion and the intensity of her contemplation required her to roll back over onto her side to better examine Ryland as he spoke. When he finally finished his nonsense ramblings and musings, she couldn’t help but erupt into a fit of laughter that made her whole body jiggle. “You are so drunk, Bootstrap, maybe you should stick to the ship and it’s synthehol because you cannot handle your drink.”

She let out a long satisfied sigh once her laughter had stopped, “Your type is all the same, talk a lot of talk but the deeds don’t match the words. Say enough nasty and outrageous things and everyone will push you away because that’s what you think you deserve. Talk yourself up enough so everyone has this false impression of you.” Roz’s tone softened a little before she proceeded, “What are you trying to hide?”

“Ain’t nothin’ to hide.” Despite the nonchalant tone of his quip, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “I had a life once, a distinguished career, commendations, a real purpose.” He chuckled wryly. “Darlin', I was twice the man you think I'm not. And it all went to shit. In the end, it meant nothing. That’s life, though. Stick around long enough and you learn the ugly truth.” Clicking his tongue as if he was about to say something profound, he said, “Ain’t nothin’ worth living for. When you finally see that, you take what you can get when it comes your way, because that's all there's ever gonna’ be."

Having said that, he leaned back and let out a satisfied sigh. “Folks wanna’ hate ‘cause I live the truth they deny, well, that ain’t a me problem.”

“Sure thing, Ryland,” Roz called him by his real name rather than the nickname he had recently earned. The change added to the sincerity in her voice and her response to his defensive answer. “Life hurts sometimes, so much so that we decided we never want to feel that type of pain ever again. Walls are built and defense systems created so no one will ever step near those tender and sore places inside of us… I understand more than you realize. I’m not asking you to strip yourself bare to me, after all, I’m just some worm in a meat suit, right?”

Rozreell reached out and caressed the length of his arm, her touch and intentions were loaded with mixed and confusing signals. “I’m just saying I get it and I’ll have fun with you while we’re both around, okay?”

As her hand trailed down his arm, Ryland couldn’t help but think about the fact she hadn’t been put off by his obnoxious act, his cynical ranting, or his nihilist streak. One or all of those traits had always been surefire repellents that turned away every opportunity for intimacy. Even Sophie and her emotional detachment was not immune to his scoundrel’s wiles.

“From where I’m sittin’, it sounds like you’re wantin’ me to put my worm in your meat suit,” Ryland said, his voice a little more cavalier than he really felt. The alternative was that she really did want him to strip himself bare and be vulnerable with the hidden parts deep inside that he never let anybody see. That would be too much. He forced a smirk. Either they really were about to have fun or she would finally retreat to a safer distance. “If you wanna’ fuck, just say so.”

Another fit of laughter erupted from Rozreell at his blunt response. It was so incredibly predictable and yet it was still amusing. “Are you sure you can handle becoming a memory for my eternal worm brain, Bootstrap?”

Ryland chuckled. "Worm brain."

“Are you okay with being compared to the dozens of lovers I’ve had? You seem like the kind that might suffer from performance anxiety when put on the spot.” If he was going to take the predictable easy way out and deflect Roz would too. “Or maybe you’ll be terrible and someday when I stub my toe and wince at the pain from it, I’ll suddenly remember what it was like to be with you.”

Ryland finished the last bite of his apple and flicked the core behind his shoulder. “Only dozens? Darlin’, I don’t think you know who you’re talkin’ to.” He snickered at the not-so-subtle boast. The hand on the arm she had been caressing came up and rested on her shoulder, allowing him to lean straight into her face. “The thing about us mortals is that we aren’t so good with memories. Somethin’ tells me between me being an eternal memory for you and me not remembering your name a year from now, I ain’t the one losin’ sleep.” Slowing canting his head from one side to the other, Ryland stared down at Roz’s lips and back up at her eyes. “Slick talk don’t impress me ‘cause I’m full of it myself and I know what it’s worth. You think you can rock my world? Step up to the plate. The rest of the latinum in my boot says you don’t.”

In a rather bold move Roz reached down and pulled on the waistband of his shorts until she was able to sneak a peek at his more intimate areas. She was pleasantly surprised enough that a smirk appeared on her face. She carelessly let go of his waistband and the material snapped back into place. “Alright, Bootstrap, let’s have a go.”

Her brown eyes looked up and into his and she noticed his gaze lingering on her mouth. “But no kissing,” Roz corrected him before he even had the chance to try. “I don’t need you confusing this with love.”

“Not on the mouth at least,” Ryland said with a wink. He pulled her around by the shoulders and whispered hoarsely in her ear from behind. “Other places will do fine,” he said as his hands roved from her shoulders down down her arms before jumping to her torso and hesitating. “Last stop, Purr.” While his voice hadn’t exactly lost its bravado, there was a vulnerability present in the ever so slight waver in his tone that wasn’t there before. “In or out?” He gave her ear a nibble as he spoke, as if his mind was already made up.

“In,” Roz replied with a silky tone that matched her namesake of purr. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”