[Trek RP] The Residence at Mesa del Diablo

[diane_kepler]

Although her city apartment is more practical, T'Nis also maintains a retreat in the desert northeast of Los Angeles.

The exterior exhibits more than a few Wright influences, the main one being how it is cantilevered out over the desert floor. The interior is a mid-23rd century celebration of nature. Wood and stone are abundant, echoing the warm

Comments

[proudcockatrice]

Starek arrives, in the smouldering heat of the late afternoon desert sun -- that relentless, omnipresent blanket of burning, and in a way, it reminds him of all the things he never liked about Vulcan. Oddly, his thick, black robes seemed to insulate rather well against the heat, and he'd give the Vulcans that on the fashion front.

Smoothing his expression, in case he wasn't the only visitor, he rang the door chime.

[diane_kepler]

The door is opened by a short blonde sporting a traditional Vulcan haircut. However, nothing else about her is even remotely Vulcan, especially not her bikini top and the sarong she is wearing as a skirt.

"Oh hi," she cocks her head, leaning on the door and arching one foot in the manner of a ballet dancer. "C'mon in. T'Nis said there were some guests coming over tonight. I guess you're one of them, huh?"

She has backed up to allow him access, but in a flash, steps forward to pick up the cat that has tried dart across the threshold.

"Oh no you *don't*. Cyotes'll get you."

She smiles at Starek, cuddling the creature. "Silly thing. By the way, my name's Amber."

She puts out a hand. There is ink on it.

[proudcockatrice]

He raises his hand and his eyebrow, simultaneously, the hand forming the traditional ta'al, on the incorrect side, as always.

"So it would appear. Greetings, Amber, I am Starek."

In truth, he'd be just as likely to shake the inky hand, nuzzle the cat, and go for an ass-grab, but he was making an effort to appear at least slightly Vulcan, for the duration. Instead, he nods deeply, almost a shallow bow.

[diane_kepler]

"Oh, sorry, I forgot!"

She makes the ta'al, also on the incorrect side, and smiles again by way of apology.

"Here, the place is kinda big. I'll take you."

Amber leads him down the corridor, past several rooms, and up a wide stone staircase with no bannister. There are plenty of windows and skylights, so that the illumination at this time of day is natural. Starek can hear the sounds of a stringed instrument from one of the rooms at the end of the hall, and it is towards this that Amber moves, her bare feet making little slapping sounds on the wood here.

The music room contains a human woman of asian descent with a ka'athyra against her shoulder. She is playing well. T'Nis is reclining on the same divan, absorbed in a PADD.

She looks up to see Starek and rises from her lounge.

"Tonk'peh, d'Vel'nahr. Your journey was not difficult, I trust?"

[proudcockatrice]

Starek returns to the music room, having appropriately arranged himself and smoothed his features, further. Abstraction and idle curiosity, he thinks, will serve him well, at this point.

With an almost imperceptible nod to T'Nis, he investigates the beverages Amber has brought, in his absence.

[diane_kepler]

As the twilight deepens, the house begins to light itself in subtle ways

[proudcockatrice]

"Thank you, no. I am certain I will survive until your return." Starek lets a faint hint of amusement play across his face, as he selects a glass of a relatively harmless-looking liquid.

"Your Vulcan is not entirely appalling, boy. More than I might have expected." His eyes shift to Cash, with a hint of ironic approval.

[diane_kepler]

"Thank you," he manages, with wide grateful eyes.

Amber grabs another couple of olives and pads over to where some pieces of parchment are laid out on a table. She selects two and hands Cash the smaller of the pair. "Want to read yours first?"

"Um, all right." He tugs at the hem of his T-shirt and clears his throat.

"Precipitaion varies
with the push of the winds
yet my thoughts are calm
despite the thunder."

There are several more verses in this vein.

[diane_kepler]

Across the room, two figures examine an oversized piece of abstract art. Both are dressed formally in robes of appropriately sober hues. T'Nis has put her hair up, with a minimum of ornamentation. She is explaining something to her new guest, who stands erect, with his arms clasped behind his back.

To the left, an oblong table set for three is arranged before a set of single-paned French doors. They are open, allowing the the trickle of water from a feature in the courtyard to be seen and heard.

At the sound of Starek's voice, both Vulcans turn and politely approach. The three of them meet near a grouping of deep chairs that separates the long wall with its fireplace and artwork from the doorway through which the Romulan entered.

T'Nis adroitly follows the opening protocols.

"Commander Spock of the U.S.S. Enterprise, may I present Commander Starek of the Renunciation."

[proudcockatrice]

"T'nar pak sorat y'rani." Starek raises both his hand, in greeting, and his eyebrow, in fascination, but he waits for the greeting to be answered, before he speaks again.

"I confess, I have been intrigued by reports of your continued existence. Nam-tor zhu-tor du watosh. Au riyeht maut. Sem-rik." He studies Spock as dispassionately as he can. "Some people have no appreciation of the finer points of art and artistry. It is illogical and foolish of them to discount you merely because you do not fit the mold, in this day and age."

He pauses, for a long moment. "Forgive me my manners. You are, of course, a man, and not a work of art. And a scientist, I am told, where I am an artisan. It is a different perspective."

[diane_kepler]

T'Nis hadn't thought she was going to be this amused this quickly. Sem-rik, indeed.

Spock is watching Starek closely, which means that he doesn't catch his host's fleeting smile at the Romulan's opening salvo.

There is a pause, indicating that the Federation officer is nonplussed. The pause could, of course, be deliberate. On Vulcan, strategic gaps in conversation are often used to convey surprise at another's actions. They also work to express disapproval. But T'Nis has interacted with Spock before and believes that in this instance, her first analysis was correct. Starek has hit his mark.

"K'lalatar prnak'liri," Spock asserts, perhaps as a reminder.

"Gentlemen," T'Nis's tone is easy. "Shall we be seated?"

[proudcockatrice]

It takes a fair bit of Starek's control not to grin wickedly, but he manages, admirably. He nods to T'Nis and waits for Spock to sit, so he can take the seat directly across the table. To sit next to Spock would be overplaying his hand.

"Your poets are surprisingly good, considering they were clearly not raised with the language," He remarks easily, to T'nis, before turning his eye to Spock. "Butchery, of course, from a native perspective of excellence, but contextually considered, truly excellent work."

[proudcockatrice]

(Starting a new thread, because that one's getting cramped.)

Starek notices the reaction, and suspects he's getting somewhere, although he's not sure it's where he meant to go. "Yes, but you come at them from one side, and I from the other. However, this is not what disturbs you. Unlike you, I speak what I perceive to be truth with somewhat less consideration for the impact. Have I offended you in some way? Be honest with me, that I may avoid doing so, again."

He is not looking at the cat, at all, as he continues to pet it, letting his fingertips judge the reactions, instead of his eyes. He needs his eyes to judge Spock's reactions, regardless of how much he'd prefer to judge those with his hands.

[diane_kepler]

"There is no offense, I . . ." Spock puts a hand to his face, the index and middle fingers near the center of his forehead, thumb along the line of his jaw.

"Please excuse me. It appears that I require some air."

He rises slowly, heads for the French doors and passes through them into the courtyard. His progress is not one hundred percent linear.

T'Nis emerges from the now shadowed doorway leading to the kitchen. She leans over the back of the sofa, until she is close enough to whisper to him. "Tizh-tor sha-shai, Starek-kam ha?"

[proudcockatrice]

Starek tilts his head back onto the top of the couch, smiling wickedly, because he knows Spock is still outside, and cannot see it, at that angle. "T'nash-veh sanosh maut."

The smile fades. "Vesht zarahk-tor ish-veh - kwes nash-veh. Nah-tor lau nuh'ne'vi-yumuk. Ri'fai-tor nosahp-wak ish-veh hafau lamok."

There is a long pause as Starek unhooks the cat's claws from a rather uncomfortable spot in his robes. "Kuv laf-tor nash-veh - yi nuh'tizh-tor ish-veh. I am uncertain of the state of things, at this time, ko-kai."

[diane_kepler]

"Skye, you have done well," T'Nis nods at her. She stops playing, rolling her fingers in the air and flexing them. "Please go bring us that last tray from the kitchen and then you may join the others

[proudcockatrice]

"I wish to be certain I am not misunderstanding you. We do seem to have a bit of trouble, in that regard, do we not? You insinuate that there is something we might either attend to or shy from, because we are guests in this place, but there are any number of things to which you might refer, several of which are currently relevant." And at least one of which is relevant to my interests. Starek hopes the last part is only in his head. "Even you know that the knowing of hands is limited, at best, regardless of the insight it brings. And I do hope it has brought you that."

[diane_kepler]

He grits his teeth. "I insinuate nothing. I merely point out that because we are guests in this place it would do to maintain," and he lowers his voice, "some modicum of decency."

[proudcockatrice]

"And that is an accusation. I know one of those when I hear it." Starek flicks his wrist, emptying the glass, through his fingers, into the pool. His neck stiffens, and his chin rises, ever so slightly. He sets it on the tray, silently, and moves to reclaim the other, as well. His lips are tight as he sets the second glass on the tray, but he does not move to take it inside.

"Perhaps I am wrong. That does happen, from time to time." He does not look at Spock. "Do you wish to take this conversation out of such a public venue?"

[diane_kepler]

Spock's hands are now tight at his sides.

"Do not seek to provoke me, Starek. Clearly you seek something beyond conversation. To insinuate that you now do not understand borders on insufferable."