[Date Night] - [NVC] - [Uhura, Len]
Bill had been pretty clear about it when she had messaged him on-ship: an invitation from Uhura would not be taken badly, by anyone. Still, Uhura had deliberated for a few days after beam down, as to whether this was really the time. After a day or two of exploration, however, her mind was made up. The colony already presented a staggering array of
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Being planetbound had distinct advantages beyond there being more than a handful of places to go to: It had taken a little bit of hunting, but he'd tracked down a flower shop eventually. Alien though they might be, the dark red flowers were strikingly beautiful nevertheless, an odd cross between roses and orchids to the unschooled eye, their scent subtle but entrancingly exotic.
The frissions of nervousness he still felt just came with the territory, Leonard figured, as he arrived at Nyota's assigned rooms. A bemused shake of his head and a deep breath later, he pressed the buzzer.
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She hadn't expected flowers. And yet, even as she laughed her pleased surprise, she wondered why not - for Leonard was exactly the sort of old-fashioned gentleman who wouldn't dream of arriving for a first date not bearing some kind of gift. She took the flowers from him, beaming, and pushed open the door the rest of the way to let him in.
"Leonard." She held an arm out, indicating. "These are beautiful; you really shouldn't have. I'll have to get them some water - I want them to last as long as possible."
And on impulse, just before she turned away with the flowers, she leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. He really did look very handsome. Perhaps she would tell him so, later.
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"You're very welcome," he said, "and I couldn't have not - they suited you far too well."
No stretching the truth needed there, either. She looked truly stunning in the simple dress she'd chosen to wear, its color a delightful contrast against her skin. Leonard would have been perfectly content to just stand here and look at her.
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"And now - " she set the vase back down on the sill " - the whole room looks a lot more inviting." She laughed. "Almost a pity we're leaving it, but I'm too hungry not to. Don't mind me if I order half the menu. I've been walking around all day, looking at things, and I'm starving."
She held out her arm, clearly inviting him to take it. "Shall we go?"
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"I won't mind one bit," he assured with a smile, "although you may have to translate the menu for me. It's been somewhat interesting, replicating dishes at random and attempting to figure out what they actually are."
He chose not to comment on her regrets about leaving the room, if only because the thoughts that sprung to mind were probably more inappropriate than not, still.
"You find anything particularly interesting during your exploration?"
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"I'm happy to translate it for you," she assured him, "but half the time, I'm guessing, too, because they don't tend to give explanations - just the name of the dish. Which sometimes doesn't mean anything, or tell you anything about what it's likely to be made of." She laughed. "Still, sometimes being surprised is half the fun."
She led him firmly left, down the road in the opposite direction from way he had come. "I found a little store earlier that had some excellent Vulcan sweets. And - " in explanation of her quite pointed directing of their route - "a little restaurant that looked promising. Family-run, with a massive menu. And it had little booths."
Vulcans, clearly, understood the logic of little booths.
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"And here I would have thought sweets would be considered illogical," he laughed, mostly at himself, "but then I had the same misconception about their stance on art before I dropped by the cultural center." He shrugged. "It's interesting, getting a glimpse into something I never would have contemplated until recently."
Little booths were an excellent idea, all around. Clearly the Vulcan regard for privacy stood them in good stead.
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She indicated a small building on the left, fronted by a red awning. It was still daylight, but the fading daylight of summer evenings in the Mediterranean, and so the little strings of fairylights that decorated the outside of the restaurant - logicaly, of course - were already lit. "That's the place," she said, turning them towards it.
"I haven't had a chance to see any Vulcan art," she went on, "although I've heard Mr Spock play Vulcan music, of course. What's it like?"
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The little booths, as it turned out, weren't confined to the enclosed part of the restaurant, as a stoic waiter led them through the room and onto a small terrace overlooking the bay, clearly designed so there were plenty of space where one didn't have to look at the expanse of water, should one not wish to.
"Surprisingly varied," Leonard answered as they both sat down - alas, no chairs to pull out in this environment, "not as much of a divide between pre-Reform and later areas as I would have expected. Although there was the most remarkable painting based entirely on fractal calculations, incredibly intricate."
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"I need to go and have a look, evidently," she said, smiling. "It's always interesting to see the areas where Vulcan society seems to have failed to divide itself properly - where the emotion does bleed through, however logically they think it's expressed. Art is emotion, whether or not it's composed only of straight lines and angles."
She reached for the menu, caught Leonard's gaze, and spread it flat on the table, leaning over towards him so that they could look at it together. "So. Anything that sounds interesting?"
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Her shoulder brushed lightly against his as she leaned in close, the shifting colors of the sky casting warm glow over her skin, her dress. The menu might has well have been written in English, his ability to decipher, or hell, even focus on it would have been equally nonexistant.
"I think I shall trust your judgement on this," he responded, far more evenly than he felt, "and put myself in your capable hands."
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She tapped the menu. "And as for the rest of it - well. I'll order starters and mains, and - " she paused - "they don't drink alcohol on Vulcan - or they didn't rather - " and what a horrible correction that was, to have to make "- but they do a wonderful sweet drink, non-alcoholic, like...I don't know...like sweet-flower tea, iced. Here." She indicated it, under the drinks list. "So I think we'll have that."
Her foot brushed against his as she leaned across to catch the attention of a passing waiter with the traditional elaborate nod.
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Like, say, alcohol.
"That's convenient," he remarked casually, "seeing how I don't drink, either."
He leaned back in his seat as the waiter approached, cautiously putting a little more distance between them. Not because he wasn't enjoying the proximity, but rather the opposite - and he didn't get the impression that that was the kind of thing Vulcans would take too kindly to witnessing, accidentally.
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"Well," she said, accordingly, "I hope you'll like this."
The loss of his proximity was tangible, like a sudden breeze down the side of her body. She held back a slight shiver, and addressed the waiter, instead, in her lightly-accented Vulcan. She knew that she was fully comprehensible, but nevertheless, she indicated each item on the menu as she ordered, out of habit. When she was finished, the waiter nodded expressionlessly, and took the menu away.
"They never take long," she told Leonard, smiling, as she resumed her proper seat. "Thank goodness." She was still starving.
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In any case, Nyota speaking Vulcan was extraordinarily pretty to listen to.
She was right, too, about the service being efficient, the waiter barely seemed to have disappeared when he returned with their drinks. Leonard took an experimental sip.
"This is lovely," he agreed with a smile. Not like iced tea at all, far too subtle and varied a flavor for that.
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She set her glass down, and rested her chin casually on her hand, studying him. "You know," she told him, slowly, "You do look exactly like Mr Spock, facially, but I realise I've stopped associating you, really, in my mind. Isn't it strange, the way that happens?" She laughed, and reached for the glass again. She always meant to keep some in reserve for her food, but this stuff was just too good.
"Maybe," she pondered, "it's because you smile so much. And so nicely."
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