(no subject)
Thirty. God above, that was depressing.
It had not been a good month for Uhura. She had lost her boyfriend and now she was turning thirty. The snow had been quaint and the decorations whimsical, at first. But now the constant cold had irritated her nerves to a raw edge. She didn't snap or bite, but she looked more tired than she had in months. She felt more tired than she had in years. Maybe that was her age catching up to her.
It was easy on a spaceship. Stardates zoomed past, relative to every sun and warp speed, and birthdays were never hard to bear when you were surrounded by friends. They were never hard when you were on the underside of thirty either. She was pretty sure she lapped her own captain age-wise by a bit, and that stung like a fucker.
She was overly concerned about this, she knew. She was still hot, and more importantly she was intelligent, competent, confident, fun, funny, kind; a plethora of other positive adjectives could be used to describe Uhura. But the number floating around in her mind acted like a slap in the face that day and the feeling was hard to shake.
She had headed to the Compound to distract herself, but she was so caught in her thoughts that she didn't take the necessary precautions. Her whole body jerked backwards as she tried to clear the threshold, the magic hold of the mistletoe keeping her in check.
"For the love of--" she muttered, cut off by the jukebox jumping to life with a rendition of "Happy Birthday." "You can shut the hell up as well," she informed it, leveling a glare and a pointed finger in the direction of the machine.
[[Disgruntled Starfleet officer under the mistletoe! Help her out. ST and LT all welcome.]]
It had not been a good month for Uhura. She had lost her boyfriend and now she was turning thirty. The snow had been quaint and the decorations whimsical, at first. But now the constant cold had irritated her nerves to a raw edge. She didn't snap or bite, but she looked more tired than she had in months. She felt more tired than she had in years. Maybe that was her age catching up to her.
It was easy on a spaceship. Stardates zoomed past, relative to every sun and warp speed, and birthdays were never hard to bear when you were surrounded by friends. They were never hard when you were on the underside of thirty either. She was pretty sure she lapped her own captain age-wise by a bit, and that stung like a fucker.
She was overly concerned about this, she knew. She was still hot, and more importantly she was intelligent, competent, confident, fun, funny, kind; a plethora of other positive adjectives could be used to describe Uhura. But the number floating around in her mind acted like a slap in the face that day and the feeling was hard to shake.
She had headed to the Compound to distract herself, but she was so caught in her thoughts that she didn't take the necessary precautions. Her whole body jerked backwards as she tried to clear the threshold, the magic hold of the mistletoe keeping her in check.
"For the love of--" she muttered, cut off by the jukebox jumping to life with a rendition of "Happy Birthday." "You can shut the hell up as well," she informed it, leveling a glare and a pointed finger in the direction of the machine.
[[Disgruntled Starfleet officer under the mistletoe! Help her out. ST and LT all welcome.]]