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Evatt and Lladre - Postscript


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An interesting and thought provoking discussion amongst the villains of our last mission. Great work, as always.

It's interesting learn that Serren is going to be... engraved. Should be awesome!

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((Berth 94, Mares de Oro Casino Private Dock, Nassau))

 

Arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes staring up at the gaping hole in the side of his yacht, Alred could not say he was having the best of days. Sacrificing the Ferengi vessel to the Vulcan in the first place was a wager made in haste, but in hindsight, it appeared as though he’d dodged a rather hefty round of phaser fire. 

 

On the underside of his yacht, cutting through the plating to his private morgue and surgical space, carved into the duranium and steel, was a large, typically human depiction of a heart. 

 

Alred sighed with gravitas weighing it down, and an indistinct sound gruffly escaped from his throat as his hand wiped over his face, thumb and forefinger rubbing into his eye sockets. Why were Trill always like this? Why were they always so obsessed with him? The refrigerated morgue had leaked out the coolant, rendering half of his stasis bays next to useless. It would take a chunk of latinum to repair. 

 

A piercing alarm rang out around the small berth as the metal ring door—now stuck open—juddered and shuddered. Another ship nose appeared through the force field above, gliding through serenely like a Betazed oyster slid down the throat. Another sigh leapt through the half-Deltan as he prepared himself for the conversation ahead. 

 

She didn't wait to dock, the hum and whine of a transporter beam the herald of her arrival. Dressed in a crisp white suit, blonde hair tousled just so, the Trill woman sashayed across the docking bay to stand alongside him. Her green eyes glittered with a dangerous mix of amusement and anger, a smile cloying at the edges of her lips.

 

Lladre: Well, now. This didn't go to plan.

 

Evatt: It wasn’t quite what I had in mind. ::A dark eyebrow arched as he surveyed the damage.:: Somehow, he did that with a type-1 hand phaser. 

 

Lladre: Resourceful. 

 

Evatt: Impossible. 

 

He corrected and set his jaw. Determination kindled in anger aflame, revenge being the powerful motivator stoking the fire, but it wasn’t the state of his ship digging the knife into soft hybrid ribs. Sealed away, unknown to anyone outside of his personal crew. He was going to have to have them all shot. 

 

Evatt: She took the machine and didn’t leave me a thank you card. 

 

Lladre: That is disappointing, Alred. ::She slipped her hand into her pocket, the picture of sophisticated chic.:: It was supposed to be safe with you.

 

Evatt: It was safe with me. Who would look for it here?

 

Beneath the clear-cut lines of the yacht, the shrouded compartment built for his nefarious purposes had served as the vault for the item. For someone to know it was there, their gathered intelligence was no less than impeccable, or purchased at a high price. Alred pursed his lips behind his beard as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his crisp dark suit. 

 

Evatt: I’ll send someone. Find out where she is and take it back. Somehow avoid that Trill carving another hole in my ship. 

 

The response brought a satisfied smile to her lips, and she nodded. Stood there together, they could be a pair of fashion models in a designer's latest photoshoot, cool and cosmopolitan, effortlessly beautiful. A shame the ruined side of his yacht let the perfection down.

 

Lladre: Shoot him. ::She said it with bored indifference, as much care as one would offer the fly buzzing about one's food.:: He won't be any trouble if he's dead.

 

Evatt: I intend to. With a type-1 Starfleet phaser. See how much of his organic hull I can engrave. 

 

He looked to his side at the outrageously beautiful Trill with a slight smile turning up the corner of his lips; the charm in it fluent and smooth, voice like a glass of honeyed jacarine whiskey. Plans sliding into plans. She met his gaze with a faint smile of her own, his plan for revenge finding amused approval.

 

Evatt: There were others he was with. I’ve asked Volku to check the casino feeds.

 

Lladre: Good. I want it back, Alred. We learnt enough to build our own, but sourcing the components without drawing attention is a challenge. ::She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.:: Especially if someone is already nosing about our business.

 

Even in their circles, it would attract questions, complications, and scrutiny they didn’t need to fulfil their desired goals. Opportunities came thin on the ground. Perhaps it was time to manufacture some. For freedom, one must make sacrifices. 

 

Evatt: I will return as soon as they repair this. ::He gestured up to the yacht, damage apparent.:: They have assured me a day at the most, but promises make the sweetest lies. 

 

Lladre: At least it will please least Ran if you can't. He's relishing the chance to do what he wants for a change. But the Commission, in its eternal wisdom, insisted on "widening his horizons".  ::She shook her head.:: They last put him into a forensic pathologist. Can you imagine? You want to build among the stars and they have you grubbing around with corpses.

 

The symbiont commission being one of them. Promising the everlasting delights of a universe of knowledge, seeking galactic secrets, and hoarding them for millennia to come, only to share it with spotted hosts with little to no regard for their wellbeing. Taking the least amount of care for their bodies, throwing themselves into danger for the thrill, safe in the knowledge their consciousness would live on in a tuber-sized root slug embedded in their abdomen.

 

Tortured beings trapped in an endless cycle, unaware the hosts didn’t have power over the symbionts; the symbionts gave it to them. 

 

Evatt: Sometimes, my darling, betrayal comes from the ones we expect the least. 

 

Lladre: That's why I prepare for everyone to betray me.

 

Her words set like a hot stone dropping into water in his stomach, with the barest flicker of it registering in the pull of his eyebrows and the twitch of his lips. He dredged up amusement as he looked toward the elegant Trill, with a tilt of his head and the flare of a hybrid Deltan smile. 

 

Evatt: A deal is a deal. Especially one made with the devil. 

 

Lladre: I'm not the devil, much as some might like to cast me as one. ::She smiled.:: This is a war, Alred. A fight for freedom. Casualties happen. 

 

Evatt: And nothing riles the Commission more than exercising free will. 

 

If his preternatural charm had any effect on her, it didn't show. Perhaps it was the symbiont's ability to suppress the host, a mental strength and fortitude which kept the intoxicating effect at bay. Perhaps she had evolved beyond such things. Or perhaps she was just a capable actor. 

 

Lladre: It's not anger, Alred. It's fear. They clamour to be hosts, to take advantage of everything we have to offer, but they demand all the sacrifices to be ours. They expect us to exist on their whims, to live how they think we should live. ::Fire flared deep in her green eyes, a rare heat igniting in her voice, and Alred leaned away slightly.:: Binding us with arbitrary rules because they're afraid of our power, because their tiny, pathetic existence cannot accept the reality of ours. If we don't comply, they try to kill us. And the Federation, in all its infinite compassion and mercy, stands back and allows it to happen.

 

The blaze and shine of her impassioned explanation left the hybrid gazing at her, undisguised desire in his eyes and his smile. Lladre, to him at least, likened a beacon atop a lighthouse in the dark, drawing all toward her while the sharks swam beneath. Deadly, yet altruistic. For those not of the Trill, it was a simple concept to dismiss. They were born, they joined, they merged, they died; the symbiont lived on with the memories of lifetimes, ready to serve the next. 

 

Evatt: The Federation, in all its infinite compassion and mercy, has stood back for centuries and watched species die. 

 

Lladre: And they call me a monster. 

 

Just like that, the fire vanished. As though it was never there, the stunning blonde back to nonchalant glamour. She looked across at Alred, meeting his gaze with a lazy smile. He amused her, with his unfettered and unashamed pursuit of passion. He did what he wanted with his life, society's rules be damned, and that was an attitude she appreciated.

 

Lladre: A drink? I can stay long enough to see if the engineers have given you a promise or a sweet lie. 

 

Evatt: Is that so?

 

He smiled widely and earnestly; a terribly delicious thrum of the unrestrained Deltan in him, seeking the pleasing and the satisfying like a Risian to new experiences. He flourished his arm toward the doorway, back through to the docking ring, the casino, and a gratifying evening awaited. 

 

Evatt: Aren’t I the lucky one? It would be my absolute pleasure.

 

fin

 

--

Alred Evatt
Surgical Hedonist

G239304JM0

 

 

Lladre

Criminal Mastermind
T238401QR0

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