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Lieutenant (jg) Regan Wilde- Paper Roses

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I don't know why, but I just got such a giggle out of Regan crooning out this tune in the mess hall after discovering his ex works in the shuttle bay.


((USS Arrow - Deck 2; Mess Hall))


The music in the Mess was specifically chosen, and overbearingly loud for the time of day. The rest of the crew, having their break, hated it. After all, they’d been listening to it on repeat for the last twenty-five minutes. 


Regan was making good use of Sofia Mark II. The brand new sofa had been placed against the back wall of the Mess, and he slumped across it like he used to do his academy bunk - legs dangling over the side. He clutched a throw pillow close to his bosom and stared vacantly at the dull grey ceiling of the room, singing mournfully along to the words pouring out of the new jukebox he’d commissioned the Caldonians for before they left orbit of Theta 122. It cost him ten bars of latinum, but it was worth it.




I realise the way your eyes deceived me

With tender looks that I mistook for love

So take away the flowers that you gave me

And send the kind that you remind me of…


Paper roses, paper roses

Oh how real those roses seemed to be

But they're only imitation

Like your imitation love for me


I thought that you would be a perfect lover

You seemed so full of sweetness at the start

But like a big red rose that's made of paper

There isn't any sweetness in your heart…


Paper roses, paper roses

Oh how real those roses seemed to be

But they're only imitation

Like your imitation love for me


The last bars of Paper Roses, an almost-ancient Earth song played out. The patrons of the Mess Hall all breathed a sigh of relief. Thaon Brom, nursing a strong mug of coffee, rubbed the bridge of his nose. Despite his best intentions to escape, he’d ended up stuck in the Mess babysitting the security officer.


Wilde: Hit me again, Brom.


Brom: Don’t you think you’ve had enough?


Wilde: I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough!


With a roll of his eyes, the Tellarite reached across the table he was sitting at and produced another frosted cupcake from their container. Double chocolate. This was serious. He shook his head solemnly and threw it to the young Lieutenant sprawled on the sofa. Regan caught the cupcake and dipped an index finger into the thick chocolate frosting and licked it off without much pleasure. 


Brom: You know the replicator rations don’t cover this much chocolate. 


Wilde: I’ll pay for it. ::He turned his head sharply.:: I’ll buy enough chocolate to paint this ship if I want to. What do I care? 


Brom: Well ‘Hey, Big Spender’. It’s your business. What’s eating you, pup?


Wilde: Ghosts. Ghosts of the past. Oh, of all the ships in the fleet why did he have to end up on mine?


Brom: Who?


Wilde: ::Coldly.:: Nicholas bloody Rehme. 


Brom: I see. Actually, I don’t see. Never heard of the guy. Friend of yours?


Wilde: ::scoffing.:: Hardly! We can’t stand the sight of each other. ::Taking a bite of cupcake.:: Not anymore. Not after the Academy. We were more than friends... once upon a time. ::Beat:: Why is he even on the Arrow? With his stupid brown eyes. His stupid grin. His ridiculously stupid hair and the bloody stupid way he pronounces Regan. ::Adopting a slightly offensive bogus French accent.:: Ray-gan! 


Brom: Ahhh. Now all this makes sense. Only time mends a broken heart, lad. Not chocolate. And definitely not Marie Osmond.


Wilde: Ever been in love, Brom?


The bluntness and personal nature of the question almost threw the grizzled engineer, but he could kind of see it coming. He gave a thoughtful nod.


Brom: Aye, I reckon so.


Wilde: Ever had your heart ripped out, stomped on several times and then thrown into a targ kennel for them to do their business all over it?


Brom raised a curious eyebrow, then stroked his long red beard.


Brom: Well… No. That’s a new one on me. Cheer up, man. You’re starting to depress me.


Wilde: ::Sighing.:: Play it again, Brom.


Brom: I think other folk have had enough for a little while. ::Looking around the room at the disgruntled faces.:: The crowd’s starting to look a bit… mobbish.


Icy green eyes regarded the stout, heavily bearded Tellarite. 


Wilde: I said. Play. It. Again.


The engineer sighed and instructed the computer to repeat the song. The music started again, and Regan again sang the words to the song that summed up his love life. He returned his gaze to the grey ceiling again.


 Wilde: I realise the way your eyes deceived me

With tender looks that I mistook for love…


The rest of the patrons were more than a little annoyed now. He didn’t care about their cries of ‘Oh God not again!’ or ‘I’ll kill him! I swear!’. 


Another officer entered the Mess, and Brom saw his chance. Leaping from the table he approached the helmswoman and quickly pushed the box of cupcakes into her arms with a wink.


Brom: Good timing, lass! ::Glancing back to Wilde.:: He’s all yours!


Exciting the Mess as fast as his prosthetic leg would carry him, Brom ran away and left Chloe Waters with babysitting duty.


Waters: Response


Wilde: Chloe! Come and sit with me…


Waters: Response


Wilde: Help yourself to a cupcake.


Waters: Response


Wilde: ::Sighing.:: Can I ask you a personal question?


Waters: Response


Wilde: Computer - repeat song. ::To Chloe:: Do you like Marie Osmond?


Waters: Response



Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde
USS Arrow, NCC 69829


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