Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau "Wake Me Up When It's All Over"

[Alcyone Brennan]

It’s not a secret that I am a huge fan of your writing @Alora DeVeau but I like this one in particular. Beautifully written. 

 

 

OOC: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SsYXnH9lzCY
 
((Starbase 118 Ops))
 
It was rare for Alora not to venture from her room, but it happened on occasion.  Usually, she was up early, out early, at work early.  But shore leave had come upon them, a respite from the stress of their occupation, a chance to heal either physically, mentally, or both from the mission. 
 
On that particular day, it had been half spent at home.  Graduation was that day, but Alora hadn’t planned on attending.  She had no one whom she  was particularly close to graduating, nor was she proctoring any exams for the class that would graduate after.  She allowed herself to linger, to while away hours doing various things.  Kata forms allowed her to fall into an almost mindless state, her body moving in specific ways as it had done for over twenty years.  She didn’t think through it all.  She didn’t have to.  
 
Music, too, brought her into a strange sense of consciousness that didn’t quite touch reality.  Piano, guitar, Vulcan harp, each was touched upon, practised, and played without really thinking, her fingers dancing in a choreography that was familiar and comfortable.  
 
It was only after lunch that she decided to emerge from the cave-like existence of the day.  Dressing casually, a simple t-shirt and trousers, sturdy tennis shoes for walking, she made her way into the hallway.  The lift doors opened to receive her as she approached, welcoming her inside, it hummed a gentle tuneless song as it took her to her destination.  When they parted, she moved out, not really looking where she was going.  She only took a couple of steps when she came to a sudden halt. 

It was raining. 
 
It streamed from above, milky grey clouds hanging low in the ‘sky’ above her.  They tapped upon her head, some beating upon her skin, others nestling in her long hair.  Blinking, Alora tilted her head up to gaze above her.  The water continued without hesitation, unmindful of how much it soaked everything in its wake.  Invisible against the silvery clouds, it physically seemed to appear out of nowhere once it descended further down, just before striking whatever was in its way.  
 
She was unprepared, and yet she remained there, frozen, staring above her at the strange manifestation of weather, synthetic and yet real, as if trying to convince her she was not actually on a station.  Emerald eyes shut themselves off from the world, and for a moment all was dark.  Though she could not see, she could feel the wetness slowly spreading over her.  One hand lifted up, the drops lightly dancing upon it, beads coalescing on her finger tips, then sliding down like sleds to pool upon her palm.  Inhaling, the air was thick, but not suffocating.  The rate of the rain’s descent increased and with it came a rhythm, steady, beating out a tune.  In answer, her feet began to move.  
 
They carried her forward, slowly at first, then within increasing speed.  Those eyes manifested themselves once more, blinking beneath dark lashes, emeralds set within the pearlescent frame of her face.  The motion struck against the water gathered upon the ground.  One foot lifted, then another, then in unison, launching her into the air, only to plummet down.  Onward they drove her, only to catapult her upward once again.  They clapped down, sending a shower of water all about, and she in the center of the momentary fount.  
 
Again she thrust into the air, then down again.  Up and down, rising and falling, over and over, the motion repeated and the burst of spray from every descent gleefully dancing in response to her forceful encouragement.  Both hands lifted up with each launch, rising to greet the descending precipitation.  She traversed forward and around, darting from one side to a song only she could hear.  
 
Onward, deeper into the heart of the sector, thrusting forward into the streets which, while not empty, held only a fraction of the normal traffic.  Thus, she continued unimpeded, the only direction that of closer to the heart of the station.  She tilted her head back, mouth opening wide, caught some of the offerings and then let out a peal of laughter.  She participated in a sport of one, and the rules were known only to her, the collected pools her playground.  Her arms lowered only to thrust out to the sides and the rhythm shifted.  She spun, around and around, still splashing about, the water seeped deep into her clothing, but she was unmindful of it, uncaring of the way they and hair clung to her.  
 
With dizzying speed she launched into a run, jumping, darting through, forward, onward, the hardness of the streets suddenly replaced with the gentler hand of grass as she slipped from paved avenue to grassy esplanade.  With a squeal she began to run, slowly at first, feet pounding out that rhythm in her head.  Then faster and faster, the trees and grasses, the flowers with their bright displays turning into a blur of colour that she passed by.  She picked up speed, darting from one side to the other, driving around each sentinel, passing a second, a third, all melting together in a blur of motion, her breath fast and high.  Muted silver and darkened blue rose up to meet her and she came to a halt, spinning once more beside the lake that greeted her with its gentle, hushed song that melded with her own.  
 
The ground was soft, parts of grass overrun with more pools and her feet found them, sending more spray as she leaped into the air and careened down into them.  Her hair whipped about, the dark tresses stark against the pink of her cheek and the pale of her jaw.  Then she threw herself down upon the ground, arms and legs splayed out, face turned to the sky that continued to open the gates, unmindful of the woman below.  A sound escaped, low, deep, guttural, rising in pitch.  Among the pounding of that rain, its tune was muddled.  Was it a gleeful howl?  Or a wail of sorrow?  Any witness would be unable to tell, and a vision of the woman thrust upon the floral carpet beneath her would seem to revel in the moment, her chest heaved with either laughter or cries, and any tears that might have given any indication as to the truth were lost among the traces of the rain that scattered over her face.  
 
 
 

-- 
Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau
First Officer
Starbase 118 Ops
alora@blar.net
M239008AD0 

 

 

Edited December 12, 2021 by Arys