Posted Nov. 29, 2021, 3:28 p.m. by Civilian Evrilla (Chief Medical Officer w/ specialty in Pathology) (Leonora V)
Posted by Commander Garinder’Jen th’Jir (Executive Officer) in Evrilla’s Quarters
Posted by Commander Garinder’Jen th’Jir (Executive Officer) in Evrilla’s Quarters
Posted by Civilian Evrilla (Chief Medical Officer w/ specialty in Pathology) in Evrilla’s Quarters
Posted by… suppressed (14) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Jen had to look up the CMO’s quarters. Without specific designations they could be almost anywhere on the ship. The various ‘offices’ of the department heads were easy to find; living quarters not so easy. However, the Andorian had trodded on virtually every deck on the ship in his morning runs where he engaged in a variety of different routes that included Jeffries Tubes, corridors and ladders. In one way it was a varied routine of not getting bored with running. On the other it allowed him the ability to get to know the ship much better. One thing he did know after this time: this was a big ship.
Over dinner earlier he had been thinking of this meeting and had stared at the ushaan-tor that he had taken out and polished. It was sitting on an open wooden case, gleaming in the overhead light. His had accompanied him in his postings and carried with him as an ‘additional’ item in his field kit. Evrilla’s request was unusual, though she was of Andor, and that made her an ally. Different yes, but, in Jen’s view, the same. Still, it dredged up memories of his son, teaching him, and who had since turned away from the Andorian traditions. That, in itself, was distressing to Jen. Still, he could not fault him for making his choices. Jen had taught to choose wisely, that all choices held consequences and, when faced with a large choice, to consider the cost of one path over another. Children .. were full of surprises. slowly he fit the ushaan-tor into the case, carefully placed the cloth over it and closed it. The snap seemed loud in the room.
He came to Evrilla’s quarters about the agreed upon time. He was not dressed in his uniform but in a more casual dress of loose fitting shirt and trousers with a light ‘runner’ shoe. Over one arm he had a uniform tunic and in the other two slim cases in a dark, worn wood. He held them by a handle at the top of each. With the free finger he pressed the chime.
- Jen, XO
The door opened to a blue child staring up at Jen. “Amma, Amma, He’s here!” Tatyl had been standing in front of the door for 15 minutes, ready to let Jen in the second he arrived. Tatyl stood at attention, her face scrunched up in concentration. “My name is Tatyl ch’Sa-” She cut herself off suddenly, and scuffed her feet. “Just Tatyl. Sorry.”
The door opened quickly. He was looking ahead to an adult height, though a blink later and he was peering down to a quite excitable appearing girl. “And I am Garinder’Jen th’Jir,” he replied, kneeling to her level. He winked, a very ‘human’ expression but one that he had picked up as it typically elicited a response from children. “Just Jen,” he continued. He was unsure of the potential ‘slip’ that she had made. Whatever one’s history it belonged to that person, though he was not to press it at all.
The girl moved sullenly out of the doorway as her mother emerged around the corner. “Commander. Please, come inside.” Evrilla stepped to the side, letting Jen in with a smile. “I have cleared our sitting area. Tatyl has been looking forward to this since I told her.” She smiled politely, although it seemed a little strained after Tatyl’s near slip.
-Evrilla and Tatyl
Standing again, Jen stepped inside and let the door swish quietly shut behind him. The room had a fresher smell than his own which didn’t surprise him at all. Perhaps bidden, he looked to the side clearing, though took in the rest of the quarters with it. It had the same ‘feel’ to it like the home he grew up in though he was hard pressed to figure out just what it was that rendered that connection. His antennae moved about as though searching for that elusive connection. Perhaps it was that sense of making a space more a home. “Thank you. I have brought this,” he said, indicating his tunic, “and a welcome gift.” Under the tunic was a decorative shawl in what looked to be the wool of an Andorian Quidram, the print bearing the skyline of the Nornat Glacier.
Evrilla ran her hands over the shawl and met Jen’s eyes with a smile. “Thank you. Please, sit wherever you’d like.” There was a couch and two chairs arranged around a low table, but Tatyl had simply taken a couch cushion and sat on the floor. A small sewing kit was sitting on the table, and Evrilla placed Jen’s tunic in the chair besides it. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Jen ‘felt’ the domestic sense here. It was something that to him was a distant memory and something that had been torn from him. ‘Normal’ was something he was increasingly not used to. Even though Evrilla was Aenar, and very rare even on Andor, this was the closest to a ‘norm’ as he had known for some time. He looked at the seating choices and picked one of the single chairs. “Thank you. I am fine for now,” he replied as he settled in, placing the cases on his lap and focused on Tatyl sitting on the cushion. After a moment of studying her he slid one of the cases off his lap and handed it to her.
Evrilla nodded and retrieved a bolt of fabric, the mentioned paneling, settling in to watch and sew. She found herself interested beyond a proper amount, perhaps longing for something of her lover’s culture that she never got to see.
Over his shoulder he could hear and sense through his antennae what Evrilla was doing. The smells reminded him of his .. in earth terms .. grand parents’ home. It was missing the ‘chill’ in the air of the bare ice walls that had been carved in an intricate design of a flock of K’ir passing over an ice flow. There too was a great deal of seamstress work, though the whole family did it as an occupation. He wondered how the Aenar, blind, did it.
The case was thin and of a dark wood, worn but holding a dark lacquer coating. A simple clasp held it closed. It was about the size and shape of an old style sheaf of paper, though close to 5cm thick. As such it had some weight to it.
- Jen, XO
Tatyl held the case, studying Jen back. She nodded, apparently satisfied, and looked over it carefully. “It’s heavy.” It wasn’t locked, but he also hadn’t told her to open it. “Should I open it?”
-Dr. Evrilla & Tatyl
Jen nodded his affirmation.
Tatyl released the clasp and opened the case with a hint of reverence. This was a part of her parents’ culture, a connection she wouldn’t be able to find any other way/
The case would open on hinges and inside was a velvet like cobalt blue fabric and nestled within was a glistening metal object, the ushaan-tor. “Andorians are a violent people,” he began. “Not unlike Vulcans. Where they control their instincts to battle through logic and the suppression of emotion, Andorians have codified it into ritual. We fight, but within a rigid framework of honor and tradition. This,” he said, gesturing to the ushaan-tor, “is a simple tool. Once most Andorians would carry this to his work. They were common in the home. It was a digging tool. A mining tool. A construction tool. Like a hammer or a broom or a spade. Today it is a device of ritual. Elevated to prominence. Given a .. honored case and place in family history, an heirloom for some, like a historical Klingon bat’leth.. Then, at home, this would have been tossed on a table.” He smiled and opened his own case, revealing another, this time in a crimson fabric. “But remember what I said. Andorians are a violent people. This was a tool, but if a fight flared up, this became a weapon, and blue blood would join the ice chips on the floor.”
He paused for Tatyl to comment or question or touch it.
- Jen, XO
Tatyl glanced at him, then reached out a hand. She brushed her fingers over the weapon, staying clear of sharp edges and feeling the metal. “Are there rules on when you can have an ushaan? You said it’s about honor. Do you have to have a reason?” She was enthusiastic, although she remained hesitant to actually pick up the ushaan-tor.
“Andorians have had many weapons as options to use at their disposal. Any of them could have been adopted. And, where an ushaan-tor is not available, can still be used, but in this, much like the Vulcan lirpa, we prefer this, the ushaan-tor. Why is that, do you think?” he asked. Yes he had sidestepped her question for the moment. Before one climbed the ladder one must place it firmly on the ground.
- Jen, XO
Tatyl hummed. “It’s easily accessible? You said it’s a tool, so that must mean lots of people have one.”
Jen nodded. “This is true. Or at least was. We still mine but not often with these.” He tipped his head in thought. “I’m going to ask you a couple of questions. These will be different races. When you hear them, tell me the first thing that comes to your mind about them.” Ready?
Tatyl nodded once, shifting in her seat.
He waited for the affirmation then said, “Vulcan.”
Then after the answer he said, “Ferengi.”
Then after that answer he said, “Human.”
“Friendly!” Tatyl had been educated about each of the races her mother dealt with, but she had only met a few of the many she knew in the abstract.
“Good,” he said, glancing at her mother with a ‘not quite what I had expected’ but that’s okay smile. His experience of the races was a mixed bag of ‘friendly’; that depended on the person. However it was not entirely the space of debate right now. Looking back to Tatyl and picking what she said, “The Ferengi have their ‘Rules of Acquisition’. When people think of them they think often of those ‘rules’.” he said that framing the word rules in ‘finger quotes’. Then he smiled wide and put them out at his head and wagged his head back and forth a couple of times. “Or their ears.”
Evrilla shrugged with a slight smile. Everything in a lab was rules, so Tatyl had developed quite the ear for directions.
“But,” he continued, “what the Rules are to us is that they are a symbol of the people as a whole. Yes a very general symbol but one nonetheless. A symbol is much like a flag. You see it and you go ‘oh belongs to this or that people or group’. It is how they are best known. And to the people who owns that symbol it becomes part of their identity.” He paused there, wondering whether Tatyl would catch what he was trying to say.
- Jen, XO
“The ushaan… It’s a tradition. And the ushaan-tor… Is the symbol of that tradition? So we can’t change it without messing up the meaning?” Tatyl frowned slightly. “So it’s not about winning. It’s about fighting right.”
Clever girl. She was starting to get it, but Jen was not going to let this be simply about a brawl when it was so much more. “And a symbol of the Andorian people. It is a part of our identity. You have probably seen it, or felt it, the way that Andorians are very orderly and quick to feel angry, to react to a word or something we see as wrong. And so we do not live careless lives. The humans call one with a temper to be .. hot blooded. It means that they can be out of control. Many races control their .. tempers .. differently. The Vulcans bury it. The Klingons don’t try to hide it. Humans ..” he shrugged, thinking. “pretend they don’t have it. Us Andorians know that we are fighters and to control it we have our own rules of life together.” He tapped the ushaan-tor. “These we use when those rules are broken and which demands a response. And so we practice with it for the times when it may be needed, but we do not seek out reasons to use it. Why? Because it is an important symbol that is not taken lightly. And we must give consideration to all these other people who are not of Andor who do not understand and be .. lenient. Otherwise we would be fighting them .. often. And that is not fair to them, nor is it honoring to us. Our fights are very .. personal. They are not just brawls. They have a reason. We fight to win because they are personal and we fight because it is personal and has meaning for us.”
“Now, think about that for a minute and tell me what I said in your own words. I have said a lot. If there is something you don’t understand, ask.”
OOC: Precautionary bump … :) . gene
Tatyl frowned, her brows scrunching up. “The ushaan isn’t a game. It’s not fighting for practice. If you don’t do it right, that’s worse than letting it slide.” Tatyl sighed. “I guess everyone has rules we have to learn.” She’d simplified it, but she understood the concept. “I get the feeling this is going to be more like school than sparring.”
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