|TITLE: "Irrelevant Discourse"
TIME FRAME: Now
SERIES/CODES: Voyager, P/T, 7
Re-Posting This for the ASC Awards
This story is total fluff, written under the influence of strong pain medication, but some have told me it's funny. Hope you like it.
"She clashes, Madame."
Startled, Janeway turned to see Sandrine standing at her elbow, her wise eyes glittering slightly as she inclined her head toward Seven of Nine. "Your friend. If she is going to decorate the walls, I suggest she change her clothing. What she is wearing clashes with my decor...she is too sparkle-sparkle."
Nodding, Janeway returned the smile. "I'll speak to her."
"That is all I ask, Madame." And then Sandrine was gone, vanished soundlessly and smoothly into the milling crowd of Starfleet Officers packed nearly shoulder-to-shoulder in the holographic bistro. It was a Saturday night, always the busiest time for this particular community simulation, and this night was a bit more bustling than most due to the decided lack of recent crisis. A pool game was in full swing, the balls clattering in rhythm to the laughter and babble of the crew and the clink of glasses. And Seven was just standing in the corner.
Sandrine was right...it WAS unnerving. Slipping through the crowd towards the younger woman, Janeway couldn't hide a smile as they parted before her. *Moses and the Red Sea or a Captain and her Crew. Same reaction,* she mused.
"Captain." Seven acknowledged her approach with a slight bob of the head and resumed staring. She tried to follow her gaze, but it didn't seem to be pointing anywhere in particular. It was the same blank-eyed look she got when she regenerated, and it gave Janeway chills...not to mention made her curious.
"What are you looking at, Seven?"
"I do not wish to be here."
At least she was forthright. "All right..." Janeway drew out the last syllable carefully, encouraging her to continue.
"However, the Doctor has informed me that I will be assigned to assist him in the presentation of his next dozen holographic slide presentations. I do not enjoy being here, however, if I was forced to assist the Doctor in that endeavor, I fear I would be driven to terminate my existence. I do not wish that to happen, hence, I am here. I am socializing."
"You're socializing with the wallpaper."
Seven's metal eyebrow lifted a fraction. "Wallpaper is an inanimate object."
Janeway placed a friendly hand on the young Borg's shoulder. "And right now, so are you. You need to circulate talk to people gossip "
This brought a laugh. "I suppose you could call it that."
"I will not comply."
"I'll tell the Doctor you didn't socialize."
"I will comply."
Megan Delaney swirled her drink slowly, taking a large gulp to fortify herself against what she saw coming. Bad enough that she was forced to stand here with Jesse Bakus, but now to add Seven-of-Dull to the picture she should have ordered a double.
It had started out innocuously enough, with the usual collection of single Voyager females congregating in a corner of the bistro to engage in the ageless feminine art of information exchange. In other words, to gossip until they were blue in the face. Unfortunately, Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres had entered the room, setting off a raging flame of jealousy in Crewman Bakus.
The junior helm officer had fallen head-over-heels for her superior the moment he had set foot on board, and his obvious love for the ship's Chief Engineer hadn't caused her passion to abate in the slightest, only tinged it with an intense jealousy that she tried to hide by feigning hatred of the pilot. "Honestly," she hissed, watching Tom bow playfully as he got B'Elanna a drink, "I don't know what I ever saw in him. He's an idiot nothing more."
Seven had been hanging on the fringes of the grouping, listening to the various individual conversations. Thus far they had seemed completely irrelevant, but now, with Crewman Bakus' query as to what she saw in Ensign Paris, she had something she could contribute. "Ensign Paris' physical appearance is well within the standards of attractiveness for human males of his age and race. That is likely what you observed to stimulate the hormonal response I now detect."
Bakus flushed scarlet as the statement, clearly and precisely enunciated in Seven's normal, almost emotionless voice, turned the head of every woman in earshot. Finally, Bakus rolled her eyes and huffed, an expression Seven took to be one of skepticism. She frowned. She knew her statement had been correct. Perhaps Bakus required elaboration? She decided to explain the parameters that had led her to make that assessment of the helmsman.
"His hair is the pigmentation known as 'blonde', and while not as close to a true yellow as my own, I am told it is a highly prized coloration nonetheless. The hairline is slightly receded, and while this is typically considered a detrimental feature on human males, the high forehead and uneven hairline produced in this case actually emphasize and enhance his features. His facial bone structure, while quite masculine, would almost be designated 'delicate', and his features are mathematically in precise balance to one another and ideal in their size and shape."
Megan nearly choked on her drink. "I think that's Borg for 'Tom's a handsome bastard.'"
"With killer eyes," her sister sighed with playful dreaminess, pretending to swoon.
Seven frowned. "I am unaware of Ensign Paris' optic receptors possessing any homicidal qualities."
"What Jenny meant," Wildman corrected gently, "was that Tom's blue eyes are one of his best features."
Seven nodded her agreement. "The irises are an unusually intense pigmentation, the eyes slightly deep-set, which enhances the blue color further. There is little evidence of aging in his face except when he smiles broadly, and I have been told that the wrinkles that develop at the eyes in that instance are considered 'cute', or, to use Lieutenant Torres' designation, 'sexy'."
By this time, the majority of the women were having trouble breathing. The former Borg's coolly clinical assessment of the handsome con officer had caused various degrees of mirth, ranging from amusement to full-fledged, beer-spewing, fist-pounding hysteria. The gaggle of laughing crewmembers was beginning to attract attention, even in the noisy environment of Sandrines. A number of formerly uninterested women had drifted over to see what was going on, while most of the men simply shook their heads and continued with what they were doing, perfectly willing to chalk it all up to the vast mystery that was Woman.
There was a collective holding of breath as B'Elanna looked up, since the topic of interest was the description of the volatile woman's lover by her fiercest enemy. Much to everyone's relief, however, the Chief Engineer had never been one for 'girl talk', and her interest was short-lived.
Seeing all the new faces, Megan decided to give them a show. It was time to jump-start the Borg. Prodding the statuesque woman in the ribs, she grinned, "What about that bod, Seven? Nice package, huh?"
Though she raised an eyebrow at the elbow unceremoniously applied to her side, she agreed. "A somewhat crude assessment, but essentially correct. Height is nearly two meters, form well-proportioned if slightly long-limbed. Hands are not overly large, but graceful in shape, with long, well-formed fingers. Weight appears to be within the ideal range, neither over nor underweight, and of that, the body fat index seems low. Muscles of the arms, shoulders, legs, and torso seem well-developed and clearly defined, though not as bulky as some crew members. I believe the general look produced is 'lanky.' Overall, quite physically fit and athstetically pleasing."
Unaware that as a result of Seven's little lecture, every female eye in the bistro was riveted to him, Tom wandered over to join Kim and Carey at the pool table. Giving B'Elanna a quick kiss that caused Bakus to sigh with envy, he shrugged off his red and black jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck. Megan let out a low whistle. "Damn, those things sure replicate tight." There was a general murmur of agreement and approval, added to as Tom reached to chalk the tip of his cue, causing the muscles of his shoulders and back to ripple noticeably beneath the tight shirt.
Still unaware of his audience, the pilot tossed his coat to B'Elanna, then bent to line up his shot.
Several medical emergency's ensued.
"Oh, God", Nicholetti choked, "talk about your eye candy!."
Seven looked at her in confusion. "How is Ensign Paris' current position designated an optical confection?"
"Eye candy" Golwot explained quietly, "is a human term for something that is as pleasing for the eye to see as candy is for the mouth to taste."
Considering this, the Borg cocked her head slightly, in order to allow her enhanced eye to better assimilate the view as Paris leaned over again for his second shot. "His gluteal muscles are perhaps the finest in development, proportion, and balance of any male crewmember I have observed on this ship."
Before anyone could stop her, she walked right up to the young pilot, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned, a quizzical expression transforming into a cheerful grin that sparkled white in the dim light. "Hey, Seven."
"Ensign Paris," she informed him, "after careful consideration, I concur with the majority of this ship's female compliment. You are 'eye candy'. Particularly your gluteus maximus." With that, she calmly turned and walked back to the stunned group, leaving a speechless pilot in her wake.
B'Elanna was not speechless. She was livid. "Why that...."
A long, lean arm shot out with pilot's reflexes. A rampaging engineer was stopped. A Borg's life was saved.
As her anger at the initial comment subsided, B'Elanna took in the evidence and came to the realization that one way or another, Seven had been set up. She and Tom were being watched intently by most of Voyager's women, as if expected to perform somehow.
B'Elanna smiled evilly. Now that she knew what was going on, she could control it. She liked that. And if those ladies wanted a show well, they'd get one.
Without warning, her arms wrapped around Tom's neck, her slim body slamming into his with such force that he was knocked backwards onto the felt of the pool table, his blue eyes first wide with surprise, then closed with pleasure as B'Elanna Marie Torres proceeded to bestow upon Thomas Eugene Paris the longest, hottest, wettest, most intense, most unimaginably passionate kiss in the entire recorded history of kissing. Finally, what seemed like an eternity later, they separated reluctantly, and B'Elanna hopped off him lightly, grabbing his discarded jacket as she flashed a truly naughty grin at the shell-shocked women.
"Come on, Tom....let's go." Stunned by the rapid turn of events, and rather lacking for oxygen, Tom took several seconds to get his bearings, shaking his head to clear it as he slowly stood. B'Elanna waited patiently, holding his jacket as he slipped into it and made his good-byes. Then, in the split second after they had left, and before the doors shut behind them, she flashed one last demure smile at the assembly and took firm hold of something else--namely, the right cheek of Tom's ass.
A stunned silence filled Sandrines for nearly a full minute after their departure, a silence broken by the innocent question of a former drone attempting to expand her vocabulary.
"Would that be designated 'hand candy', Ensign?"