The Start Of Something New (Part 1)

Posted on Thu Nov 23rd, 2023 @ 12:09pm by Lieutenant Commander Ferrand Beaulieu & Lieutenant Commander Victoria Aries

3,553 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Ethics, Morals & The Prime Directive.

Victoria was at a complete loss for words. She'd been running a drill with Lieutenant Bennington for the last couple hours, simulating a major attack on the Dreadnought with her making the decisions of who to send where and she'd made a complete hash of it. Worst of all, Harold had been conciliatory and hadn't chided her overly much when she'd made mistake after mistake. It would have been better if he had, because then she wouldn't have had to bottle up her frustration. So she asked him for the least inhabited open space he knew of and set off there at a fast walk.

She ended up in a large park that she stormed through to a clearing that Bennington had assured her that nearly no one knew about and with several copses of trees to go through to get to, she believed him. She didn't even bother to look around as she passed the last tree and screamed just for the sake of it. She jerkily tried to unseal her uniform jacket and failing that, tore the fabric and ripped it off before balling it up and throwing it as far as she could in front of her, leaving her in the tank top she wore underneath it as she let out her rage.

Ferrand had been sitting under another tree in casual yet comfortable attire that wouldn't distract him from his drawing not far off from where the outburst took place. It broke the otherwise peaceful, tranquil moment of the garden that with a slight lean to one side to peer round the base of the tree made it hard to ignore or miss and it draw the Frenchman's attention. He saw a woman clearly in a measure of frustration and the hurled bundle that was her uniform tunic tossed away like a tissue. The was something about the scene though as he observed, there was a beauty in her rage, how her hair flowed with each head turn and tile, how it hung when leaning against the tree.

He flipped the page and started to draw, a circle for the outline of the head, wispy lines for hair, contouring for the shoulders. The lines for the jaw, the nose, the slight furl of her eyebrows. Her moving around wasn't as much of a problem, more so that he'd have to wait to catch a glimpse of her face again from behind the veil of her hair. His pencil moving quickly yet with a practiced ease, his eyes fleeting between his focus, and the art he was creating.

There was no rhyme nor reason to her rage, whether she stormed around or limply made her way from one part of the clearing to another. She'd found herself banging her head on one of the trees, to slumped against another one as tears fell down her face to drip off her chin. Yet it was satisfying to get the emotions out of her system. Even over it all, she knew she'd have to go back to DCC eventually to go over the failure that had been her exercise with that damnably patient person.

It took her what was it? Half an hour? A full hour? Before she'd finally gotten everything out and she found herself slumped to her knees next to the tattered rag that she'd turned her tunic into as she picked it up and used it to wipe her face from the last of the tears of frustration, leaving a smudge on a cheek that she didn't notice. A ragged breath drew in, then exhaled as Victoria thought on what to do next. What even COULD she do? Defeat. And her entire posture showed it.

Ferrand has drawn then flanked with with smaller ones, her hands, a side glance of her face flanked by hair out of place, her entire against the tree yet there was no sadness in his art, he even caught the smudge on her cheek and how the eye above it seemed to look off into the distance even if it was downward to the ground in which she sat. He let his talent flow from one point of interest to the next, catching her in her moment dire and putting it to paper but catching not the sadness but the beauty of it. He wasn't sure if he could recognize who it was but given the size of the ship it was possible he didn't know her, the Hanger Bay was off the beaten path for a reason and that was where he spent most of his time.

When he was done he neatly tore the page from his book and placed it in a sleeve to protect it, it was transparent, only slightly inflexible but enough to prevent it being folded at least. Getting to his feet and slipping his pencil behind his ear he walked to her slowly, calmly let he startle her. "Excuse me, madame." He spoke some 10 meters away. "I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to give you this." His hand out clutching the page in which the 5 drawings lay as he closed the distance to hand it over.

The voice was the first warning she'd had of his presence, startling her out of the self-pity Victoria was wallowing in with a sharp intake of breath, her head snapping up. Her hands tightened on the gold uniform as she spun to face him, scrambling to her feet shakily while she tried to process what this meant. Had he heard her? Had he SEEN her throw what could only be interpreted as a hissyfit? But the voice was soft, calm, some sort of familiar accent that her addled brain couldn't place offhand, "I'm sorry... I." She started, gathering herself and her thoughts, "I..." One hand reached out to accept the plastic-enclosed page automatically, "I thought I was alone out here."

"No madame." He replied, his accent harder to hide given he could speak English just as well as his native French but the accent still managing to seep into his words regardless. "I had been here for some time before you walked in. "You need not apologise." He replied trying to ease the apparent embarrassment she was no doubt feeling at her discovery of being seen and heard in her moment of anguish. "I hope I have not offended with my drawing, I sometimes come her to draw, what...changes frequently."

Quebecois? Victoria asked herself, but slowly shook her head as she dismissed it. That was it's own dialect, as she'd found out first-hand, but she'd at least nailed down the accent as French even while she looked over the drawings, recognizing herself in them instantly. That tree, hands clenched, then the last, her staring into space with a smud- One hand came up to her cheek to wipe it away, but stopped mid-motion as she noticed what was missing in it all. Yes, this was her from those hours before, or was it minutes? But there wasn't... What she'd been feeling. "These are... Really good, but... What about?" She ended the question there, not knowing how to phrase what she was trying to ask.

"About what madame?" He asked, curious as to what she was about to ask him having seen what he'd drawn. Did he miss a feature, was something out of place or not there at all from the distance he was seated from her?

"Victoria, I'm Victoria." As if that would do any good, him calling her by her name instead of 'Madame', but it would at least make him more human, wouldn't it? She shook her head again, hair waving as another breeze kicked up from behind her blowing it in front of her face again, "There's none of... This!" She held out the torn tunic as if it was the answer to what she was trying to say, the emotional outburst, the anger, the despair.

"Ferrand, Ferrand Beaulieu. A pleasure." A slight respectful nod of the head before righting himself. "If I may, I find that in the day to day lives we lead, in what we do, we put forward a face that people see, true beauty as I see it comes when we shed that facade. From a Caterpillar comes a chrysalis, a unsightly thing from its otherwise pleasant creator. From that Chrysalis comes a Butterfly, beauty from something otherwise not. You walked in here as the one people see, you had a moment, calmed and from that I see this..." Pointing towards what he'd drawn on the page.

"Never heard it put that way before." She finally reached up to wipe the smudge away with the back of one hand, but it was more an absent-minded motion than one meant to correct a fault, "Most would just tell me I was being a raging bitch that needed to sit in a box for a few minutes and settle my ass down." She looked up at his face with a curious look and a slight smirk of a smile, "Maybe I've been going about this all wrong, what do you think?"

"Perhaps if you were 12 then I might see how that statement would be appropriate, however since you are clearly not, might I suggest a drink? Something to eat perhaps?" Ferrand countered. "A good meal I find is always good for the heart and mind when troubled." He took the pencil from behind his eat and tucked it into a sleeve on his drawing book.

"And somewhere to recycle this." Victoria agreed, still holding the uniform, "And only on one condition: You pick where we go to eat? I'm still new on board and I've only scratched the surface on what and where anything really is. It's bad when an engineer gets lost on her ship, isn't it?"

"If you would like we can return to your residence and you can change. I will wait outside naturally." Ferrand had caught sight of the collar of the gold rich uniform. Lt. Commander. Operations, Engineering or Security he was not sure which.

“That’d work, though I wouldn’t object to you coming into the living room area.” She shrugged non-commitally, “My bedroom and closet have doors of their own and wouldn’t it be a bit awkward to wait around for me outside? Besides, I think I’m done with my uniform for the day. It’s been one of those days.”

"Of course." His arm out to the side towards the nearby path that could take the pair to the door and out. As they walked he asked. "Lt. Commander, Operations, Engineering, Security?" A senior figure in any department regardless given the rank.

“Engineering, Chief of.” Victoria allowed from about a quarter step ahead of him, clearly being escorted, “Just arrived while my former ship was on her way back to Earth for some serious repairs and the Skipper decided he could spare me to the Dreadnought. That was a couple days ago and I’m still trying to come to terms with having more people under my direct line of command than we’re on all of Aspirant. That, plus the size of this ship… It’s been a bit much for me so far.”

"She is.....substantial I admit." Ferrand replied. "I too have not been on board long though I have not ventured far in exploration." Which was something he did want to do considering his love for drawing and no doubt the bountiful locations and views that could source his inspiration and creativity.

“It’s kinda sorta my job to know where everything is on board, how to get there and how to get it back in working order.” They left the park and she made for the clearly marked bank of turbolifts, one arriving just as they did and she had to remind herself just how to key in for her deck and general section for her particular set of quarters, “Mind if I ask about you? Civilian or Fleet?”

"Fleet." He answered. "Lt. Commander, though most just call me CAG." Revealing that the man was the Commander Air Group and otherwise in charge of the entire fighter compliment on board. He followed since they were going to her quarters and he didn't know which way that was.

“In-teresting.” Victoria finally took a glance up and down at him, noting that he was a little taller than her, three inches only, but yes, she could see him in flight suit and cockpit, “You know, back when I was just starting out, I was a small craft specialist on a Nebula, which meant I actually spent some time working on the fighters we had aboard. They were meant as a ready escort rather than a strike package, but they were rather fussy when something glitched. Of course, you have your own ground crews to handle those problems, right?”

"We do. Each craft has a tech crew, each flight a crew chief, and each squadron a crew master." Ferrand replied. "Though with over 140 fighters alone not including support and auxiliary craft its obviously more." He paused again. "That said however, I know very few of my pilots or teams so I am slowly getting to know them."

She’d turned left out of the turbos lift and they’d gone a hundred meters before she stopped dead in her tracks, “Damn! Wrong way,” Then turned suddenly and ran into Ferrand, bouncing off of him but reached out and grabbed a hold of his arm to steady herself and went suddenly red in the face, “Sorry ‘bout that, still getting lost just trying to find my way home.”

As with any pilot his reflexes were on point, his hand quickly atop her own, his arm brought towards him to counter her fall and provide stability. "It's alright, in fairness I may have taken a wrong turn or two when I got on board and had to use the computer to guide me a few times." Once he saw she was steady he eased his hold and relaxed his arm.

“Not gonna do that just to get home.” Victoria muttered, mostly to herself, “Should just be a few doors down from… Ha!” She found the nameplate on the door and it had been updated from ‘Chief Engineering Officer’ to ‘Lt. Commander Victoria Aries, CEO’ in her absence that day, “And here is more space than the Captain on an Akira gets.” She remarked as the doors slid open for them and she hurried inside, looking at the pile of crates still in the corner, but the new furniture she’d ordered arranged by the delivery people ready for her. She glanced over the crates, then grabbed a large duffel bag and rather easily sling it over her shoulder, “Don’t mind the mess, I’ll be out in just a couple minutes, promise.” She had already started for the bedroom door seemingly miles away in comparison to what she’d been used to.

Victoria's quarters rivaled his own in appearance and lay out, he didn't have much because he figured that he'd get what he needed on board instead of hauling it with him. Only having what his fighter could hold and the bag in the storage rack might have had a say in it too. "No rush, take your time." Ferrand replied as he patiently waited. So to not be rude and appear to be prying he opened his book and sifted through the pages of old works and spur of the moment inspirations that he'd put to paper. There were many over the year he'd had this one particular book but on of many books in his time of being artistic.

'God, that was embarrassing.' Victoria thought to herself as the door slid shut behind her once more, then tossed the ripped tunic onto her bed. Plenty of time to deal with that later and she took a few seconds to look at herself in the mirror that her closet opened into. Then she looked at the drawings she still held and slowly walked to her dresser and placing it on there. Something about them drew her attention still and she still couldn't understand how something that came from her sheer anger at herself had instilled the grace of... Those.

She finally abandoned them and rapidly took off her work shoes and the uniform skirt she wore as well before opening the duffel bag and started pulling out what clothes she'd stuffed in there in those few moments available on Aspirant. Presumably they were going somewhere decent, so no looking like a slob or looking totally like a sports freak. But, this wasn't a date either, right? So something fun, but not flirty. She finally decided on something red, a blouse with a v-neck and short sleeves and a matching red skirt. Shoes were... Not heels, no, a set of sandals that matched the outfit.

Four minutes and eighteen seconds after the door closed, it reopened again as she cursed herself for running late. She hated being late, or behind what she'd promised. "Sorry about the wait. No excuse."

"A lady's prerogative." Ferrand answered with a smile upon turning when he heard the doors to the bedroom open behind him. He closed the book of art and bound it with the little clasp at its edge. A remarkable change indeed from the anger filled to the beauty she was now. "Feel better?" He asked knowing that for himself especially when he got out of the uniform into something else it felt like he'd stopped being the Lt. Commander and felt more normal, free, himself.

"Do you have any preferences to eat, foods you don't like, things to avoid?" He asked with the aim to avoid such places and making what should be a pleasant, soul healing meal into a nightmare with a poker face.

He himself liked some foods more than others but it mostly depended on how adventurous he was feeling at the time and if he wanted to also risk wearing some of his meal or not....especially when other pilots were involved as a group.

"Somedays, you just have to let everything get out. Today was one of those days.." Victoria mused with a slight smile, then stopped. Was it her first smile since coming aboard the ship? Or just her first in the last however long it had been since that damned exercise? "I'm not allergic to anything if that helps and I really haven't met much in the way of food that I haven't liked. Okay, maybe not some of the more esoteric Asian stuff, but those are mostly native dishes that only they like and oh my God I need to shut up." She finished, realizing that she was babbling.

"Perhaps a Chicken Chasseur, or a Gratin Dauphinois, Ratatouille, Salade Nicoise for something a little healthier or a boeuf bourguignon maybe?" Ferrand spoke spilling out a few of his favorite dishes that while naturally French in origin, he found the favours were hard to beat in a difficult moment.

Not knowing what she leaned towards in terms of food he thought an all round list might cover the basic bases at least. In the one hand he hoped he was not overloading her with options but perhaps also giving her food for though....pun aside.

"That's all French to me." Victoria said, shaking her head with a slight chuckle, "Let's see, Chicken something-or-another, Cheese with something that I hope isn't dolphin, a vegetable dish, a salad of something or I'm assuming something beef?" Given that she was nearly fluent in Japanese and only knew a smattering of French, she knew that she wasn't making any sense, "Tell you what, take your pick of where to go and I'll trust that I can find something? I may need a translator, or at least pictures of what it is!"

"Very well." Ferrand answered with a smile as with only a brief walk, turbolift ride and rounding two corners they were at the entrance to the main Promenade level. A venue wasn't overly hard to find as it was mostly following his nose even after passing a few that looked crowded and a line waiting for a table. He next saw one that while not packed, looked appealing, decor was pleasant and everyone inside seemed to be smiles and laughter. Looking at the menu he saw a few familiar dishes including some he'd mentioned to Victoria.

"How about here?" He asked looking through the window to see if there was a table available to be had, ideally away from the lobby or waiting area.

The menu, predictably, was only in French, though the pictures definitely helped solve some of the mysteries of the dishes he'd mentioned. She smiled more broadly up at him, at ease in his presence, more so than she would have possibly expected. Perhaps it was just how he saw her? "Works for me! In fact," She reached out to touch his forearm briefly, "How about you order for me? I'm an omnivore, will eat just about anything put in front of me, so take your best guess and I'll go along with it."

To Be Continued in Part 2.

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