Star Trek: Starbase 777

The birdhouses were a fairly secluded part of the environmental ring that housed a broad variety of bird species. The sounds and sights were manifold, and walking through the trees to get a glimpse of the more rarer species was sure to provide a relaxing environment for Tarsek and Tal-terrh to talk.

Tarsek took his stroll calmly among the trees, his eyes catching the sights of colorful birds, both big and small, that would move between the branches. Those too shy to be seen, could definitely be heard and the species present were many, an ambient carefully designed to sustain life from different planetary origins. His outfit for the day had been carefully selected. A mid-thigh length vest made of a thick and lustrous fabric in deep purple, details in the cut and embroidery bringing out the shine under the light passing through the canopies. His trousers were dark and boots were chosen to go with them for a more comfortable walk. A small golden pendant lingered from a thin chain around his neck. The Vulcan had no idea how this date would go or who would be accompanying him, so he bore no gifts, staying true to his own culture. The concept of a “blind-date” was one that picked his interest. Sources seemed to differ on whether it was an efficient way to prospect for a mate or not, but in any case he had decided to see the experience for himself after Garcia had made him aware of the 777 Valentines event. (edited)

The birdhouses. Tal-terrh had been there before, the sound enough to provide him with stimulation even as he couldn't see the things that made the sound. He could feel the animals though, warm-blooded and alive as they were, pressing against his awareness the way he could feel another presence, calm and balanced as he approached. He wore a belted tunic that reached his knees, in a colour he had been assured was deep blue, which he had to trust as the thing mostly just looked dark to him. He just knew the fabric was smooth and comfortable, with an intricate floral pattern in a slightly lighter colour around the bottom hem that elevated it from merely an elegant tunic to something special Tal only wore on certain occasions. His pants were even darker and of a tight cut, and his boots were worn and comfortable, but not old. He looked put together, possibly more so than he actually felt. As he approached the person he was supposed to meet, their large shape dark where illumination left a lot to be desired here, but his poor vision aided by his telepathy, he found himself glad he decided to put himself out there once more. Even if this event was not reliably a way for him to truly let his guard down, it was good to practice, if nothing else. Let himself trust these Federation people, the way Rojin had suggested. "You are here for the date?" he questioned, when he thought he was close enough to his partner for today to converse comfortably. "I am... Tal-terrh." A second of hesitation, as if he wasn't sure what to say... ultimately, he decided that leading with the name he chose above all was probably a preferable introduction to a potential partner, even if any other name he would have offered would have not been less so a true name.

As the question echoed close enough to be heard, Tarsek’s eyes turned from the birds to take sight of the figure approaching. “Indeed.” This first part of the answer came easily, automatically. His next words, however were delayed, which was uncommon of him. Probably a direct mirror of the uncommon vision that stood before him. His date appeared to be vulcanoid, dressed in a tasteful manner, a deep blue that contrasted with his skin and hair. Light colors were rare on a Vulcan, he knew this as one of the few blue eyed individuals of his entire clan. Albinism was even rarer and Tarsek had never encountered one with the condition before he had left his planet to join Starfleet. He had few comparatives to the platinum strains, the eyes though, reminded him of the sky back on his homeland. “I am… Tarsek of Clan V’hgai, son of Sopel, son of Terok. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He decided to forgo the rank that revealed his occupation, after all this was an off-duty setting, but kept the traditional formality embedded into him since birth.

Ah, a formal greeting. Tal-terrh wasn't used to these anymore, had hardly met someone since leaving... leaving where? Maybe even since leaving the monastery. His full name a fact he kept in his heart, not one that ever needed uttering out loud. He stood up straighter, as if preparing himself for an openness he struggled giving on the best of days; but since his partner had engaged with him in such an open display of trust, he would return the favour. The Vulcan-ness of the name helped too to put his mind at ease- he had never known a Vulcan to be indiscreet. "I suppose my full legal title would be something along the lines of Tal-terrh ei-D'ehtea i-Ki Baratan ei-Ximek." It still lacked the many middle names and titles he'd been bestowed through the years, but it was more complete. It also lacked a House name, of course, as that was something he had never had nor held any illusion of ever obtaining. 'ei-Ximek' would be the closest thing he had to it. Not that he assumed Tarsek would know the significance. "The pleasure is all mine." Unseeing eyes wandered aimlessly, almost frantically across Tarsek's form as if they were taking in details; instead Tal was simply cataloguing their surroundings, his telepathy and astute hearing working in tandem to feel out what their surroundings must be like. It was somewhat unnerving still, after all this time, to walk around without a sword at his back, the trust necessary for such things something he had to learn still. Keeping track of where they were was, for now, going to have to settle his fears. "Shall we walk, then? I believe we are intended to make conversation here." It was said with a note of humour, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Interestingly, the other's willingness to provide a full, more formal identification did also settle something inside the Vulcan. Tarsek was more than used to accommodating other cultures, as that had been a vital part of his job. He had spent decades among those who would prefer more familiarity when it came to addressing others. Cultures where simple names or nicknames were a sign of friendliness. He had no issues with those differences. To his own culture, names told stories, revealed ancestries, to lay out your full name was to lay out your full identity, to place trust on another and to honor one's bloodline. He understood how to others this could have no meaning or be viewed as a simple sign of strictness. Still... if brought a strange comfort to receive formality in return of his own, instead of having his traditionalism be brushed aside. Specially considering Tal-terrh had already introduced himself before doing so again. It was appreciated and even if Tarsek probably couldn't understand most of Tal-terrh's story aside from his Romulan ancestry, the information was stored. "Indeed, I believe it is one of the purposes of a date." He nodded once. "Though... forgive me if I am not well versed in these types of encounters." Tarsek would have extended a hand to gesture to the path before them, though he had some suspicions regarding the other's eyesight capabilities taking into consideration his condition. So instead he started to slowly direct himself forward while paying attention if the other would accompany him. There were other ways to locate oneself besides sight, he knew.

Tal-terrh's eyes wandered away from Tarsek, listening to him speak. It really didn't matter where he looked, not really, since the information he got from his eyes was so limited, but he knew that for sighted people it mattered. And yet, there was something unnerving to people about being 'looked at' by someone who couldn't actually see: he'd gotten good over the years at looking at people in acceptable ways. "There is nothing to forgive," he stated as he followed after Tarsek, falling into step beside him with ease. "I have never experienced anything of the sort, either. I harbour no specific expectations." It was a vulnerable admission, perhaps, but one Tal felt could not be used against him, so it was a truth he felt comfortable sharing. "If you have any of your own, perhaps I should be asking your forgiveness instead." He turned his face to the canopy, where the warm if artificial light the ring was bathed in daily shone through the leaves and occasionally hit his face. He could never be sure if a shadow breaking the beams was a leafed branch or an animal or a secret third thing, but he took comfort in the feeling so akin to the sun on his skin for every fleeting moment he had it. For all that he was prone to getting sunburnt, his skin lacking everything necessary to protect him from that celestial fire, the safety of warmth and visual contrast blanketed him. "Did you pick a place like this for your date venue? Or was it simply a coincidence that you were sent here?" (edited)

As the other easily accompanied him, Tarsek saw fit to progress through the path in a pace slow enough to allow for the contemplation of the birds and nature around them. With Tal-terrh’s confession, the Vulcan noted that apparently Ops had indeed made a good job on matching people up as so far, as both of them seemed to be on the same page. Still, it could have been a coincidence, he would need to gather more data as their encounter went on. “I also did not come here with any expectations aside from experiencing a new kind of social event. I believe then that both of our apologies are… illogical.” It was rare to hear any shift on Tarsek’s voice, but there was definitely something lighter about the way that specific word was said. “I was asked about what I would consider ‘an ideal date’. Since I had no previous experience, I simply described places that I find agreeable to frequent.” Not so much a coincidence, but one more point won to the Operations team it seemed. “I did not specify this venue, though I have no objections to it. Do you find it adequate?”

Illogical. It was not a word that generally held meaning for him the way he knew it did for Vulcans, and unlike many of his countrymen, he had never sought to deepen his understanding of the culture of their distant cousins, content living in between the many cultures he had been caught in the midst of. Qowat Milat, Reman, Romulan... there was no room there for something else. And yet on an intellectual level, he understood that perhaps he was the very definition of the term "illogical"... in that sense, perhaps the matchup by Operations had been rather presumptuous. An illogical being like himself, a walking contradiction, with a Vulcan? Ah, but then they couldn't have known. "Of course. Let us leave the apologies behind us," he acquiesced without further pushback, a little too lost in his contemplations to insist upon his faults; perhaps for the best, given the fact that a major disagreement on a first meeting couldn't possibly bode well for any future meetings. "I requested a place where tripping hazards are few, as are people. That consideration came mainly from what I would need to meet someone at my most relaxed, which I assumed would be most preferable for a date." He mimed looking around him for a moment, eyes unseeing as he turned his face into a ray of sunlight, feeling the different lifeforms around him and taking in their sounds in the tranquility of the trees and the lack of people around. "I suppose adequate is not an inaccurate word to use. It is... peaceful, here."

Completely unaware of the thoughts running through the other’s mind, all Tarsek had were their words. Tal-terrh’s reasoning was most sound. “I shall concur, it is peaceful.” In truth, he would have had no problems in keeping his focus on his date, even among other people, but what logic would there be in putting his discipline to the test when a calm venue was a possible choice? Quietness and privacy were things the Vulcan appreciated, even more so after leaving his homeworld. The presence of the birds and soft calls of the wild around them only added to the appeal. “I am aware that protocol around dates dictates the execution of shared activities while maintaining conversation, so that both parties ease on the other’s presence and are able to learn about each other.” It was like hearing someone reading a report out loud, as if he was laying out rules of a game neither were completely familiar with and would play for the first time together. “I believe our shared walk constitutes an activity. I propose we take turns on asking each other questions we find relevant.” How romantic.

Tal released a short laugh at Tarsek's phrasing, more of an amused huff than anything else. It was a bit of an absurd way to lay out the purpose of a date, but it was hard to disagree. "Alright," he acquiesced, trying to think of possible questions. What would he want to know about Tarsek? Perhaps the ideal method was to start at the surface-level. "What do you do to spend your time? Any work, or hobbies?" A neutral question, and surely one that had an answer. Perhaps, if they had any in common, they could maintain a natural conversation, and they would not need to come up with questions manually.

The huff was received as a mainly positive sign. He had learned it usually meant amusement. It could be the good kind, “finding it charming” as some would put, or his suggestion has been regarded as ridiculous. Since Tal-terrh offered a verbal positive, he considered himself to not have failed on his proposal, no matter how the other took it specifically. “I am a Starfleet officer.” Work. A common question according to his sources. Tarsek had no reason to keep it hidden with such a direct inquiry. “My official position is of Station Deputy Commander. Aside from my official duties, I use my spare time for activities such as meditation and reading.” A question for a question, it was his turn. “I shall return the same question: how do you spend your time?*

"Ah, I had heard of the position changing hands again," Tal said, confirming rather indirectly that he had not known Tarsek's position previously just based on name alone. Of course, with the lack of eyesight, it would be harder to match a person to their name and thereby to their position, but Tal-terrh was uniquely disinterested in who ran the station in the sense that authority had simply never resonated with him personally. He had struck out on his own for many decades, after all; the reason he was now under Starfleet's nebulous protection because it allowed him to breathe. To give that authority and protection a shape was useless to him. "I am fond of the arts. I listen to books and poems, and I attempt to write in my own time. I am also always honing my skills with the sword, as I cannot bear the thought of dulling over time." All things would, of course, lose their edge with time, but Tal was determined to fight it every step of the way and for as long as he could. Holodecks were a special kind of challenge, the light contrast better even if telepathically he got no information whatsoever, but in a way, that would make him stronger too. He couldn't afford to rely too heavily on his telepathy, after all. He wondered what his convent would think, should they see him now. Would they consider him a pupil of their ways, still, or was he now something alien to them, something unrecognisable from the girl they had once taught?

Indifference was a good sign. Civilians would come and go around daily and plenty of them did not know who were the senior officers responsible for the starbase. They had no reason to know. A change in who held those positions was unlikely to promote change in their lives, as long as the Starfleet protocols were kept in place and the position’s duties were effectively attended to. Tarsek hoped that such was the case if he ever left the position, with whomever might replace him. “Yes, I was offered the position after Commander Rii Pin Relem stepped down.” A confirmation and a bit more of context. Not that Tarsek wished to discuss his work, it seemed highly irrelevant now and Tal-terrh’s next words were much more interesting. “I too share this fondness. Art was an important part of my upbringing.” From his father’s fingers playing the lyre on their communal room to his great grandmother’s hands weaving patterns and stories through thick threads, art had been a vital aspect of his clan’s life. Part of him regretted not learning a craftsmanship of his own, but he knew such regret was illogical, he had abdicated of those when younger in order to pursuit other types of knowledge. “So were martial arts and I keep their practice as part of my discipline. Perhaps you would be amenable to demonstrating your skills in the future?” Tal-terrh had been right, natural conversation did not seem so hard to be achieved now that they had a concrete topic.

"The arts were something more often left to the wayside when I was growing up," Tal shared, briefly wondering if there had ever been anyone he had shared it with. He had little reason to discuss his upbringing with people, most of the time; the last time he had told someone about how he grew up may well have been while he was still in Ximek's care. "Not for a lack of trying, but with my limited sight, many things were out of my reach, and I was always... impatient, with my schooling." * It felt like a silly thing to admit to Tarsek, clearly a refined and well-taught Vulcan who had enjoyed an upbringing of standing. Tal-terrh was nothing like that, or rather, had not been that when he was growing up. The calm he exuded now was hard-won, the folly of youth having been replaced carefully and step by step with a mournful ache that slowed him down enough to breathe before drawing his sword. "The sword was a more favoured pursuit, in that regard. I wouldn't mind, providing a demonstration. At some other time." "Wouldn't mind" was just about the only phrase he could use that conveyed even a shred of his mixed feelings. Especially now that he was in the Federation, and the expectation was that he leave his sword in his quarters, his complicated feelings towards his weaponry and his usage of them only tended to grow. "What kind of martial arts do you practice? I haven't heard of a Vulcan swordsmaster, but I know there are many styles."

”I see. I am sure you have found modalities of art that can be experienced despite your visual impairment, such as the poems and books you mentioned. Art was part of my clan’s life, it was common for a member to develop such skills.” Even if he had not, at least not in the expert way others did with formal training. Maybe he too could have been considered… impatient with his academic goals, a focus instilled by his mother since young. “I am an adept of both Suus Mahna and Sha’mura. I was also taught V’Shan, though I am no master of the style. My practice is mainly used as a way to strengthen my mental discipline.” Although Vulcan martial arts could be used with deadly intent, throughout the centuries they had assumed an educational role in aiding children and young people to achieve clarity of mind as well as providing the development of one’s control over their own body. “If you are interested in martial weaponry, I am well versed in the lirpa.” Maybe a little too well versed. The common brief and weak discomfort at the mention of the weapon was identified, he would have to meditate on it during his next practice. “Where were you taught, Tal-terrh?”

If Tal could sense the discomfort around lirpas, he said nothing. "The lirpa is the ceremonial weapon, correct? I have held one, but it seemed unwieldy, to me. The balance of it was something I was unused to." It was true that Tal preferred weaponry over unarmed forms of combat. It was a form of self-preservation, the length of a sword just that much more distance between himself and those who wanted to kill him. He could fight with his bare hands, of course he could, but why would he take the chance? "Perhaps you will show me Suus Mahna in return. It is the most famous style, correct?" The question about where Tal was taught made a faraway look come over him. It wasn't discomfort, per se, but rather a sharp reminiscence that overtook him. He sighed, softly, before recounting some more of his past. "I grew up on ch'Rihan," he started, unsure of what to say or how much Tarsek would know to give him context for whatever facts Tal-terrh could share with ease. "In a convent, a ways out from Ki Baratan. It is where I learned most things." In so many different ways, the person that learned the ways of the Qowat Milat did not exist anymore, and neither did the home she had learned in. They were now simply some of the many aches that made up Tal-terrh's personhood. (edited)

It would not be so easy to sense anything more than calm from the Vulcan. As quickly as it came, the uneasiness was suppressed. “Indeed it is considered mostly a ceremonial weapon, though there are times when it is called to be used in true matches. We are trained to yield it if the time comes. You would be able to use it with the right practice.” It was a very common assessment of the weapon from outsiders. “Suus Mahna is the most famous and practiced, you are correct. I would be willing to demonstrate.” As they walked further on the path, somewhat focused on each other and their shared conversation more than anything around them, the small change on the other’s gaze was not completely imperceptible. ch’Rihan, Romulus. Which meant the location where Tal-terrh had grown up and been educated no longer existed, that convent preserved only in his memories. Tarsek did not know such an experience, but he had known many who had been displaced due to the destruction of the planet. “I grieve with thee.”

Tal-terrh hadn't even seen much of his homeworld, his life always having been rather confined to the convent by both necessity and circumstance. When they moved in anticipation of the supernova, the event now referred to as The Great Loss, he hadn't at the time felt like he was losing a lot of major importance. His sister had still been there, and so had the other nuns. It was only now, looking back at the time where life was still peaceful, that he realised just how much the relative peace of youth had been wasted on being young. He would have appreciated it much more now, as an adult, with several lives behind him and several more yet still to live. "My sword, by contrast, is lighter, with more maneuvrability. It is designed for the purpose of warfare, and this is the use it sees." Tal simply replied, bringing the topic back to weaponry. He could not count on his hands the lives his sword had taken, nor would be begin to guess at the number of lives it would still claim. The future was not set in stone, after all, and if the day came that he left this haven in favour of the tumultuous Republic once more, he would not hesitate to put his blade to its intended use once more. "It is as long as an arm, and has only a single cutting edge. Tan qalankh, is what we call it, if you have heard of it?" If Tarsek had, that meant Tal was inadvertently revealing a lot about himself and his background. If he hadn't, that meant that Tal was kept safe by his ignorance for as long as it took Tarsek to look it up.

He quietly listened to the other’s explanation. It seemed a very versatile weapon and the quiet possible admission to using the blade as intended followed. A tan qalankh. Possibility came close to certainty. “Yes I have heard of it.” He had seen it once. A sword and a sister yielding it. The Qowat Milat were no specialty of his. Actually not many outsiders could claim to know much more about the nuns. They were a closed, women-only, order that did not advertise much of their ways. This however, meant Tal-terrh’s aforementioned convent was part of said order, and that he had been trained by the sisters. The fact he was not a woman explained why he was not with them, taking residence instead on the starbase. Though why 777 still remained to be explained. He waited for the other to continue, if he wished to. A sense that they were walking dangerously close to the threshold that would mark their initial superficial conversation into a much deeper exchange. Was it proper? Were they even prepared for that?

Tal turned towards Tarsek, a microexpression that could be surprise or shock colouring him for a second before it was gone again. Not many foreigners knew of the tan qalankh; not even all Romulans knew of it. Often, there were only three kinds of people who would recognise the name: those who trained with the blade, those who were saved by it, and those who knew to fear it. Tarsek didn't particularly seem like he fit in any of the categories. "Then you know how I was raised," he simply stated, forgoing a deeper explanation for the moment, a beam of light passing over his face as he turned back to the trail. "You are familiar with Romulan culture, then? There aren't many on this side of the border who would recognise the name of the blade, especially not those of foreign descent." It was questioning, even if the intonation didn't communicate a question clearly in that way. The Qowat Milat were not... obscure, necessarily, but they certainly didn't advertise themselves in a way that their name might precede them outside of whispered stories used to inspire hatred in young Empire recruits.

Tarsek nodded. He had expected this reaction, to a degree, he had more experience with Romulan affairs when compared to the average Starfleet officer. “I am familiar with some of it. My late captain was…” He searched for the right words. It was not common for those to escape him, but when it came to this particular aspect of Marcelo he was not sure of what type of statement he should make. “…Tied, in a way, to the Romulan culture. Under him, missions regarding border patrol or refugees from the supernova were common, and I was able to learn much in a practical way. It is why I am more knowledgeable than most other diplomats. But I do not know enough of the Qowat Milat ways to make the claim of knowing how they raised you.” Just like he did not expect an outsider, even if Vulcan, to know much about growing up inside a clan such as his. It was deeply personal, only another like Tal-terrh could truly understand.

That made sense. Tal-terrh hadn't known that Tarsek was a diplomat, but a diplomat learning about the culture they were interacting with was, of course, expected. The fact that he had then learned something of the Qowat Milat and their customs was not outside of the realm of possibilities, especially since in the evacuation, Tal knew many sisters had aided the many refugees. He had once been one of them. "But you are aware of what the Qowat Milat is, and how she operates, at least in part. I'm sure it gives you an idea, and given our propensity for candor, I am sure whatever you know paints the picture well enough." That was not to say that the Qowat Milat were uncomplicated or simple or anything, but the things Tal would spill out if he was to go on talking about his upbringing were private, having an almost sacred quality to them that he struggled to convey appropriately. It felt like any words he would use to try to describe his sister, the nuns, the halls and the swordplay, the sun and the rains, and the green and blue and yellow of the flora, it would all be insufficient and then, in some strange way, destroy the memory. "I was... one of them." The implication being, of course, that he was not simply here because he was male and therefore could never be Qowat Milat in the same way. He had been, in another life, one of them, and he had had to leave all that behind, too.

There was an admission there. Not exactly hidden, as Tal-terrh had said so himself, the Qowat Milat followed a path of absolute candor and such old habits could not possibly die easy. It was subtle, but he did not consider it to be out of deceit, rather out of something else the Vulcan could not name at that moment with how little he knew of the other and his usual behavior. Was it uneasiness? Was Tarsek crossing an imaginary line by keeping in this particular topic? Vulcans usually had no use for lies, his own way of communicating was candid. He supposed this natural lack of hidden subtext could be appreciated in this particular situation. “Would you prefer we change the subject?”

Tal felt the need to explain himself then, at the question. Tarsek did not make him uncomfortable, and he didn't want the other man to assume he was at fault here. "It is not- you are not at fault. I apologise, for all my writing, I simply do not have the words to talk about some things, and I fear my upbringing is one of these." He took a deep breath, holding it for a second. "It must seem illogical, but any words I try to string together do not reflect the reality as I remember it adequately, and so I am lost for words." He did not want discomfort to settle, or the conversation to halt. "If you have something specific you would be interested in, I would not mind answering. But perhaps a less loaded topic would be more suitable, for a first date. We may always reconsider, should we decide to meet again." His voice lilted slightly, intending to convey humour. He did not want to force Tarsek to agree to meet him again; perhaps the experience was not agreeable to him, and Tal-terrh would not fault him for deciding against repeating the experience for any reason. Far be it from him to demand someone's presence in his life. "What do you read, usually? Novels, or articles, or poetry?"

”If so, I have no objections to another topic.” For Tarsek the uneasiness of not wanting to talk about something was no different of the uneasiness of not knowing how to talk about something. Either way there was a discomfort for the other he wished to avoid. “Not knowing the words to choose is not illogical, it is simply a sign of the need for more contemplation. And if there are no words, I find there is no conversation to be had about it yet.” He nodded at Tal-terrh’s suggestion. “If you wish to meet me again, and if you find your words until then, perhaps. If not, I do not believe there is a limit to the number of dates one may have, so you have infinity on your favor Tal-terrh.” Truly, Tarsek saw no reason to decline, quite the opposite in fact. The man had captured his interest, brief as their encounter had been so far. “I try to keep up with the articles of my ex-colleagues from my previous line of work. I also partake in classical literature from different origins. There is much to be learned about a people from the way they choose their words and what they choose to write about.”

"Infinity?" Tal-terrh asked, almost incredulous. His affect was perhaps flatter than most people's, but for a Vulcan, the feeling of disbelief would shine through. "How forward of you, Tarsek," he said, the amused lilt back in his tone, mirroring Tarsek's emphasis on his name by doing the same back. "Let us first see about a second meeting, before we make any overcommitments." It was said good-naturedly, though, as Tal-terrh was joking but not necessarily at anyone's expense. He simply did not want to over-promise and under-deliver. "Classical literature suits me, as well. Fiction, mostly. The fantastical and the speculative has always drawn me in more than reflections of reality. Perhaps this is unsurprising, given where I am from, but engaging with literature is an escape, too, for me." Of course, one's circumstances influenced one's art, and Tal would never be able to deny that of course the books he'd known over the years contained bits and pieces of the universe as he knew it, but that was never the focus of the story. Non-fiction, especially the Romulan (or, heaven forbid, Reman) kind, tended to be depressing. Tal-terrh had felt enough sadness to last him three lifetimes, he did not need it from his reading material, too.

”It is simply a true statement.” The other’s acceptance of his words with humor had been counted as another win. It seemed his date could detect the very subtle nuances of humor he sometimes chose to let pass his usual impassiveness. Garcia would be proud. “I am merely placing myself at your disposal.” He looked at a particular chippy bird duo that had soared across their path, as if his commentary was simply a completely nonchalant phrase. The birds had a colorful coat, greens and yellows, small specks of color that had settled on a tree not so far away. “I am aware it can be used as such, though I have not engaged with these works in this way. You are not the first to express this view.” Escapism was definitely not something that aligned with his philosophy. To avoid reality and ignore problems was simply illogical. “I find myself intrigued with the symbolism of myths of various societies in their rudimentary stages. Vulcan has a rich example of such, before The Awakening, and so do most known cultures. Intriguing that we can be so alike despite all of our differences.”

@wren