Post by Nathan Landry on Nov 3, 2013 8:01:50 GMT -8
The Pelebians were an interesting sort of people. They quite liked visitors, for one thing, a marked difference from most of the planets he'd ended up on, save places like Risa. One of the more enjoyable places he'd made planet fall, come to think of it; the right number of women dressed in scanty outfits, the right number of men who'd obligingly move out of his way when he was busy looking at them.
Not that he was doing that here, obviously. He was almost engaged in a committed....friendship. A person couldn't do that sort of thing when he was, you know, casually drinking coffee with a person a couple times a week. A person who was quite pleasant.
So somehow, in lieu of going to the beach and doing the same sort of thing he'd done a million times on hundreds of planets, he'd found himself in the bustling square of a little village, surrounded by a group of men and women who were in various stages of made-up completeness. It had started quite innocently; he'd been wandering along, at peace with himself and the world, despite the inner nigglings that told him there was an unfortunate emptiness beside him, and it would have been so much nicer if he'd asked a certain someone if she'd like to come with him, when a young woman, leaning so far out of her little stall that he was sure she was going to fall over, had excitedly called out to him.
"You are human?" she'd asked, wide smile puckering against the vibrant purple color that almost covered the bottom of her face in broad streaks. Yes, he'd answered, half-truthfully. It was often more trouble than it was worth to explain that he was only half-human, and people generally didn't care anyway. Surely a young woman on a random planet in the middle of the Gamma Quadrant wouldn't.
She'd been far more excited than he'd expected, sweeping out of her little stall and asking him if he'd like to be made up to look like one of them. From somewhere, a man materialized, jabbering that he should do it, and then another woman had joined the chorus, and somehow Nathan had ended up perched on a stool outside the stall, having free makeup slathered across his face according to some nonsensical pattern he couldn't pick out.
Somewhere along the way, he'd caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, face haphazardly smeared with paint, and then a girl, giggling up a storm, was pulled into the melee. She definitely wasn't human; there were ridges on her nose, the earring in her ear telling of her Bajoran heritage. "You should do it," the young woman, owner of the stall, said, shoving a small tub of paint into Nathan's hand.
"Oh no," Nathan said, standing up, pushing back, but there was a chorus of encouragement, and the Bajoran girl leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. "It's okay," she whispered, "I won't tell anyone."
"It's not," he began, but they were all talking again, encouraging all the wrong things, and Nathan gave up, defeated. Five minutes later, he had made more a mess of himself than the Bajoran, though she did have a fair amount of paint smeared on her face. She'd helped it along, smearing a bit here and there, according to yet another pattern that the Pelebians seemed curious about, an aesthetic that went against their helping hands as they randomized the pattern Nathan had built.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed half a dozen times, finally edging the tub of paint onto the stall counter, easing down from the stool and trying to get away. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," the chorus came from the Pelebians, and the Bajoran woman also squirmed away from their hospitality to come after him, teasing him light-heartedly for a moment before she disappeared into the bustle.
That had been immensely interesting, at least. Nathan caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window, all green and blue and yellow, a smeared mess whose rhyme and reason he couldn't begin to figure out. Well then.
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Not that he was doing that here, obviously. He was almost engaged in a committed....friendship. A person couldn't do that sort of thing when he was, you know, casually drinking coffee with a person a couple times a week. A person who was quite pleasant.
So somehow, in lieu of going to the beach and doing the same sort of thing he'd done a million times on hundreds of planets, he'd found himself in the bustling square of a little village, surrounded by a group of men and women who were in various stages of made-up completeness. It had started quite innocently; he'd been wandering along, at peace with himself and the world, despite the inner nigglings that told him there was an unfortunate emptiness beside him, and it would have been so much nicer if he'd asked a certain someone if she'd like to come with him, when a young woman, leaning so far out of her little stall that he was sure she was going to fall over, had excitedly called out to him.
"You are human?" she'd asked, wide smile puckering against the vibrant purple color that almost covered the bottom of her face in broad streaks. Yes, he'd answered, half-truthfully. It was often more trouble than it was worth to explain that he was only half-human, and people generally didn't care anyway. Surely a young woman on a random planet in the middle of the Gamma Quadrant wouldn't.
She'd been far more excited than he'd expected, sweeping out of her little stall and asking him if he'd like to be made up to look like one of them. From somewhere, a man materialized, jabbering that he should do it, and then another woman had joined the chorus, and somehow Nathan had ended up perched on a stool outside the stall, having free makeup slathered across his face according to some nonsensical pattern he couldn't pick out.
Somewhere along the way, he'd caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, face haphazardly smeared with paint, and then a girl, giggling up a storm, was pulled into the melee. She definitely wasn't human; there were ridges on her nose, the earring in her ear telling of her Bajoran heritage. "You should do it," the young woman, owner of the stall, said, shoving a small tub of paint into Nathan's hand.
"Oh no," Nathan said, standing up, pushing back, but there was a chorus of encouragement, and the Bajoran girl leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. "It's okay," she whispered, "I won't tell anyone."
"It's not," he began, but they were all talking again, encouraging all the wrong things, and Nathan gave up, defeated. Five minutes later, he had made more a mess of himself than the Bajoran, though she did have a fair amount of paint smeared on her face. She'd helped it along, smearing a bit here and there, according to yet another pattern that the Pelebians seemed curious about, an aesthetic that went against their helping hands as they randomized the pattern Nathan had built.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed half a dozen times, finally edging the tub of paint onto the stall counter, easing down from the stool and trying to get away. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," the chorus came from the Pelebians, and the Bajoran woman also squirmed away from their hospitality to come after him, teasing him light-heartedly for a moment before she disappeared into the bustle.
That had been immensely interesting, at least. Nathan caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window, all green and blue and yellow, a smeared mess whose rhyme and reason he couldn't begin to figure out. Well then.
Tag: Any