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Like a Phoenix from the Fire – Part 8Season 3.5 - Summer Fan Fiction Challenge Like a Phoenix from the Fire – Part 8 by Aquila Category of the plot summary from the list below – Plot #10 Rating: R Disclaimer: All things Trek, even Enterprise – the prequel, are Paramount’s – my passion for Trip and T’Pol, well that’s mine. A short summary statement: -- Part 8 Phlox had warned T’Pol about sensory overload. A warning she failed to heed to her regret as she contemplated the interior of the store. Halogen lights washed display panels covered in contemporary wall-coverings. In the far corner containers of paint were piled in precarious pyramids. An aisle to her left was dedicated to unfathomable tools and gadgets sporting signs that encouraged the purchaser to do it yourself. Irritating and overly loud music gushed from hidden speakers. She wanted to bolt with her hands over her ears. A supercilious shop clerk who could smell fear emanating from a customer at thirty paces sauntered over. “What room are you thinking of redecorating, Ms. T’Pol,” asked the clerk in her most unctuous voice? “The bedroom.” The unanticipated response brought a flush to the clerk’s face, who just that morning over cereal and toast had watched the latest gossip vid with a lead story about the sultry Vulcan and her hunky human bed warmer. T’Pol succumbed to a moment of perversity having guessed accurately the cause of the clerk’s discomfort, “A particularly sexy bedroom – the sort that one never wants to leave if a man with stamina is sharing it.” -- Trip sat on the edge of a functional, unwelcoming bed. He peered around the room. Comfort appeared to be an anathema to Vulcan interior designers. Pillows were hard. Towels were rough. Chair backs did not curve to conform to the spine. “Finally an explanation for that stiff necked Vulcan posture,” decided Trip. “I was wrong about Koval being born with a pole up his arse.” “Adams to Tucker,” startled Trip. “Trip here, Ger.” “You agreed to report every two hours,” pouted the disembodied voice. Trip grinned, rising to cross the room while he conversed. “I agreed to report if I met any beautiful Vulcan females. Right now the empirical evidence is irrefutable. T’Pol is the only beautiful Vulcan female in the universe.” Gerry chuckled, “You mean they’ve hidden the women from the infidel amongst them.” “You’d think I was a Visigoth descending on Rome, the way this place has emptied.” “Your reputation preceded you, spoiling my chances of finding the woman of my dreams.” Trip sat at the computer and punched a few buttons. Gerry Adams appeared on the monitor. “That’s better,” Trip said staring intently at the screen, “Are you planning on poaching?” “T’Pol’s too high profile for my career plans, but if she had a sister,” Adams prompted. “Don’t know if she does,” Trip realized, “But you’ve given me an idea. If she does have a sister, what kind of dowry are you willing to pay?” “Dowry?” Adams was aghast. “Rather an antiquated tradition, isn’t it?” “I think Koval has resurrected an ancient statute that hasn’t been invoked in millennia,” posited Trip. “The bastard’s married with eight kids. He couldn’t have T’Pol if she wanted him. Unless Vulcan males keep mistresses?” Gerry Adams guffawed, “What would T’Pol do to you if she found you had someone on the side?” “I see your point,” Trip chuckled, “Vulcan men value their family jewels as much as we do. No mistress for Koval.” Adams recalled a previous conversation, “Didn’t you say T’Pol was betrothed to some other fellow once?” “Before Koval met T’Pol. Bet it irked him royally,” Trip said with glee. “Past history is going to seem like a mild irritation by the time you’re through with him,” predicted Trip’s buddy. Trip grinned evilly. -- T’Pol stepped back to examine the finished project, the west wall of the master bedroom located on the top floor of the three-storey Queen Anne style painted lady. “T’Pol, are you home?” The bellowed question whooshed up the stairwell. “I am in the attic, Phlox.” A short while later, the head of a puffing Denobulan began to emerge from the stairwell that led directly into the attic. “On my second wife’s, third husband’s, first wife’s fanny – did you do that yourself?” Phlox faced the west attic wall that rose to meet a steep sloping ceiling. The top third of the area was painted a green reminiscent of a green Caribbean sea on a summer afternoon. A gradual and subtle change occurred, until the last half a meter closest to the floor was deep blue. T’Pol had cleverly suspended Trip’s antique diving helmet midway up the wall. She had painted in a trompe l’oeil affect the body of a diver walking across the sea bottom. Phlox noting a hammer in her hand looked again. “What will you hang from those nails you have scattered across the wall?” T’Pol gestured to a box that sat on the first step beside him. Phlox pulled a hand thrown fish, with a Raku glaze, from the box. The light shimmered and dance across the surface as if the fish were wet and alive. He pulled back the box flap. “You have a whole school in here.” T’Pol nodded, “We will lie in bed on foggy days and watch candlelight bounce about the room. Trip will think that he is diving on a coral reef.” Phlox hung the first fish just as a shaft of light struck the wall. “That is breathtaking. Let me help you hang the rest.” -- “Thank you, ma’am, for allowing me to call on you at such short notice.” Trip waited outside the gate for an invitation to enter. His host was a papery skinned female Vulcan of considerable age. Standing on the opposite side of the gate, she kept Trip waiting as her watery eyes roved over him. “You may enter, young man.” Quickly, before she could change her mind, Trip opened the gate and stepped through. He halted because she had not moved and blocked his way. “You may escort me inside,” ordered the old woman in a quavering, yet commanding voice. -- Trip toured the cluttered parlour chock a block with artefacts and the minutia of a lifetime of intergalactic archaeology. “T’Pol doesn’t take after you,” he said shaking his head, “She is organized to a fault.” “She takes after me in all the important ways,” declared T’Lynn, T’Pol’s paternal grandmother, settling into a comfy chair by the window. “That girl has a fine, inquisitive mind,” she said shaking her finger at her visitor, “Come sit where I don’t have to look up at you.” Trip pulled what he hoped was a cubed stool over to her side and sat down, “You are right about her fine, inquisitive mind.” “There’s something else we have in common,” she said lowering her voice so that Trip had to lean in very close to hear her. “What’s that?” “An eye for handsome males,” she said sliding a fragile finger along his jaw line in a manner he could not misinterpret. End of Part 8 Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS! Half a dozen of you have made commentsLooks like T'Pol takes after her grandma... I loved T'Pol's decorating ideas. Wonder what she'll hang in the other rooms? Ali D :~) I want a room decorated like that. LOL at T'Pol's grandmother. That's hilarious. :) What's that old saying-- the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I think this could be an interesting visit :) Good work. Eeeew! *giggles* T’Pol nodded, “We will lie in bed on foggy days and watch candlelight bounce about the room. Trip will think that he is diving on a coral reef.” Wow! I soooo hope this will happen soon (though I´m still afraid of something bad lurking in dark corners...) Maybe Trip can fob grandma off on Koval (Or the other way around). Great story(apart from the creepy old lady, of course). |