3/30/99

A light flashes on your comm-unit. Enough to garner attention, but not enough to wake you should you be sleeping.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

You say "Good evening, van'chela." She sounds tired, still, but much less so. "Did you rest well?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "Sort of," Tarrant sounds a bit rough still, but alert and not at all prone to rambles. "I am afraid I was able to learn but little, and that somewhat confusing." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "Even little and confusing is better than nothing. Would you prefer to discuss it over the comm, or in person?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and says "The comm may be somewhat limited, as there are some things I would rather not say on the airwaves n'all. Still, you should be resting, not conspiring, m'friend. It's a dirty business." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I have rested, Tarrant. If I am to avoid waking much earlier this morning than I would like, I should not rest any more for a bit. But if you would prefer it, of course, the discussion can wait. You need your rest as well, after all." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "I think rest's gonna be a bit on the few and far between side for a while with this particular bit of lunacy. I'm all about up to it. Where at?" in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I am in my quarters, but I can come to you if you prefer." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "Nah, I can make it up there. No sense in dragging you down into this place, it's almost as dank as that tunnel. I'll be there in two shakes of an annoyed lamb." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I shall see you then." into the communit.

Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Tarrant. (If you like, you can 'reply <words>'.)

Corian calls, "Come in."

Tarrant enters from the Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant has arrived.

Corian is curled up in a corner of the couch, somewhat wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket but still obviously quite awake. "Good evening, van'chela." She smiles at the vest, with a quiet chuckle. "That does suit you."

Tarrant steps in, his limp perhaps a bit more pronounced than usual. The latter comment gets a smile in return. "Thank you, I appreciate it. It was loose." He pauses a bit inside the door, still politely standing, hands held loosely behind him. Careful of his stance he locks into position so he will not waver too much. "I'd like to apologize again for all this craziness."

Corian shakes her head firmly. Waving to the couch, she inquires, "Will you sit? It seems you should not stand for very long, after what happened." She pauses a beat, then says, "I accept your apology, of course, but I also find it unnecessary. I do not believe that you will accept it, but the incident was no fault of yours."

Tarrant moves to the other end of the couch, sinking down onto it and looking exceptionally relieved to be seated. "It turns out I should've been paying more attention I guess. I went downstairs into a heap of a mess that needed sorting, and still does to be honest. But I don't know what else to do just yet. Things aren't adding up."

Corian, still mostly curled up, shifts so that she's facing you, head pillowed on one lifted arm. "Can you tell me about it?" she inquires quietly. "I do not know that I will be able to be assistance, but I would like to help as I may."

Tarrant shifts half to one side so that he may rest his head against the back of the couch and still face you. His knee is brought up a bit so that the boot of that leg crosses over the knee of the other and his hands rest lightly on that leg. "I can tell you what I know, maybe you'll be able to make some sense out of it. I'm not managing it, that's for sure. First thing that happened, I went in and the duty guy asked if I'd hurt myself skiing or something. Instead of being listed as being on assignment I'd gotten put up as on vacation on the roster."

Corian's brows arch fractionally at that. "How very odd," she murmurs.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

"Gets worse," Tarrant explains, "My boss all but had me ont he carpet for taking unauthorized missions, but then found all the expense reports went through, so it must've been authorized, but he couldn't figure out from where. So I went to talk to the guy who gave me the details on it to start. He's dead."

Corian blinks a few times at that. "So getting an explanation from him will certainly be difficult, yes." She's not being helpful, but, see, her player's not distracted at all. Really.

Tarrant's eyes close a moment and he nods before re-opening them. "Yeah, not exactly a simple quiz. It's a mess, and it looks like an inside mess."

Corian, as she's watching you rather closely, notes the momentary eye-closing. "Would you like something to drink?" she inquires. "And have you eaten?" She nods slowly at your assessment, adding, "You were certainly right when you said that things do not add up."

"Thank you, but no," Tarrant gestures negatively, "You look very comfortable indeed, and I would not want you to have to get up." He mrhrms quietly, "They do not. I am not sure what to make of the situation."

Tarrant's communit crackles to life and blares "... Mr. Czolgosz?... Aleron,... Are you..." in Clara's voice.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian starts to say... well, something, but she doesn't even get a word in before the communit interrupts her. She remains silent, glancing away to give you the semblance of privacy to answer.

Tarrant looks a bit sheepish and moves to do so.

Tarrant says " Good evening, ma'am. Yes, I'm awake. I was just explaining the situation to Corian, ma'am." into his communit.

Tarrant's communit crackles to life and blares "... situation.... a clue... talking... but goes with it... "I have your antibiotic, Mr.... when... convenient... it's..." in Clara's voice.

Tarrant sighs softly, regarding his comm unit a moment. "Dr. Aleron wants to drug me," he explains.

Corian blinks, then repeats what she's been saying all along, albeit perhaps a bit more slowly this time. "I am sure she means you no harm, Tarrant. She is... a'trezla to my cha'leket." Yeah, that's helpful. "She can be trusted to help you, I believe. But if you would rather -not- take her advice..."

Considering Tarrant isn't even sure what 'van'chela' means, that's no help at all, no. He shakes his head, "It's not that I disagree with being drugged, I'm feeling miserable, the help'd be appreciated. It's just she wants me to tell her when would be a good time to do this. I would prefer to have it over with, but it seems rude to attempt escape in mid-tale."

Corian shakes her head. "It is not necessary to consider that, Tarrant," she says, with a smile. "Your health is of more importance than a mere explanation, after all. I am a patient person."

Tarrant looks somewhat sheepish and shakes his head a moment, but picks up his comm unit again.

Tarrant says "As soon as would be convenient for you ma'am, I'm certain your schedule's quite busy." into his communit.

Tarrant's communit crackles to life and announces "... laugh*... I appreciate your concern. I've... off... Shall I... take... can..." in Clara's voice.

Tarrant says "Perhaps I'd best meet you somewhere. Currently I'm in Corian's quarters, and I would not so presume to intrude on her peace..." into his communit.

Corian offers, though quietly, "It would not be an intrusion, though of course I understand if you would prefer to leave."

Tarrant shakes his head at that, "It's not that, it just seems rather rude..."

Tarrant's communit crackles to life and says "... I hadn't wished to... convey... apologies?... you... the... and... return... your..." in Clara's voice.

And hauling her off to a weird planet where she gets injured -isn't- rude? Corian merely smiles, and shakes her head fractionally. "I do not consider it so. But please, do as you would prefer."

Tarrant says "*soft sigh* Corian says it would be no intrusion for this drugging to occur in her home. Perhaps that would be better than a random drive by hypo-isation. It would seem that might distress her neighbors." into his communit.

Corian, at that, dissolves into quiet laughter. "Delegate An'Shendor," she murmurs, "Would be most displeased, were she to witness that." Of course, she'd be more displeased by the vest, but Corian's not going to say that.

Tarrant's communit crackles to life and announces "Well,... I've... rather... floor... from... and... we... minutes?" in Clara's voice.

Tarrant cannot stifle a snicker either at your reaction or at the comm unit's response.

Tarrant says "*stifled snicker* That suits, thank you ma'am for your time." into his communit.

Tarrant's communit crackles to life and announces "... I'm here..." in Clara's voice.

Tarrant returns the comm-unit to his pocket, chuckling very quietly as he re-settles into his position. "Ten minutes she says. I think however, I am doomed to be 'Mr. Czolgosz'."

Corian inclines her head, with a wry, quiet chuckle. "If you like, I can speak with her about it? I may be able to put it in a manner that will help her to find an alternative method of address."

Tarrant shakes his head slightly, eyes half-closing. "It's not called for, but thanks. No need in making her uncomfortable if she'd rather stick to my family name. There's a reason they should nix my age from my records I tell ya'."

Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Clara. (If you like, you can 'reply <words>'.)

Corian starts to reply, but, once again, Clara interrupts. Talk about just desserts, altage-wise. She pauses to answer Clara.

Corian calls, "Come in."

Clara enters from the Elevator Lounge.

Clara has arrived.

Corian is seated in a corner of the couch, partly wrapped in a rather happy-looking fuzzy blanket. All hail comfort, especially when brought about by fuzzy things. She offers a smile that is, of course, pleasant, if still a bit tired, and murmurs, "Good evening, doctor."

Tarrant is seated on the far end of the couch from Corian, leaning on one side against it's back. As Clara enters he straightens up however, attempting to look alert and cordial. Clara gets a polite wave and the hint of a bow, "Pleasant evening, ma'am."

Clara enters with a slightly battered and evidently well loved field medkit strapped to one leg, a hypo carefully held in the opposite hand. She smiles faintly at the eclectic decor before raising a good-natured brow at Corian. "Just Clara, please," she admonishes gently, and heads for Tarrant's end of the couch. "And good evening to you both. Feeling any better at all?"

"Yeah, better, significantly so. It's amazing what the application of a long shower and clean clothes can do to one's outlook on life." Tarrant answers, with a decided tinge of amusement in his voice. Considering his brows lifted a hairlength at Clara's admonition in regards to naming practices, that's probably what caused the amusement. "And yourself?"

Corian smiles. Her smile is innocent, really. "Ah, yes. People do have preferred modes of address." She casts the briefest of looks to Tarrant, but doesn't comment further on that topic, instead saying, "Rest helped quite a bit. May I offer you a seat?" After a moment, she gestures towards her desk chair. She doesn't usually have many visitors, see. More would likely strain her seating arrangements, unless folks got more friendly.

Clara stifles a faint smile, stopping by the arm of the couch and shaking her head. "Thanks, but no. I'll just pester you good folk long enough to inject annoying substances and be out of your hair. Sir, if you'd be so kind as to tilt your head? This goes best into the seltoid artery."

Tarrant tugs at the edge of his be-spotted vest, pulling it and the shirt effectively away from his neck and tilts his head obligingly. "Yes'm." He's more obediant when he's a touch more coherant.

Corian shifts the fuzzy blanket up somewhat, tucking an end of it around her shoulders. Just call her Linus. She offers another smile, glancing away to allow at least the semblance of privacy for the bedrugging.

Clara does the reverse vampire act, administering the hypo and explaining, "This will take at least forty-eight hours to work fully. Considering the fluid build-up in your lungs, I'd rather you stay indoors with as much rest as possible. I can send a prescription of decongestants to your quarters if you like." A grin quirks at her lips irrepressibly. "Chicken soup, too. A universal panacea."

"Indoors I can likely handle," Tarrant agrees after the hypo has hissed. He tugs the shirt collar back up, re-covering the mottled bruises. He offers a thankful grin, "And as my quarters lack anything even resembling a unit to cook soup, I'm afraid I'll hafta' pass on the latter, though I appreciate the suggestion."

Corian, voice serene, murmurs, "Chicken soup can be found. Unfortunately, I have none lurking in my refrigerator unit, or I would offer it. I suppose vegetarian lasagna isn't quite the same."

"Then bullion," Clara suggests with a soft laugh, snapping open the medkit to stow the spent hypo in. "As hot as you can stand it. Or tea. Any hot liquid will help to break up the congestion." She wrinkles her nose affably at Corian. "Lasagna's lovely, but not quite the same, no. Corian? How's that shoulder?"

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant starts to reply that he doesn't have anything that heats anything in his quarters, unless the faucet in the bathroom counts, but instead decides it isn't worth bothering with mentioning. Instead he glances to Corian as Clara questions.

Corian replies, with a brief, graceful gesture of dismissal, "It is just fine, thank you for asking. It eases my worries somewhat to know that it has been seen by such a fine doctor." And she even sounds sincere when she says that--there's not even the least bit of brown on her nose.

Clara is still slightly taken aback by the compliment, blinking once or twice. "Er...thank you?" she manages, sounding faintly puzzled. "I try my best to uphold Honalee's good work here," she adds. "I'll just leave you both to your rest...if there's nothing else?"

Corian replies, with a smile, "You are most welcome." She considers that last for a moment, then inquires, somehow managing to be sheepish and tentative at the same time, "On the off chance that you see my brother, could you tell him that I will speak with him on the morrow? It grows late, and I fear I would not be especially coherent in explaining what has happened. It is horribly rude of me to put him off as I have, but I really would prefer not to speak with him until I have had a chance to get a good night's sleep." And until she can think of better ways to explain what happened, yup.

Tarrant just shakes his head to the last question, murmuring quiet thanks again and shifting to rest back against the couch again.

"I'll likely still be awake when he gets home, yes," Clara supplies, a hint of fondness creeping into her words. "I'll tell him...I'll tell him you're home and safe and resting," she offers simply. "And that if he tries to use his comm unit, I'll steal his remaining penguins. If that's all then, I'll bid you both goodnight...but please. Don't hesitate to comm me at any time, day or night, if a problem arises. That's what I'm here for."

Corian doesn't bother to say that Riley -has- commmed, that she's just ignored the calls. Instead, she simply nods, with a warm smile. "Many thanks, Clara--and for your assistance, as well."

Tarrant shifts up to manage something approximating a bow, although his is not the formal Edreeni variety, but the goofy variety of flourishing stagey type people. Or it would be if it were more than a hint of a bow. "My thanks's well, ma'am. I really appreciate all your help."

Clara taps at her brow in a casual salute, smile warming. "Any time. Any time at all. Goodnight," she offers, then about faces and tucks her hands in her pockets, a trace of exhaustion finally showing in her gait as she exits the room.

Clara leaves the room.

Clara has left.

Corian glances after Clara with a smile, then snuggles a little more into the folds of her blanket. She -likes- her blanket, even if its presence, wrapped around her as it is, makes her look even younger. "She is good for Riley," she decides, absent voice suggesting that she's speaking mostly to herself.

Tarrant can't quite restrain the hint of a fond smile as you curl into the blanket. He simply nods, as he knows neither individual well. "Does she call him Mister as well?" He shifts to more or less try and straighten up, although it's about a lost cause. "Maybe I oughta' let you be, you look beat."

Corian chuckles very quietly. "Actually, I have not seen much of them together. Perhaps she does. I shall have to ask him." At that last, she offers a smile. "We -both- should sleep." There's only a slight emphasis on that one word.

Tarrant snickers quietly at that, shaking his head in amusement. "That'd be scary." He nods, looking a bit reluctant to clamber off this couch, "I'd better leave you in peace then I guess."

Corian catches the reluctance, and offers a quizzical smile. If this were a movie, in which UST has to be resolved in a much shorter amount of time, she would invite you to stay the night. This not being a movie, and Corian being who she is, she doesn't. Instead, she says softly, "You needn't leave if you'd rather not. I am tired, yes, but much less than I was." With a gesture towards the blanket, she adds, with a quiet chuckle, "I am merely getting somewhat more comfortable, now that I needn't worry about the presence of the good doctor."

Tarrant doesn't budge just yet, the couch is comfortable, being around another person is comfortable, the fact that it's Corian is comfortable, these are a few of his favorite things. "I don't guess you remember where I was at in the tale of what happened? I wouldn't want to leave that untold..."

See, now -this- is the point in the movie where Corian should come up with a raindrop-covered rose. But, alas, she is not nearly so suave. She can't even rustle up a kitten whisker. How sad. It takes her a very long moment to come up with an answer to your question, though. "Skiing," she murmurs. "Vacation, dead person." She considers for a moment longer. "I believe you stopped at the dead person." And she says this quite seriously, tone pleasant and maybe -just- a little bit sleepy. It's somewhat surreal.

Tarrant ahhs softly, hands seeking pockets. "Uh yeah, G...the dead person. They found him in his place, time of death looks to be before we left even, although just a bit. Nobody seems to have any clue what happened, although somebody must. I'm supposed to go in the morning about a new assignment. It's -very- odd."

Corian sighs very quietly at that last. "Can't you see about perhaps taking a few days off? You really should let Clara's drugs have enough time to have an effect, after all." Running a thumb lightly along the befuzzed surface of the blanket, she inquires, "Do you know how he died?"

"I assume they will allow me the time between execution of the assignment and its offering. I doubt they'll want to send me anywhere like this, bad for the departmental record." Tarrant looks somewhat amused, his stock cheerfulness dragged out of whatever box he keeps it in. It's firmly plastered on, although it does not reach his eyes as he replies, "His throat was cut and he was placed in a closet."

Corian regards you for a moment as the cheerfulness makes its appearance, then shakes her head fractionally, with murmur to herself that is quiet enough not to be understood. "So he didn't die naturally." When she's tired, Corian becomes.... She-Cori, Mistress of the Obvious. She still doesn't wear tights, though. Rubbing lightly at her eyes, she adds quietly, "It is good that you will be able to take some time to rest."

"No, not naturally," Tarrant's goofy-go-lucky appearance is in tatters, the effect really not working at this stage of the game. "Yeah, rest is good, after that bit of lunacy. I do not know if we could have managed it to be much wilder."

Corian untangles herself enough from the blanket that she may lean closer and rest a hand lightly on your arm. Her touch is -very- light, just on the off chance that she's touching a bruised bit that she can't see. "It was... much less than pleasant, yes, but we are home, and we are well--or will be, with a bit of rest."

And oddly enough Tarrant doesn't jump, or startle, or any of the things that would more normally occur when he's touched and not exactly expecting it due to state of mind fried-ness. "Yeah, we are." There's almost the hint of emphasis on the we, but not a great deal. "I will just be glad to know what in the name of Sam Hill's blind, left wing, orange haired, bow legged, ox tailed dog is going on."

Corian, to her credit, doesn't laugh. Maybe she's gotten used to such literally colorful metaphors from you. Leaning back and burrowing under her blanket once more, she nods slowly. "Yes. Yes, that will certainly be good. Do you think that will happen, then?" Her smile holds a hint of deprecation. "When one is out of the loop, that can be a difficult thing to anticipate."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

"I don't know, to be honest. Whatever killed Gerrard Hollister though, I don't know, it seems to be an inside situation. He was killed so nobody could find out. I don't think we were expected to return," Tarrant shifts the leg half on the couch to the ground, moving with some difficulty to sit normally.

Corian's brows lift fractionally at the name-dropping, as she'd caught the earlier editing of that fact. She doesn't comment, though, instead considering the remainder of your words, expression fairly oblique. "Perhaps it may be better to say that -you- were not expected to return. It seems that my presence would have been un-looked for, yes? When considering that I was brought into the game very close to our actual departure."

Tarrant nods to that, shifting to sit on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on knees and fingers interlaced together. "Yeah, and whatever it is, seems to have the ear of at least somebody up in the chain of command."

Corian remains in her very relaxed posture, though she's still quite alert. Absently tugging her blanket a little more closely around her, she nods slowly. "That seems to follow, yes." With a faint grimace, she says, "Unfortunately, I know very little about them, so I am not sure how much I can assist, there."

"That's okay," Tarrant offers a vague grin back at you, "I don't know much either. I haven't been here long enough to really understand the local office politics. Normally I only dealt with folks of rank that high from a distance."

Corian returns the grin with a small, thoughtful smile. Whatever idea she has, though, she discards it after a moment or two, with a faint shake of her head. "It appears," she murmurs, "That we are at an impasse." Hey, and you might actually -have- iocaine powder, considering your line of work. "I am sorry, Tarrant. I really cannot think of anything."

Tarrant's grin becomes fond at that, "That's okay Corian, I appreciate it though. It is nice to know someone is willing to be of help if it were possible."

Corian tucks a bit of hair behind one ear, hand remaining to prop up her hand. She absently tugs her sleeve back into place as it makes a break for her forearm, thus revealing some of those ugly bruises that got you such nasty looks from Clara earlier. "I am most definitely willing to help, Tarrant," she replies, voice quiet but very earnest. "Anything that I am able to do--you have only to ask, van'chela."

"There is -one- really helpful thing you could do," Tarrant's words are intently serious, although his expression is amused.

Corian leans forward somewhat, her own expression curious, and a bit puzzled--perhaps for the amusement. "Of course, Tarrant. What is it?"

"Could you tell me what in the name of Sam Hill's etc, etc, dog 'van'chela' means?" Tarrant looks rather sheepish as well as amused now. "I've looked in a half-dozen dictionaries, easily, but couldn't find it in any trade language."

Corian blinks once, then looks just a bit sheepish. "Ah, please forgive me. It is a word I have heard so often, I forget that not everyone is familar with it. It is..." She pauses for a moment, attempting to find the appropriate phrases. "It is an endearment, a word for... well, I suppose 'beloved friend' would be an approximate translation, though Standard sometimes cannot quite manage the proper flavor and sense to Kashidian words and concepts."

Tarrant ahhs quietly, grinning fondly at that. "I was afraid," he explains, "You'd been calling me 'nitwit' or something and I was missing the point."

Corian shakes her head quickly, with a quiet chuckle. "I would not do that," she chides gently. "If I were to call you a nitwit, I would be -certain- to use a language that you knew."

"Good," Tarrant asserts, sounding both pleased and amused. "I would indeed appreciate that. It is difficult to -stop- being a nitwit, if ya don't know what's considered niwittery."

Corian nods her agreement to that. "Just so," she replies. "One cannot mend errors if unaware that they are being made." After a fractional pause, she inquires, "Would you prefer that I did not call you that? I... I suppose I could, though I have gotten somewhat used to it, for you."

Tarrant shakes his head quite quickly, "Heavens no, call me what you will. Although I would probably object really loudly if you started calling me Mr. Czolgosz. No, I surely don't mind being called a friend by any stretch of the imagination. I just wasn't sure of the meaning."

Corian looks perhaps a bit relieved, though she pauses as if to explain something, before shaking her head. Now is not the time for a lecture in semantics, even if she weren't heading too close to incoherency. "I do not believe it likely that I would address you as Mr. Czolgosz. That, after all," she adds, a note of humor in her voice, "Is your father."

That garners a delighted if quiet laugh from Tarrant. "True enough. Although I suppose the phrase was startling enough to poor Dr. Aleron from a man significantly over twice her age." He gives you a long look, fond but considering. "I think I really need to leave you to your rest, m'lady. You look like you could use it." There's a pause and he adds sheepishly, "And I'm going to have difficulty enough getting back to my place as it is."

Corian must be tired, as she actually nods this time, though not without a hint of rueful apology. "If I am to be at all myself for the morrow, I must sleep, yes." Your latter statement gets a vaguely worried look. She gets to her feet, brows furrowing. "Will you be able to manage?"

Tarrant uses the arm of the couch to heft himself to his feet, tottering there a moment before steadying himself. "Yeah, I will. I got this far and all. Have a pleasant evening, now, y'hear?"

Corian, absently folding her blanket over the arm of the couch, nods, though she's still looking just a bit uncertain about the prospect of sending you out into the wilds of the hallway all on your lonesome. "I certainly will. You do the same, van'chela--and please do try to sleep, all right?"

"I'll certainly do that, it's at the top of my list, promise." Tarrant heads doorwards, although he doesn't bow, simply offering a wave. "You do the same, kay?"

Corian inclines her head, trailing a few steps behind you, brows still lowered in concern. "I certainly will, yes. It is most definitely late enough to sleep."

Tarrant nods once more and turns to head on out the door.

Tarrant leaves the room.

Tarrant has left.


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