Judgement – Ships That Pass In The Night
by Lieutenant Bridget Stapleton
Post Details
ON:
Bridget followed the direction the bartender's finger had pointed, weaving her way around gaming tables and knots of players with their attendant observers. The air was a bit close in the press of bodies, and she could smell a mixture of scents: perspiration from a half dozen different species, fruity frozen drinks, and food. Oddly enough, it wasn't that unpleasant.
She finally saw Edward, and stopped in her tracks. The bartender had told her he was a croupier -- whatever that was. She had imagined it was something like a card dealer. But no amount of imagination had prepared her for what she was seeing. There was her normally stodgy old man of a husband, animatedly talking with an elderly woman whose chair was practically pressed against his hip. And those hips! The only way his pants could get any tighter would be to have them sprayed on. He looked like some holo-vid character come to life, and she didn't know whether to laugh or frown.
There were three other elderly women seated around the roulette-style wheel, each of them smiling and making comments as they played the game. She watched for a minute or so, noting with amusement that he was flirting with them outrageously. If she hadn't been married to him as long as she had, she might have felt threatened by it. But she'd seen this act before. He could pour on the charm when he wanted to, and appear sincere at it. Her mother and aunts had been on the receiving end of this behavior numerous times, and she knew it wasn't real. Deciding to observe for a bit, she made her way to a small table that afforded her a more-or-less direct view of his game, when there weren't people passing in front of her. She raised her hand to catch the attention of a nearby waiter.
Edward gave the wheel a spin and took a quick look toward the door. It was getting late, and he wondered what was keeping Bridget. His eyes scanned a bit, but he didn't see her. A squeal of delight brought his attention unwillingly back to the game. The woman across from him had won. Reluctantly he went back into his facade of flirtatious rogue, and paid the woman, reaching across the wheel and dropping the strip of latinum down the plunging neckline of her dress, giving her an exaggerated wink. She giggled drunkenly, and the other women laughed in approval, applauding and happily paying their strips of latinum for their losses. His behavior was tailored to the players; they had told him they were widowed friends who got together once a week to go to the Box and play the games. They made it obvious by their hints that they had some sort of side bet going on, with him as the prize. He played on those unveiled references, enticing them to bid each other up on the wheel, and giving lavish attention to the winners, when the occasion happened that one of them did indeed win. Fortunately, they were losing a lot more than they won, and his goal was to tap them out before the night was over. If he was going to do this ridiculous job, at least he could make the effort to do it well.
Bridget had laughed when she saw Ed drop that ladinum down the woman's dress. She shook her head slightly, a grin on her face. She imagined he was miserable behind that mask of husky romance. He was usually quiet, intellectual, serious. This job was the unlikeliest thing she could imagine for him to be doing, and wondered why he'd taken it in the first place.
The waiter came to her table, bearing a plate mounded high with onion rings. He set it down, and she asked him to tell Edward that his wife was here. The look on the pretty boy's face made her laugh. He simply nodded, and made his way to Edward's side, whispering in his ear. Ed looked up at her, his expression embarrassed. The waiter then signaled to another young man, who came and took Edward's place. He excused himself from the ladies at the table, taking their hands one by one and kissing them gallantly, apologizing to their protests. They watched him walk away, only turning back around when the new croupier called for their attention.
Edward couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach; he wondered how long she had been watching, and what she had been thinking. He'd asked if he could put off his last break, telling Ahjess that he would like to take it when his wife arrived. Ahjess had granted it, but said that it would only be this once; his breaks were scheduled and he would need to take them as such. Ed slid into the chair opposite Bridget with a small, sheepish smile, barely a lift of the corners of his mouth.
"Hi," he said. "How long have you been here?" His deep bass voice rumbled the question, a slight hint of an upper-midwest accent in the way he pronounced his vowels.
"Well, long enough to see that strip of latinum disappear," she replied, her tone light and teasing.
"You saw that?" He laughed, relief in his voice. She wasn't mad.
"Yes, I did." She took an onion ring and bit it, her eyes on his. The onion was a bit hot, and she chewed gingerly.
"So what do you think?" He took an onion ring himself.
"Well, I'm honestly surprised. This is about the last thing I'd have thought you'd be doing, Love." Her voice had turned serious.
"Yeah, me too. But there wasn't much available. It was either janitorial or slops, or this." He picked at the ruffle of his collar for emphasis. He had felt the casino was a step up from the other jobs the Merchant's Association had available, and took it.
"You don't have to work, Ed. It's not like we don't enough income." Between her pay and the money from the sale of his business, they were actually pretty well off.
"Yeah, Bree. But you know I would go stir crazy just sitting around all day. We've talked about this before."
She sighed. "Yes, we have, all the way to the station, as I recall." Her voice was slightly testy now; she'd suggested he get himself a hobby or two and just enjoy retirement, and he'd balked at the idea.
"So there wasn't anything available on the docking ring?" She asked.
"I checked there first thing. All the civilian ships have their own shuttle crews, and nobody's hiring right now."
"Hmmm." She murmured around a bite of onion ring. It was a note of concession. Swallowing, she said, "So what hours are you working this casino job?"
His eyes dropped to the table. This was the stickiest part of the whole thing. "Nights. On four then off three, second week is on six and off one. Rotates."
"So you will be here almost every evening?" Her voice rose with the question, surprise obvious. She'd already set a routine with shadowing Chelsea, and now wasn't the time to go ask about changing it.
His eyes snapped up to hers. "Yeah, unfortunately. My shift begins at four with the prep and ends at midnight."
Bridget didn't say anything. She looked down at the plate, taking an onion ring and biting it, chewing aggressively. She swallowed and sighed heavily.
"I do have my meal break, and we can be together then," he offered. He had a good guess at what she was thinking. "Plus there are three days off in a row every other week."
"It's not the same thing, and you know it."
"Aww, c'mon Bree. Don't be petulant about this. I'll keep my eyes open for a different job. This is short term."
She rested her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers and running one smoothly manicured thumbnail across her lips. Her eyes met his, resignation in their expression.
"Well, it's better than what it was when I was in the Academy. We saw each other a lot less, then." She forced herself to look at the bright side, even though she didn't yet feel like it.
He flashed her a grin, appreciating her effort. Playfully he reached across and stroked her forearm with a finger. "I could always bring this outfit home as play clothes," his deep voice and intimate tone were emphasized by wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
She chuckled, unable to resist his charm any better than the women at his Dabo table. She shook her head side to side. "You, sir, are a stinker." She'd always had a weakness for his sense of humor.
"Yes, I do believe I am." Victorious, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms up, lacing his fingers behind his head, a saucy grin on his face.
"So what are you going to tell your mother?"
His expression fell like a stone. "I haven't decided yet whether to tell her or not." He dropped his hands and leaned forward. "If I can find something else to do in the next couple of weeks, I won't have to tell her at all."
"Good luck with that." Wilma had an uncanny way of finding things out. And she had no reticence when it came to expressing her opinion on things. Word would spread through the family like a wildfire.
The waiter was at their table, picking up the empty plate, and looked at Ed, telling him that his break was just about up.
"Gotta go, Babe. You be awake when I get there?" He pushed his chair back and stood.
"What do we have, an hour? Yeah, probably. But I've got to be in Sick Bay early tomorrow, there's something going on. Tell you later." She stood herself, pressing her thumb to the bill padd the waiter had left on the table.
"'Okay. See you in a bit." He flashed her a meaningful grin.
Bridget rolled her eyes. He could be such a ham when he wanted to. "Right. Hey, looks like your admirers are waiting for you." She peered around him at the Dabo table, with the same four women still in their seats.
"Just my luck," he rolled his eyes, but replied with a smile, and turned to go.
She watched him approach the wheel and heard the women raise their voices in delight. She snorted but with a smile, and made her way through the crowds to the door.
OFF:
Ensign Bridget Stapleton
Doctor (General Practitioner) - DS5
&
Edward Stapleton
Dabo Boy - Box Of Delights
(NPC by Charlene)
by Lieutenant Bridget Stapleton
Post Details
| Title | Ships That Pass In The Night | |
| Mission | Judgement | |
| Author(s) | Lieutenant Bridget Stapleton | |
| Posted | Fri Dec 31, 2010 @ 5:23pm | |
| Location | The Box Of Delights | |
| Timeline | SD35 - 20:45 |
Bridget followed the direction the bartender's finger had pointed, weaving her way around gaming tables and knots of players with their attendant observers. The air was a bit close in the press of bodies, and she could smell a mixture of scents: perspiration from a half dozen different species, fruity frozen drinks, and food. Oddly enough, it wasn't that unpleasant.
She finally saw Edward, and stopped in her tracks. The bartender had told her he was a croupier -- whatever that was. She had imagined it was something like a card dealer. But no amount of imagination had prepared her for what she was seeing. There was her normally stodgy old man of a husband, animatedly talking with an elderly woman whose chair was practically pressed against his hip. And those hips! The only way his pants could get any tighter would be to have them sprayed on. He looked like some holo-vid character come to life, and she didn't know whether to laugh or frown.
There were three other elderly women seated around the roulette-style wheel, each of them smiling and making comments as they played the game. She watched for a minute or so, noting with amusement that he was flirting with them outrageously. If she hadn't been married to him as long as she had, she might have felt threatened by it. But she'd seen this act before. He could pour on the charm when he wanted to, and appear sincere at it. Her mother and aunts had been on the receiving end of this behavior numerous times, and she knew it wasn't real. Deciding to observe for a bit, she made her way to a small table that afforded her a more-or-less direct view of his game, when there weren't people passing in front of her. She raised her hand to catch the attention of a nearby waiter.
Edward gave the wheel a spin and took a quick look toward the door. It was getting late, and he wondered what was keeping Bridget. His eyes scanned a bit, but he didn't see her. A squeal of delight brought his attention unwillingly back to the game. The woman across from him had won. Reluctantly he went back into his facade of flirtatious rogue, and paid the woman, reaching across the wheel and dropping the strip of latinum down the plunging neckline of her dress, giving her an exaggerated wink. She giggled drunkenly, and the other women laughed in approval, applauding and happily paying their strips of latinum for their losses. His behavior was tailored to the players; they had told him they were widowed friends who got together once a week to go to the Box and play the games. They made it obvious by their hints that they had some sort of side bet going on, with him as the prize. He played on those unveiled references, enticing them to bid each other up on the wheel, and giving lavish attention to the winners, when the occasion happened that one of them did indeed win. Fortunately, they were losing a lot more than they won, and his goal was to tap them out before the night was over. If he was going to do this ridiculous job, at least he could make the effort to do it well.
Bridget had laughed when she saw Ed drop that ladinum down the woman's dress. She shook her head slightly, a grin on her face. She imagined he was miserable behind that mask of husky romance. He was usually quiet, intellectual, serious. This job was the unlikeliest thing she could imagine for him to be doing, and wondered why he'd taken it in the first place.
The waiter came to her table, bearing a plate mounded high with onion rings. He set it down, and she asked him to tell Edward that his wife was here. The look on the pretty boy's face made her laugh. He simply nodded, and made his way to Edward's side, whispering in his ear. Ed looked up at her, his expression embarrassed. The waiter then signaled to another young man, who came and took Edward's place. He excused himself from the ladies at the table, taking their hands one by one and kissing them gallantly, apologizing to their protests. They watched him walk away, only turning back around when the new croupier called for their attention.
Edward couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach; he wondered how long she had been watching, and what she had been thinking. He'd asked if he could put off his last break, telling Ahjess that he would like to take it when his wife arrived. Ahjess had granted it, but said that it would only be this once; his breaks were scheduled and he would need to take them as such. Ed slid into the chair opposite Bridget with a small, sheepish smile, barely a lift of the corners of his mouth.
"Hi," he said. "How long have you been here?" His deep bass voice rumbled the question, a slight hint of an upper-midwest accent in the way he pronounced his vowels.
"Well, long enough to see that strip of latinum disappear," she replied, her tone light and teasing.
"You saw that?" He laughed, relief in his voice. She wasn't mad.
"Yes, I did." She took an onion ring and bit it, her eyes on his. The onion was a bit hot, and she chewed gingerly.
"So what do you think?" He took an onion ring himself.
"Well, I'm honestly surprised. This is about the last thing I'd have thought you'd be doing, Love." Her voice had turned serious.
"Yeah, me too. But there wasn't much available. It was either janitorial or slops, or this." He picked at the ruffle of his collar for emphasis. He had felt the casino was a step up from the other jobs the Merchant's Association had available, and took it.
"You don't have to work, Ed. It's not like we don't enough income." Between her pay and the money from the sale of his business, they were actually pretty well off.
"Yeah, Bree. But you know I would go stir crazy just sitting around all day. We've talked about this before."
She sighed. "Yes, we have, all the way to the station, as I recall." Her voice was slightly testy now; she'd suggested he get himself a hobby or two and just enjoy retirement, and he'd balked at the idea.
"So there wasn't anything available on the docking ring?" She asked.
"I checked there first thing. All the civilian ships have their own shuttle crews, and nobody's hiring right now."
"Hmmm." She murmured around a bite of onion ring. It was a note of concession. Swallowing, she said, "So what hours are you working this casino job?"
His eyes dropped to the table. This was the stickiest part of the whole thing. "Nights. On four then off three, second week is on six and off one. Rotates."
"So you will be here almost every evening?" Her voice rose with the question, surprise obvious. She'd already set a routine with shadowing Chelsea, and now wasn't the time to go ask about changing it.
His eyes snapped up to hers. "Yeah, unfortunately. My shift begins at four with the prep and ends at midnight."
Bridget didn't say anything. She looked down at the plate, taking an onion ring and biting it, chewing aggressively. She swallowed and sighed heavily.
"I do have my meal break, and we can be together then," he offered. He had a good guess at what she was thinking. "Plus there are three days off in a row every other week."
"It's not the same thing, and you know it."
"Aww, c'mon Bree. Don't be petulant about this. I'll keep my eyes open for a different job. This is short term."
She rested her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers and running one smoothly manicured thumbnail across her lips. Her eyes met his, resignation in their expression.
"Well, it's better than what it was when I was in the Academy. We saw each other a lot less, then." She forced herself to look at the bright side, even though she didn't yet feel like it.
He flashed her a grin, appreciating her effort. Playfully he reached across and stroked her forearm with a finger. "I could always bring this outfit home as play clothes," his deep voice and intimate tone were emphasized by wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
She chuckled, unable to resist his charm any better than the women at his Dabo table. She shook her head side to side. "You, sir, are a stinker." She'd always had a weakness for his sense of humor.
"Yes, I do believe I am." Victorious, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms up, lacing his fingers behind his head, a saucy grin on his face.
"So what are you going to tell your mother?"
His expression fell like a stone. "I haven't decided yet whether to tell her or not." He dropped his hands and leaned forward. "If I can find something else to do in the next couple of weeks, I won't have to tell her at all."
"Good luck with that." Wilma had an uncanny way of finding things out. And she had no reticence when it came to expressing her opinion on things. Word would spread through the family like a wildfire.
The waiter was at their table, picking up the empty plate, and looked at Ed, telling him that his break was just about up.
"Gotta go, Babe. You be awake when I get there?" He pushed his chair back and stood.
"What do we have, an hour? Yeah, probably. But I've got to be in Sick Bay early tomorrow, there's something going on. Tell you later." She stood herself, pressing her thumb to the bill padd the waiter had left on the table.
"'Okay. See you in a bit." He flashed her a meaningful grin.
Bridget rolled her eyes. He could be such a ham when he wanted to. "Right. Hey, looks like your admirers are waiting for you." She peered around him at the Dabo table, with the same four women still in their seats.
"Just my luck," he rolled his eyes, but replied with a smile, and turned to go.
She watched him approach the wheel and heard the women raise their voices in delight. She snorted but with a smile, and made her way through the crowds to the door.
OFF:
Ensign Bridget Stapleton
Doctor (General Practitioner) - DS5
&
Edward Stapleton
Dabo Boy - Box Of Delights
(NPC by Charlene)