From: Jasmina Grosic (jgrosic_at_yahoo.de)
Date: Thu May 22 2008 - 02:19:22 PDT
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"Mean, green, baby-making machine" (continued from "Differences
and Instincts")
»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«
Location: BFOV SHIV
Stardate: 2.80522.1017
Scene: Galley
Time Index: Before the dimensional shift
»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«
P’Trella was leaning against a stainless steel counter, inspecting her
nails with a bored expression on her face. She noticed that the purple nail
polish she had applied just that morning, even though it was nicely contrasting
her pale green skin, had already begun to chip. She’d have to remove it before
she started to prepare the Captain’s meal, she thought. Daisy was real
particular about her food, and purple spots in it wouldn’t be tolerated. The
Vissian-Orion hybrid sighed at the memory of having to scrape the remains of
Bolian canapés off the bridge’s floor on several occasions because Daisy hadn’t
been satisfied with their texture.
{{Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?}} the annoyed male voice from
the viewscreen startled her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she
had completely forgotten he was still there, prattling on about what he called
“a breach of contract.”
“You were talking about the baby?” She said with an indifferent look.
{{It tried to choke my husband this morning!}} The man, a Cardassian, was
gesticulating with his hands, making choking motions to give his words more
impact.
“Oh,” she smiled, “that’s totally normal. All Vissian children do that
until they are six months old. It’s just an elaborate grabbing reflex. In fact,
that’s the first thing your baby did after it crawled out of its marsupium and
up my back. That’s why we Vissians carry our hair up during the final third
month of pregnancy. We wouldn’t want the little darlings to get all tangled in
our hair.”
{{When we signed the contract that you would carry our child, there was no
mention of it having any Vissian traits. Or of it being…}} he paused, obviously
slightly embarrassed. {{…green,}} he finished his sentence.
“I’m sure you’re not holding me responsible for that, are you? *I* remember
when we signed the contract you and your husband were overjoyed because on
Cardassia there is no legal way for two men to have a baby. I distinctly
remember you were more than eager for me to provide my cogenitor enzyme and
carry your baby! How can I be held responsible for a little Vissian DNA
slipping into the mix? Of course, if you no longer want the child, I’d be
willing to make an exception to my ‘no refunds, no returns’ rule and take the
little critter under my wing. What was his name again?”
As she watched all colour drain from the already pale face, she tried hard
not to grin. Offering - or more exactly threatening - to take the baby away
from the parents always worked. They usually backed off after that, which was
just fine with P’Trella. The offer was never genuine. What use did she have for
a child? She had given birth thirty-seven times so far and prided herself in
not remembering the name of a single one of the little bundles of poop.
Honestly, why would you want to keep a child? All it did was eat, sleep and
defecate for the first few years, and then later it generally ignored you only
to give you a crappy hand-crafted mother’s day gift once a year. Usually, she
tried to keep these thoughts to herself, though, because they were bad for
business. Her clients were all too satisfied to have all their free time taken
up by a little poopmonster, and she was more than happy to provide them with
one, for the right price.
The Cardassian turned even paler. {{His name’s Skrain. And no, we don’t
want to give him away. We couldn’t. He’s our baby. But still, we paid you good
money to provide a service and we are not happy with the result!}}
“It’s a baby, not a porcelain doll! It’s a *baby*, all right? None of them
is perfect, OK? Maybe you need to put a little work into raising them? Now,
stop complaining, get off your ass and fix it a bottle, will you? Happy
parenting!” She terminated the communication and turned her back to the
viewscreen, ignoring the incoming communication request.
Then she bowed down. The purple hair which fell almost to the small of her
back fell forward and obstructed her field of vision. She opened a cupboard and
blindly groped around in it, then she retrieved some purple onions. She stood
back up, shook her head so that the hair fell back and got to work making some
onion soup. As she started chopping, a few chips of her nail polish were mixed
in with the onions and disappeared among the purple skins.
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NRPG: Meet P’Trella. She’s a fastidious cook and loving surrogate mother. ;)
In the next post, I promise I’ll have her interact with some other
characters.
Everyone: Tag!
Jasmina Grosic «jgrosic_at_yahoo.de»
Lieutenant Trella Palandora
Chief Security Officer
GATEWAY STATION - 2
I'm just a mean green mother from outer space
and I'm bad! (Audrey II, “Little Shop of Horrors”)
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