The door gave a gentle hiss of pressure locking behind her, and she let out a long, slow breath. Long night - a good night, but very long.
It was extremely late (or early, depending on who you asked), but this was normal for her. Closing out a bar made for a very curious sleep schedule, one that didn't include typical hours, but she had been nearly nocturnal for years now.
She slipped off her shoes, pushing them towards the storage unit in the wall with her foot. One blue hand reached out and brushed a small bunch of leaves on the nearest plant to her, with angular, reddish leaves and bright yellow stalks curling out of the center. She inhaled deeply, the various earthen scents mingling in the still air of her room.
Her garden. It was true peace, sitting among her extensive collection of galactic flora, one from every system she had ever been to, and more as gifts from companions from other worlds. Every flat surface (and a few angled ones) had a myriad of small containers perched on them, strange and mysterious life blossoming out of each. The miniature trees were her favorite - a human culture had called them bonsai, and she was eternally fascinated by the tremulous and sturdy little things, how they could survive and be so beautiful in the depths of space. Some with thin needles and spines, more with furling leaves of all shapes and colors. Falten had tweaked the lighting in her room especially to accent her petite forest, and the branches cast soft shadows across the Cardassian walls.
She continued undressing, relieved to shed the remnants of her work shift. Her skin was pale in the half light of her room, crossed over a dozen times with the art of a dozen different hands. The scarification owned her chest, but it dove down her sternum and ended above her navel. Tattooed letters danced down her spine, and splashes of color crossed the blue of her skin on her arms, shoulders, thighs. She remembered each and every one and loved them all - they were a map of a lifetime of travel and endless roving through the stars, a million stories to pass across a busy bar. It was hardly an Andorian look, and she liked that just fine. She ran her hand up her arm tiredly, not bothering to stifle the wide mouthed yawn that cracked her jaw.
She would shower when she woke later. For now, she crawled into her bed, and was about to pull the cover up over her face and command the lights out when she made a sudden sound of frustration and sat up again, sighing. Her nightly ritual. She wasn't much superstitious, or devout, or even spiritual, but she could not shake the need to reach out to something. She hated it, this lingering Andorian trait, but it still somehow brought her peace of mind.
Taking a small plant into her hands, she closed her eyes and lowered her antennae, breathing gently and reciting a sort of wordless hymn in her head, a vibration of her spirit and an acknowledgement of grace, whatever that meant. But these small, perfect plants were proof of a kind of cosmic grace, and her communion with them soothed her tired mind.
She smiled softly and whispered a goodnight to the tree in her hands, setting it on the bedside table again. It was stupid, she knew, but she did feel better. There was safety in her little forested home. Some of those plants had been with her for years.
As she let sleep creep towards her, she thought on the crew and her newfound companions. Well, not companions, but neighbors, as it were. Their open-faced honesty was something she was a stranger to, and while it was comforting and kind, it made her uneasy if only because she didn't know how to react. Inabnet's innocent nervousness, Akhil's Klingon welcome, Lorelei's genuine appreciation... The Romulan was a more familiar breed of encounter - nasty to a degree, but not entirely unpleasant.
She scanned her walls as she faded into sleep. She needed to get something to hang over this insipid architecture...
Home 
