Guess Who

Posted on Tue Apr 2nd, 2019 @ 11:25pm by Lieutenant Francesca Ricci & Stephen Spires

Mission: S0E0: What Came Before
Location: A Coffee Shop on Canopus

In order to improve moral, some of the ship keepers had been awoken as soon as the station was put together. One, a coffee shop called Roasted Beans, had looked relaxing to Francie and so she had decided to pay them a visit before her shift started.

Book in hand and cup of bold roast coffee on the table before her, she sat enjoying watching the few passers by that wandered the station in between pages of The Hobbit.

Stephen Spires was prowling the promenade, his journalist's nose traded in for a bit of exploring. There was no telling who or what he might find in the nascent days of Canopus Station. Probably precious little to write about down here, but several contacts to be made and more than a little fun to be had.

What's this? Hawt brunette, coffee shop, nose deep in a book. Stephen grinned. Those were always the naughty ones, at least once their shells were cracked. And she was Starfleet. Had to be, by the cut of her.

It was a small thing to redirect his stroll in her direction. He waved a hand at the barista for a cup of the house blend, then meandered toward the little lady's perch. Taking a peek at the cover of the book she was reading, he charmingly offered, "'I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.'"

With a mildly amused grin, Francie glanced up. "I'm not a burglar," she advised, "so I doubt I'd be much help."

"Oh, I don't know about that, chére," Stephen said. "I find you stealing my attention, maybe a helping of affections too." He took a seat next to Francie. "Or maybe you're the wizard, 'cause I'm feeling your spell right about now." He grinned at his own brazen lines. "Name's Stephen Spires. Might I make your acquaintance, Miss...?"

"Ah, Spires," replied Francie knowingly. "That explains it. Your reputation precedes you."

Stephen grinned in pleasure at being known. It was like an armor to him. "Seems you have me at a disadvantage," he said. "What do they call you?"

"Francie," she replied simply.

Stephen grasped her free hand and laid a kiss upon her knuckles. "Enchante, Francie."

Francie stifled a giggle into a chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure you are,” she said, now amused enough to set her book aside. “What can I do for you, mister Spires?” she asked in a tone that also indicated a distaste for games.

"Nothing much," Stephen said. "Just tell me everything about yourself. I must know."

“Everything?” she repeated. “My, that is an awful lot. I was born in Sisily 38 years ago, I have one son who I adopted when he was twelve- he’s grown now and a pilot in Starfleet himself- I like reading, playing my trumpet, and Doctor Who holonovels, and I have an absolute hatred for games.” She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. “Wat do you want?” she asked again.

Stephen chuckled. "I am a man of stories," he said. "I travel the stars to find them. Gets awful lonely though. When I see a beautiful woman all by her lonesome, well, it gives me ideas. Like maybe she could tell me her stories and I could show her the stars."

“I am a pilot, Mister Spires,” she pointed out. “I have seen the stars.”

"Not the ones I'm seeing now," Stephen said, leaning in closer to her face. "Let me show you."

With a very stern, yet also amused look, Francie leaned the barest hint of a fraction of an inch closer to him. “I have seen more of them than you have,” she reminded him.

Stephen caressed his nose over Francie's, honoring the 90-10 rule of first kisses--of which Francie had only traversed 5%. "Then I'll have to show you something else," he whispered. "If only we could think of something."

Aburuptly, Francie sat back in her chair, looking at the same time bored and amused. “Well, you’re clever, Mister Spires,” she said coyly. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

The barista stepped up with two steaming mugs on saucers. "Thank ya kindly," Stephen said. Waiting a second, he reached into his pocket and produced a flask.
"Let's make it Irish."

"I am Sisilian," Francie pointed out cheekily. "Besides, I have to go on duty in just over an hour. I'm pretty sure I'd get tossed in the brig for showing up under the influence."

"Well, that's no fun," Stephen admitted. "We could meet up after your shift though. Maybe find some fun then."

She gave him a smirk. "And what, exactly, is your idea of fun?" she asked, knowing full well what he had in mind.

"Come on by my quarters and find out." Stephen let his eyes glimmer with sordid offerings. "Would you believe it came with a Jacuzzi tub?"

"Yes, I would," replied Francie, now grinning smugly. "I've got one of my own. I can't imagine yours is any different."

Stephen wriggled his eyebrows. "Aha. Is that an invitation, Miss Francie?"

All right, time to cut to the chase. "If your reputation is accurate, Mister Spires, I can conclude you are looking for one thing," she said. "But, you have come looking in the wrong place. I am asexual."

"Well, it just so happens that I'm a sexual too." He grinned mischievously. "It is the magic that made us."

Francie rolled her eyes. “No, asexual,” she corrected. “Like anti-sexual. I have no sexual desire. Never have, never will.”

"Oh, chére, methinks you just haven't met the right fella'." Though Stephen grinned, he did back off. "Come by my quarters if you ever get curious. 'Cause it sounds like there are some stars you haven't seen yet."

“Just because I’m not interested in sex doesn’t mean I haven’t had it,” she retorted. “I was married once. Just didn’t get much out of it. Anyway,” she added, finishing her last sip of coffee. “It’s been a pleasure. Have a good day, Mister Spires.” And with that, she stood and headed towards the door.

As he watched the sway of her ass, Stephen suddenly had an epiphany. "Wait a sec, Miss Francie. You said you're Sicilian?" He shook his head. "Nah, couldn't be..."