On The Mend

Posted on 04/09/2023 @ 11:20pm by

1,019 words; about a 5 minute read

I have had the best day ever! And night too! By this I mean that my relationship with Kreca is going well. So all is fine on the Ferengi front. With so much bliss about, I thought I’d pay a visit to my old chum, Mrs Moreau, since she’s been to the Embassy every five minutes when I wasn’t feeling so good.

So, I went to Zest gallery, where there was some activity. Three Hewmon men were repairing some damage to the ceiling, caused by the recent Breen attack. Also, at the back of the exhibition room, Emma was having a conversation with a young science ensign who wanted to buy a landscape. The painting was called Indigo something and the ensign was making a quiet fuss about the painting not being blue enough, to which Emma, in patient mode, replied that indigo was actually purple, and that on the picture, the sea was that exact color. But, the ensign countered, in the holonovel, it’s not the sea that’s indigo. It’s the restaurant, by the seaside.

Only, what one could see of that restaurant, it was entirely white.

Who has mad conversations like that, except for foolish women? Anyway, in the end, Emma got the last word, as she overcharged the hapless ensign by 10%. By all that is precious, I love it when Emma does that!!

Anyhow, we went to her office, such a ridiculously small place - how embarrassing - where the French woman was finishing a meal. Now that’s a novelty ‘cos Emma usually eats like a bird. Kind of one seed at a time. Only here it was a hearty meal, with loads of salad stuff, yellow and red, and obviously a truckload of green vegs. Kale and broccoli together, for sure.

The reason for that, she explained, is that Cmdr Letsul proffered menaces, apparently, whereby she would send food to Emma if she didn’t start to eat properly. This completely and utterly galled me. There is nothing wrong with receiving free food! Emma should have thought about me and accepted the offer. Hewmons are like that: they don’t think properly.

Still, we exchanged news and talked about the upcoming Patton/Feshau wedding. We’ll both go, of course. I’ll probably recycle the suit I bought for my own failed ceremony, but Emma, she is not sure how to dress for the occasion. She was on a long tirade about colors when she received a text message, which triggered a French curse:

‘Oh putain, il me fait chier!’ [“F*ck, he pisses me off!’]

Looking at Emma, you wouldn’t think that she is capable of saying such things. But women are like that: talented in ways we cannot even imagine. Anyway, she let me have a look at her PaDD. It turned out that Rapak, the Ferengi she told me to kick out of the Station, is harassing her with stupid messages where he calls her Emma Roids.

I tried not to smile. Instead I chuckled like a ten year old.

The French glare I received there was truly beyond price. I soon recovered, though, and using the PaDD, I sent a pic of me, (taken at an odd angle, so that I looked menacing) to the not very bright Rapak.

You would think, there, that fate would have given poor Emma some respite. But the moment I assured her that Rapak would be quiet from now on, was the moment that one of the guys who was repairing the ceiling shouted, I quote:

“Mrs Moreau! Your... a, humm... crack here, it will need 20 more minutes to mend.”

She looked at me, puzzled. The sort of puzzlement that’s just half a second away from a long rant and rave. “Did I hear that right?”

“Don’t move,” I told her. This time I didn’t smile. I was as serious as if there was a liquidator in front of me. “I’ll deal with those half-wits.”

So I went to have a word with those idiots. I kicked their stepladders and sent them packing, which they did in less time than it takes to ask ‘where is my monies’. On my return to the office I called ‘Repair Sharks’ the Ferengi company I always use for repairs.

Emma should have called the Ops department and insisted on having the ceiling repaired right away. But she is like me, long or short, she doesn’t like waiting lists. I was very tempted to explain to her that one could use short-cuts in situations like that. Call the XO, do a little bit of polite begging, and everything gets solved pronto.

“And to think,” Emma said after a little while, “that I had convinced myself I was on the mend. I even saw a counsellor about my problems.”

I never said a thing to that, my ears are allergic to sob stories. Thankfully she restricted herself to pointing out that the counsellor she saw (not Cara she said, because she wouldn’t have felt comfortable talking about her ‘stuff’ to the Cmdr. On my side, I refuse to spend even 5 seconds trying to figure why) was most excellent and now she feels much better.

Emma’s right. Upon reading and hearing the stupid things I mentioned above, her old self would have lost her temper. And what nasty things she had to say, she would have spelled them out in English. Now she is able to keep her calm, and she eats (almost) normally. When I was about to leave, she even gave me two cakes, one for me, and one for Kreca (can’t remember what they are called, but there’s strawberry jam in them). She baked those herself, she said. Cooking is her new hobby.

Would you believe it: at this rate old Emma’s going to be truly perfect.

Can’t say the same for me, because on my way to the Embassy, I met a business acquaintance of mine and as I was speaking to him, I inadvertently ate both cakes...

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