Fleeting Happiness

Posted on 02/26/2022 @ 8:30am by

1,000 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Mini Mission: When The Cat's Away
Location: Deck 111 - Mrs Moreau’s Quarters
Timeline: MD002 - 14.00

Happiness. What a strange impression it left on the mind... Mrs Moreau, who wasn’t used to things moving according to plans, cherished the moment, whilst at the back of her mind she expected some new ugly phenomenon to emerge that would ruin her day.

So far so good, though. She had had no problem getting herself some fine residential quarters. Better still, when she had mentioned to civilian affairs that she was a special guest of the Ferengi Ambassador, the embassy had not disputed her claim. No doubt that Brek would complain about that later on, considering that he had this fanciful reputation to maintain. A reputation with so many fine points, it was beginning to look like a unicorn.

She was putting the final touches to the contract she had promised Brek - a straightforward document (with no less than 75 points, all the same) that ensured she retained all final decisions regarding the artwork displayed in the art gallery, when she received a video call.

Elle was on the line, radiant like only young people can be. The Ferengi woman gave an extended account of her recent conversation with Grand Proxy Brek, and she finished her summary with a laugh and a twisted decision: she intended to fleece the GPR. Ask for more and more money, until he finally got the message: He was an old bore.

“How Ferengi of you,” Mrs Moreau said, so as not to look too crossed, she added a little smile. “All the same, I don’t think you ought to short-change the only Ferengi who’s actually on your side.”

Elle looked puzzled. “He is not on my side. He wants to capture me and put me in a sort of jail called a ‘marriage’. That’s sick. So, I’ll be playing his little game for a while, just as you do, Mrs Moreau - time is always money, after all - and when I’ve made a nice pile of latinum, I’ll simply disappear.”

Moreau’s smile morphed into a scowl. Ignorance and boldness was, for sure, an explosive mix. “I don’t take money from the GPR. We form partnerships, this is very different.” She sat up, very much annoyed. “Very different indeed. Besides, when there is love, marriage needn’t be a cage, Elle. You have barely lived at all and yet, how you draw hasty conclusions!”

Elle rubbed her nose, which wasn’t exactly an elegant gesture. “It wasn’t that long ago that you agreed with me that love was like a mental disease. It wrecks your biochemistry and leaves you as weak as gruel. I don’t want any of that. Latinum is the only thing worth having.”

“Then you should tell the GPR that you aren’t interested in his offer.” Moreau added, baffled, that she was asking a Ferengi to be honest. Also, somehow, it had become more convenient not to name the little Ferengi at all, and use initials instead.

The Ferengi woman frowned. She hesitated for a few seconds, and then drew her own conclusions: “And if I don’t, you'll tell the GPR about my plans, is that it, Mrs Moreau? You would betray our friendship, whilst in your own way, you have been fleecing that guy for years. You are a devious woman. Females should stick together. That’s the only way to get something decent out of this rotten galaxy.”

This reminder that the GPR had been the only constant in her life for a while now, sent Moreau’s mind reeling. “You are angry and not thinking right, Elle. You should calm down and reconsider your position, and your options, too. You should also know that I’ll be staying on Poseidon for a while. I hope to open a new gallery here.”

“Wait, what?? You...”

Mrs Moreau cut the communication here. Her happiness had lasted what? Twenty minutes? Life was so predictable. There was indeed always something nasty round the corner.

Now in a foul mood, Moreau nearly damaged her PADD when she grabbed it after it announced a new message. It was not Elle, but the GPR. The Brek; and the notion that she was surrounded by Ferengis made her gasp for fresh air.

She nonetheless took the message, which contained another surprise. The screen wasn’t (as she expected) displaying a long rant about stuff she had done or not done, but a shopping list with various gardening items. The little catalogue of seeds and tools ended with mystifying words:

[My apologies for my behaviour earlier on. As you get familiar with the station, could you please purchase those few items for me? Many thanx.”]

She read the list again, mildly amused to discover that the word ‘few’ in Ferengi, actually meant close to twenty items. This made her ponder aloud: “So I’m a personal shopper, now? I don’t think so...”

Two new text messages arrived.

[Whats ur fav homely dish?]

[Casserole?]

Puzzled and not wanting any home made food anytime soon, she typed: [where r u?]

[in therapy (free)]

Of course he would say ‘free’. It was a personal insult for him to have to pay, at least directly, for certain services. She should have left it at that, but the word ‘casserole’ resonated badly in her mind. In French this word also meant ‘to have skeletons in one’s closet’. Something which her ex husband - a (very) small politician - had had plenty of at the time of their divorce. It was a painful memory, and this led her to type an inconsiderate phrase that she knew she should have kept for later.

[Beware. Elle is not interested. She wants to rip you off.]

Beyond her own contrition, there was no response to her line, and so she moved on. What should be the name of her new art gallery? Maison D’Art Fine Art? Graphic Zest? So many possibilities...

.......................................
CIV Mrs Moreau
Art Dealer
Currently on Poseidon

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