I need motivation to finish this, so I'm posting a few excerpts from my Saavik Meets the DS9 Crew oneshot. I need second opinions, IDK.
First, my blorbo doing his best to process my other blorbo existing:
Promptly interrupted by said "old friend" because I can:
I actually made a bingo board once of how often Spock gets McCoy involved in actually insane Romulan shenanigans. It was fun:
Not the first time my girl mentally eviscerates another of my blorbos:
But that is not what this fic is about, no... this fic is about baseball.
Posting more and I'd basically be posting the entire fic, so I'll stop there, but like... I really like this story. I hate that I'm struggling to finish it. Also, Sisko's speaking patterns are insanely fun to write.
(( No one was going to send me the horse meme so I decided to just write this anyway. ))
"I heard that if you look a horse in the eyes, you can see the future."
The older Romulan choked on his khavas, took a breath, and began to clear his throat dramatically. He set the mug down. "And where did you read that?"
Elnor shrugged. "On one of the information networks." He looked at the holo-image of Ruanek's prized horses. Their eyes, specifically. Then back. "Is that not true?"
"You should not believe everything you read on the networks," Ruanek said, staring at the odd burden he had been, pun intended, saddled with, as if he was wondering how he had survived this long.
Elnor smiled. "I know…" He hesitated, his smile fading. He could see the look he was getting. "It… is just… difficult… to tell if someone's lying when all you can see is text." He watched the man nod, then asked, "Can I ask you about your horses?"
Ruanek traded a glance with his wife, who returned it coolly before gliding out of the room. Even with his Qowat Milat training, Elnor still found it difficult to read Vulcans. He could only interpret Ruanek's expression. The man seemed ever-so-slightly annoyed, but his slightly arced eyebrow said otherwise. He watched him pick up his mug again.
"You can, but you shouldn't. My job is not to answer all your questions about the universe. You are an unwilling exile, declared a traitor to the Romulan people, on account of assistance rendered to individual citizens of the Federation, under… trying.. . circumstances. I am to guide you through that, as someone who has been through the same."
"But--"
"Elnor." The tone shut his question down. But the reply was softer. "I understand. I do. Believe me, I understand. I also craved knowledge. As much of it as I could acquire. But… I ask for your discipline." He sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Once we've gone over your asylum case, then I'll answer any questions you have."
"About Spock?" Elnor blurted out without thinking. He watched Ruanek's expression flicker in pain, and immediately regretted it. "I-- I ask forgiveness…"
"… It's alright." He remained quiet for a moment, then peered at him with a curious squint. "Your friend, the ambassador from Coppelius. She is related in some way to Commander Data, yes?"
Elnor affirmed, "She is his 'daughter.'"
Ruanek nodded slowly, his expression distant. "Then, I will make this agreement with you: You answer my questions about your friend, and I will answer any question you have about my memory of Ambassador Spock. Agreed?"
Elnor grinned brightly. This was better than a simple answer. It was a chance to talk about his friends. "Agreed."
Ruanek smiled back, then glanced at the door his wife had left through, as if checking to see if she was there. One he had ascertained that she was not, he leaned forward with a wild grin that was entirely un-Vulcan. "Now, let me tell you about the time Data and I stole a sacred artifact from a laser-guarded vault with nothing but a piece of wire…"
On Obsidian, the younger Ruanek had become entranced, courtesy of the then-hostage Dr. Leonard McCoy, by the subject of Terran horses, “those swift, exotic war-beasts.” The Romulan’s fascination had continued over the years; Spock had once, bemused by this oddity, even managed to send Ruanek an image of a racing horse, and received almost wistful thanks.
-Vulcan’s Heart by Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz
