Blessedly Alone

Posted on 10 Dec 2019 @ 3:16am by Lieutenant Quinle Rahl

830 words; about a 4 minute read

Quinle was in her quarters, not her office but her very own room, the place no one but her got to see, the place that showed all the inner workings of the counselor’s mind. Little pieces showed the complexity of the multiple lifetimes of thoughts in her head thanks to her symbiot, but the joining had been a success due to the fact that the woman herself, had been eclectic in nature and interests so the past thoughts in her mind enthralled and invigorated her.

At the moment she sat before an easel as she painted, oil paints an ancient styling from Earth. There were artists called the impressionists and her mother had taught her of them in Quinle’s youth, their works etched into a fanciful and romantic young consciousness. Her favorite had been Monet with the works of John Peter Russell roaming in second, but art of all kinds enthralled her, let her learn of other places and kindled the wanderlust in a studious woman leading to her Starfleet career.

Sure strokes filled the canvas with soft colors, dots of color represented flowers, and a deep blue a pond. She was not copying Monet’s work, but she allowed the feel of the muted designs to be captured in her painting. She had told Cindreth to find something to focus on that he enjoyed, a lesson the counselor was taking to heart for herself. Deep breaths accompanied he focus, building a meditative state where she lost herself in the feeling of the creation, and the beauty she saw within her mind as it translated to the canvas.

Drinking with the others a few nights back had been wonderful, the no work clause had allowed herself to step outside of the proper counselor people expected to see and into the young woman she missed. The Trill was not always so serious, but with all that had happened since her transfer here she did not feel it was good for the crew to see the inner side of herself, they needed to see her as her job first, not the person so that they could just innately trust in her training, not take the time to determine if they liked or trusted in the woman.

Picking up a cup of tea she took a sip and looked over the work in progress, she felt it was one of her best, and it was doing what she needed it to. Giving her a place to release the person she was so that once she left her quarters again she could affect the mantle of counselor over that of Quinle. Smiling she picked up the brush with one hand, holding the tea with the other as she dabbed a highlight or two in place before stepping back. “As it should be.” She stated, claiming the piece complete out loud.

Rising from her stool she walked around her quarters, looking to the zill and a small collection of bells and small percussion pieces she owned. Then came the small pieces of blown glass on her shelves, a dead art really, but a few practionioners remained and she would visit them from time to time, the heat of the fthatmelted and colored the sand until such perfection was created, each piece holding its own individual spirit as nothing made in that way would ever perfectly match another. Just as no persons personalities matched. That unique beauty is what drew her to being a counselor, allowing her to just enjoying knowing others on such a deep level.

Both hands wrapped around her mug, oil on her left fingers from holding the brush marred the outside of the white porcelain she used for her drink, perfect white becoming almost impressionist art on its own from her touch, a deep, centering breath in through her nose, then exhaled through full lips kept her calm in place. Nothing had been easy since joining this crew, she faced challenges that were the nightmares of other counselors and she knew it, but that did not mean she could just throw her hands up and ignore her duties earthed. Everyone was at a disadvantage at the moment and it was her place to make sure they all were working on adjustments and coping to make the shop run as well as it could with so much death and unsettling issues.

A soft chime sounded from near her bed, the golden silk covering across it slightly crumpled from where she had been trying to rest earlier. She was needed to return to her duty, yet she also deep down wanted to just stay in her rooms and play music, paint, or read. Yet that was not her job, nor were those things important to anyone but herself. Undressing from her slightly paint covered clothes she made her way to cleanup then stepping into her uniform, smoothing it down over her frame she straightened her mess before she left for her office.

 

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