The idea is simple – post an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt –this week’s is:
“Sense/scents/cents,” with a bonus word this week – “sent.” Choose one, use them all or simply write whatever comes to mind- it’s up to you!
I’ve got another 889 words, with a covert and sensory-rich observation…
Disclaimer: Spock, his family, and all the rest of Star Trek are property of CBS/Paramount; no copyright infringement intended. I just want to play with them, and I’m careful even when I’m not logical!
Layered through the choking scent of the smoke were other odors. The stale accumulation of human perspiration, of bodies not washed and tended as well or as often as they might be. Sarek had heard the phrase, “the scent of desperation”, but, until he came here, he had not understood it, as he did not understand so many of the “sayings” that humans employed so often in their speech.
Now he thought that he might. If desperation could be sensed through olfactory capacity, it might well smell like this – a blending of smoke and sweat and far too much artificial scent, male musks and female florals, presumably in some largely unsuccessful attempt to cover the lack of basic hygiene. Alcohol, in many varieties, and in vast quantities. Pheremone releases, strange to his Vulcan perception. The old spoor of vomit, tainted with the copper tang of human blood.
Sarek sat with alcohol before him, leaning over the glass, hands wrapped around it, hunched into his clothing, in conscious imitation of every other man in this establishment-
And then, the door swung open, admitting light and life and freshness.
A handsome young couple, clad in black chased with green the precise shade of Vulcan blood, Vulcan passion. They had arms wound round one another, and both wore smiles, emitted reckless laughter, and exuded careless sexuality.
“Well now, Dragon and Thistle – it’s about time you two got here to show the old drunks a thing or two they’ve forgotten. Will it be the usual?”
“It will indeed.” The young man placed money on the counter; Sarek couldn’t tell the amount, from this distance, but the bartender’s grin said that he had been most generous. Resources were not a problem for this young man- his paternal family had had an abundance before civilization dawned, on this world. Sarek had done nothing to deny him the birthright.
Spock – or Dragon, as he seemed to be known here, smiled at his companion as the bartender took up the money, and set about gathering materials. She stood up on her toes, her body pressing against his in a clinging manner – and, in that instant, Sarek recognized the girl from the strip club, the one with whom Spock had indulged in a sensual game. The kiss was lengthy, and both seemed left breathless and even more aglow in their desires, when it ended. “Dance with me, my Thistle,” the young man said, and then they were moving gracefully across the floor in the small central space between tables, although there was no music –
But there was. Sarek could hear it now – the music of Souldance, resonating through the air, accessible to anyone with telepathic sensitivities. And, amidst all the scents of decadent and dissolute humanity, there rose a new scent; the scent of Vulcan arousal pheremones – Vulcan, spiced with human. Spock’s hands, trembling slightly, curved to conform with the shape of the woman’s body, slipped down her back, to her hips, bringing her in close, pressing and molding her as their bodies swayed.
“All set,” said the bartender, indicating a tray upon which two bottles of green alcohol, two uniquely shaped goblets, and a small carafe. The young man known here as Dragon thanked the man graciously, and carried the tray to a table only three from Sarek. They didn’t look around them; their focus seemed to be on the tray, and a small flat container that the woman withdrew from her flowing cloak.
Their gazes met, and both smiled – Sarek, pretending to stare into his own glass, was fascinated with the way it transformed the young man’s face, made him sensual and far more human. He wore the expression most naturally, the emotion conveyed also in his eyes, as he opened the bottle and poured. A new scent rose to color the others; human seeds he recognized – anise and fennel, and other scents he didn’t know.
The young woman opened her case, revealing two ornate spoons – a dragon, and a thistle. The liquid was a vivid green, and Sarek was reminded of the dream. The woman withdrew several small wrapped cubes. “One, two, or three, my love?”
A brow tipped, and a slow smile spread. “I wish to indulge in all you have to offer, this day, my Thistle.”
“Oh, my,” the woman breathed, exhibiting the same arousal signs Sarek knew so well in his own wife. “You’ll have me all hot and bothered before we even take our first dose, my sexy Dragon.”
“That is my intent, my Thistle.” He drew her near, and kissed her with depth and Vulcan thoroughness.
Sarek sipped at the drink; he did not care for the taste, but it was a means to an end. The young woman unwrapped the cubes, and Sarek’s nose caught the distinct, intoxicating smell of sugar, which the woman balanced on the spoons. She made an adjustment to the small carafe, and then the two of them passed it between them, fingers dancing together in an adapted ouz’hesta. They dripped water onto the sugars, which dissolved, and dripped through the spoons –
Sarek watched with covert fascination as the liquid turned the alcohol a translucent white, releasing a variety of scents, spiraling into the exact color he had seen in his dreams.
Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Anyone can play, so long as they are willing to follow a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)
OK, this just makes me chuckle…and there’s some truth in it, too!