Title: Aren’t You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare
Author: ProvidenceMine
Fandom: Star Trek
Series: TOS Prime
Parts: Prologue, 1-8
Rating: R for violence
Codes: R, original characters
Summary: Forget
the Kobayashi Maru! Can Rand get
through Crossing the Rubicon?
Disclaimer: Paramount Pictures
owns all of Star Trek and its characters.
This is simply fan fiction, and I don’t expect to profit from this or
any story that I write hereafter.
Aren’t You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare
Prologue
It was a most agreeable and elegant soiree, and Janice Rand
was reveling in the thick of it.
Urbane, cosmopolitan couples attired in long gowns and pressed black
tuxedoes coasted under the high, arched ceiling. Graceful strains of violins mingled with the clinking of
glasses, the gentle shoe tappings of dance floor rhythm, and the cadences of
conversation. Oriental paper lanterns hung from
various areas of the mansion, giving off a soft, illuminating frame of light as
it shimmered off of the glittery gowns and glowed off the whites of the tuxedo
shirts. Even the champagne flutes
reflected this lantern light, darting on rims and stems in a delicate light
show display. Rand raises a glass
to her lips, enjoying the dry bubbly fill the corners of her mouth, submerging
her tongue in a jaunt of iciness.
“My, Janice!
You’re simply a vision tonight!
Is that dress haute couture?
I’m simply just mad for it!”
The voice belongs to a petite brunette and her tall, lanky
husband.
“Lucy!
George! Look at you
two!”
The trio exchanged polite kisses and gave one another the
once-over approvingly.
“Food for a starving man, Janice!”
“Oh, aren’t you the devil,” teased Rand. “And with such a lovely creature on
your arm!”
“Oh, you’re a dear, Janice! I’d like to think that we shopped at the same place, but
your gown is simply exquisite!
Love that peak of leg!
Simply wicked, dear!”
“Man trap! Man
trap!” yells George with his hands
up.
The trio laughs.
They talk like this for a while, complementing one another on their
jewelry, their aftershave, and the like.
Finally, Rand took a final swig of her champagne, downing the last of
her drink.
“You must excuse me, I think all of this scrumptious champagne
and excitement has done me in. The
little girls’ room awaits.”
The trio broke out in effervescent laughter as Rand headed
towards the hallway. While on her
way to the bathroom, Rand caught a glimpse of herself in an old Art Nouvelle
mirror, and had to admit, even to herself, how fabulous she looked. Her flaxen hair swept up in an elegant
twist that emphasized her long neck.
Slender diamond crystal earrings hung over bare white shoulders. The sleek bustier shell of her black
gown flared out into a sweeping layered taffeta skirt, which fanned out from a
discreet slit, revealing a stunning portion of leg.
“Janice, my dear, you are simply smashing,” she whispered to herself with a wink. She turned to
the hallway that lead to the bathroom, and sighed with relief when she saw the
oval shaped, intricately carved mahogany door up in front of her. The door opened, and a tall, slender,
refined young man stepped out.
Handsome, elegant and self-possessed, he beamed when he spotted Rand and
held the door open for her.
“Why Thank you,” she said upping her pace as she reached for
the door, grinning at the young man.
Rand closed the door behind her.
“Must try to get his name later,” she thought.
Rand smiled at the memory of that young man’s face, his manners,
and his cologne as she raised the toilet seat and reached underneath her gown.
“What the hell?”
Rand peered into the toilet with a mixture of disbelief and
revoltion.
There, floating atop the water in the porcelain throne, lay
a big fat turd the shape of an overstuffed marijuana joint.
It was definitely at this moment when that young man lost
his appeal.
“How can that ding bat forget to flush when he squeezes
something like that out of his skinny ass?! Eassh!”
She reached over to flush the toilet, her eyes still glued
to the waste left by the young man.
But something made her stop, made her stand back and stare.
The turd, without any explanation, began to vibrate.
Rand looked around the toilet, the bathroom, and then back
inside the bowl. There were no
outside vibrations.
“Nope. It’s the
fucking shit.”
The ripples surrounding the excrement became stronger and
move violent. Unable to help
herself, Rand leaned in closer until her head was directly over the toilet
seat.
“How is that thing…”
SPLAT!
The turd catapulted out of the bowl, landing squarely in
Rand’s face. It latched onto her,
dense and grainy like cement. The
dung made its way into her eyes, pressed between her teeth, and clogging her
nostrils, which were being assailed by the putrid stink.
Rand bolted upright in her bed, frantically slapping her
face before realizing that she was back in her quarters, alone in the dark. There was no party. There was no fancy art nouvelle
bathroom. There was no ball of
shit on her face.
Rand sighed, heavily and with profound relief. She cradled her face with her hands and
began to laugh.
“Good God!
Janice, what went on during the day to manifest that dream?!”
Shaking her head and still laughing, she tossed the covers
to her bed aside and climbed out so she could go to the bathroom for a glass of
water.
