Boss Chicks: Female Changeling (aka "Gertrude")

One of the many races that Deep Space Nine introduced the world to was the Changelings.  Changelings are shapeshifters.  One of the major characters on DS9 is the changeling Odo, the space station’s security chief.  Odo’s pretty badass; if you could change into anything at will, you’d better be a badass.  But having been around humans, Odo has developed some empathy and respect for them, as well as the ability to love.

Odo questioned his origins for many years; as far as he knew he was the only one of his kind.  But in Season 3, he found himself drawn to a rogue planet hidden inside a nebula.  The inhabitants of the planet turned out to be a race of Changelings, in their default liquid form.  The leader of the Changelings was a female.  She had no name, so I took to calling her Gertrude.  Gertrude is played to the T by Salome Jens.  Gertrude tells Odo that their race was once hunted by the “solids” (her term for humanoids) and they sought solace and peace on the rogue planet.  Determined to make sure that never happened again, Gertrude instigated a plan to take over the galaxy.

Mind you, girls & boys, this sorta thing ain’t for the short-sighted or half-assed.  Old Gert was a master manipulator and literally did not give a shit about any other race other than her own.  Gertrude felt that her race was superior above all others and there was an underlying hatred and mistrust of all humanoid cultures.  She founded the Dominion and instigated a bloody, genocidal war across the Alpha & Gamma quadrants, taking over many planetary systems in a serious effort to protect her people at all costs.  The Dominion, ran by the Founders (the Changelings), was a major political power and the sworn enemy of the Federation.  Gertrude coordinated the war efforts which resulted in the deaths of over 800 million people.  She was so completely bad-ass that she negotiated deals with several cultures (Cardassia and Breen, to name a couple), and promptly reneged on them once her objective was met…and they couldn’t do a damn thing about it. 

One might ask how it was possible for Getrude to run half of the galaxy on her own?  She didn’t.  The Founders cloned thousands of loyal assistants called Vorta, who in turn cloned millions of warriors called Jem’Hadar, who were literally built to fight.  They ensured the loyalty of the Jem’Hadar by instilling an addiction to ketracel-white (cocaine) in their genetic makeup.  If any race decided to get up to some chicanery and cause problems, Gertrude sent the Jem’Hadar in to literally destroy their entire population.  This kept societies firmly under Dominion rule.

Gertrude was focused on bringing order to the galaxy (meaning other cultures would serve the will of the Founders or face genocide) and it was her justification for the millions of people who died in the war.  She had no regard for life itself, and ordered the execution of many innocent individuals, even children, regardless of whether they were actual participants in the war or bystanders.  Even Vorta & Jem’Hadar, her personal army, selflessly sacrificed themselves and she…did…not…give…a…fuck.  Even when it was clear the Dominion was going to lose the war (thanks to Kira’s terrorist efforts), Gertrude did not order her troops to stand down, but to fight to the last man.  She was comforted knowing that the Dominion War cost the lives of nearly a billion people and the destruction of hundreds of worlds. 

Cardassia: Destroyed.  By a Boss Chick.

Best lines:

“…because what you can control can’t hurt you.”

“Isn't it obvious? You may win this war, Commander. But I promise you, by the time it’s over you will have lost so many ships, so many lives, that your victory will taste as bitter as defeat.”

"I would promise the Breen the entire Alpha Quadrant if I thought it would help win this war."

Earth: Destroyed.  By a Boss Chick.

She never once showed remorse and never apologized to anyone for her actions.  I respect the game.  Therefore, she’s a Boss Chick. 

The Hunt (2/?)

When she returned to work, Captain Spock sent word to her to visit his quarters to check on Nyota.  She was having a bad morning and he was loathe to leave her side.  Nyota lay on the bed with a compress over her eyes, moaning softly.  Sheila checked her vitals and those of the baby.

      “It’s just morning sickness, sir,” Sheila said.  “The baby’s not agreeing with her today.  She just needs to rest.  I’ll check on her regularly, but she’s going to be fine.”

“All right then, Dr. Stephens.”  Spock escorted her out of their bedroom.  Before leaving, she turned.

      “Captain, may I have a word?”

      “Certainly.”

      “K’avir and I spoke of his impending time.  He is fearful he will hurt me.”

      Spock took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Sheila knew he was uncomfortable with the subject, but there was no one else she could talk to about it.

      “He could, Doctor.  It is best that you understand that pon farr is a violent practice, but it manifests itself differently in all Vulcans.  I am not comfortable with this line of conversation, as you well know.”

      “Captain, he says it’s soon but he doesn’t know when.  I need to be prepared.  I don’t know what to do.”

      Spock waved his hand towards the settee.  “Sit, Doctor.”

      Sheila sat down.  “Sir, I know this makes you nervous, but please tell me what I need to know.”

      “K’avir is from a family that holds to very traditional ways, a lot of them Pre-Reform, a time when we were quite...illogical.  It is a strong possibility that the hormonal buildup in his blood during his pon farr will turn him into a predator.  It means that he will need to hunt.”

      “He mentioned that, but I don’t see how it is possible on board this ship.”

      Spock rubbed his beard.  “I had not considered that, Dr. Stephens.  If he does have to hunt, then you cannot be on board this ship.  There is nowhere that you can hide from him, for he will likely track you by your scent.  I must find a way to get you off the ISS-E.”

      Sheila looked at him.  “Sir?”

      “If he thinks that anyone on this ship is inhibiting him from getting to you, he will kill them.  Simply put.  There will be no warnings this time.”

      Sheila unconsciously held her throat, thinking about how K’avir had almost killed Lt. Julian Matthews because he considered him a rival for Sheila’s affections.  “I can’t have that, sir.”

      “It is fortunate that you brought this to my attention, Dr. Stephens.  It is a problem that must be solved as soon as possible.  If his time is near, then it could easily be tomorrow.  You may not notice the indicators; they may be subtle.  But I might.  I will speak with you more on this matter.  For now, I suggest that you start readying for it.  You must prepare nutrient hypos and put together a medkit.  You may even want to prepare some very strong tranquilizers, because you may have to inject him with them.”

      “What?”

      “If I suspect correctly, he will not allow you to sleep.  If you do not account for this, he may very well kill you in his...passion.  You will need to rest and nourish yourself, Doctor, but he will not allow it if he has no restraint of any kind.  You’ll have to find a way to keep away from him so that you can sleep.  Tranquilizers will help.”

      “Jeez,” Sheila murmured, mostly to herself.

      “Doctor, you have met Lt. Hinora Nyx, correct?  Our new head of Social Sciences?”

      “Yes sir.  She’s a Trill.”

      “Her fourth host was an ambassador to Vulcan and spent many years there as a resident and diplomat.  She knows some of K’avir’s ancestors.  I think it is wise for you to speak with her, for she can give you a unique perspective.  And you may want to speak with Dr. Gerri Thibodeaux, our resident exobiologist.  We are nowhere near any planetary systems, but it is imperative now that we find a suitable place.  We cannot delay, Doctor.  I am fond of K’avir, but I cannot have him running loose on board this ship during his pon farr.  Unspeakable things may happen.”

      Sheila nodded, wondering why she wasn’t as afraid as she thought she needed to be.  “Yes sir.”




      Sheila found Lt. Nyx after her shift was over.  K’avir was with the captain, and she wanted to get back to their quarters before he did.  Lt. Nyx was the new head of Social Sciences, one of the recent hires from Starbase 238.2.  She was trained in psychology, history and anthropology, and as a joined Trill, had nine lifetimes’ worth of experience, and as such, was a marvelous resource.  Nyx was five feet tall, with large brown eyes and sported dark red twists in her hair.  She always walked with her hands clasped behind her back and spoke in a mellifluous, calm tone.  There was a touch of mystery about her; she didn’t associate with very many people on board the ISS-E, but had become acquaintances with Marlena, Trisha and herself.  Sheila invited Nyx back to her quarters and they enjoyed a cup of tea and some light conversation before jumping into the heavy stuff.

      “How did you enjoy your honeymoon, Sheila?”

      “It was good.  We needed that quiet time.”

      Nyx nodded.  “Quiet time is important in an intimate relationship with a Vulcan.”

      Sheila nodded in response.  It was something she’d come to understand when her connection to K’avir became serious.  A lot of the time, he wanted to sit with her in their chair after their workouts and would listen to her inane chatter until she realized she didn’t need to speak.  He was a tactile telepath and she was so very easy to read.  Soon she stopped chattering and sat with him in silence and allowed her thoughts to flow.

      “I’m learning that,” she said.  “Nyx, I have something I need to know, and Captain Spock referred me to you because of your experience with Vulcans.”

      “My fourth host, N’kara Nyx, was a Vulcan ambassador and was also involved in a relationship with a Vulcan male.  We--they married--in a traditional ceremony.  N’kara spent many years on Vulcan before having to return to Trill.”

      “So you have some idea of what I need to ask.”

      “Is K’avir’s pon farr coming up?”

      Sheila nodded.  Nyx continued.  “N’kara was a close acquaintance of his ancestors.  His family is a clan of throwbacks.  They are defenders, guardians, warriors, fighters, in spite of Vulcan heritage and pacifist culture.  It is who they are.  Vulcans do not believe in killing animals, so they have evolved by hunting each other and members of other families who also hold to the old ways.  It is for sport; they do not kill each other, but they do take pride in grave injuries.”

      “Really?”  K’avir never mentioned that.  As the ISS-E’s security chief and Captain Spock’s personal guard, K’avir was well-versed in combat.  But serving the Empire had definitely altered his pacifist origins, as it also had the captain.  Violence was necessary for survival, and under the old regime, a significant part of each and every day.

      “It is who they are, which is one of the reasons K’avir was requested to be the captain’s guard.  But as it relates to your question, my understanding is that when males of his family go through pon farr, they instinctively revert back to their predatory ways.  They stalk, they hunt, and they may kill.  Their chosen mates become their prey.  It is an understood practice, for the mates are selected from certain families within that particular circle.  The women are prepared for it and can handle it.”

      Sheila closed her eyes.  “He told me that he would have to hunt me.”

      “He will.  This means that you’ll have to get off the ship.”

      “I thought so,” Sheila said.  “The captain confirmed it at any rate.”

      “Consider this: We know what happened with Lt. Matthews.  Imagine what might happen when K’avir is not able to control his actions or thoughts.  What if a co-worker, especially a male, decides to stop by and speak to you when K'avir is in the strongest part of his fever?” Nyx looked at Sheila knowingly. "He would get torn apart."

      “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sheila said.  “I don’t want K’avir killing anyone on my behalf.”  Not until a threat from the Empire warranted it.

      “Captain Spock will do what he must; of this I have no doubt.  And I don’t doubt you, Sheila.  You will be able to handle it; though I daresay that there is a part of you that looks forward to the experience.”

      Sheila felt her face warm.  “I admit; I do find it a little kinky.”

      Nyx closed her eyes, as if cherishing a memory.  “As did I.”

      Sheila laughed.  “So you really know; you’re not just spouting second-hand knowledge.”

      “Yes.”

      “What else can you tell me?”

      “When it was time, the females would go to the Nameer forest and hide anywhere they could.  They always made sure to bathe and strip themselves of their scent; though it made little difference because their mates knew their primal fragrance.  In order to move quickly and efficiently, they wore next to nothing.  Maybe a sarong and halter, and wraps for the feet, but too much clothing made things very difficult.”

      “Really?”

      “You also must know that the sex will be very rough, and that the moment of climax is so powerful that it will render K’avir unconscious.  If you are underneath him, you may get stuck.  The moment he climaxes, you’ve got to get out from under him and find another place to hide.  Get as far away as you can so that you can eat and sleep.  Trees are good places to hide, so a rope will be useful to you.  Caves work as well.”

      “Captain Spock says that I will have to tranquilize him.”

      “It’s not a bad idea.  It’ll allow you to get a few hours’ sleep.  Make the tranqs as strong as you can.  You won’t hurt him.  The sheer amount of adrenalin in his blood requires some overkill.  Speaking of adrenalin, you’ll want some for yourself.”

      “How will I know when it begins?”

      “I’m not sure.  It’s different for every male.  He may just grab you one day.  That’s what N’kara’s husband did.  Or there may be subtle changes; maybe your intimate encounters become more intense, more passionate...harder, in a manner of speaking.  I can’t say.  What you must do immediately is speak with Gerri; she can tell you where the nearest planet is that will suit your needs.  Pack a utility bag with nutrient shots, a medkit, a sleep pack, and anything else you’ll need for survival.  Make sure it’s a bag that you can carry on your back or over one shoulder; nothing too heavy.  I’d also advise you to bring a couple of extra uniforms and douse them with your standard fragrance.  It can probably distract him for a short while, if you plan it right.  It might even be more effective if you bring lingerie or stuff that you wear for him in private.  Those I suggest you don’t wash.”

      Sheila thought about K’avir’s T-shirts and her bras and panties and didn’t hear Nyx’s last statement.  “What?  Did you just tell me not to wash my panties?”

“It’s better if you don’t.”

Sheila bit her lip.  “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes.  Get plenty of rest and improve your combat skills.  You may be fighting for your life.”

tbc

Soundtrack 
Massive Attack: "Group Four," "Future Proof," & "Rising Son"

The Muse

So I have a new blog buddy, Kdaddy23.  He was talking about some experiences of his which I think would make a fantastic novel.  I offered him a suggestion or two, which got me to thinking about the enormity of my own creative spirit. 

As you may or may not know, I’ve been writing ever since I was a child.  I knew early on that I wanted to be a writer; it was something that just made sense.  It was a compulsion and I defaced a lot of my father’s books for want of something to write on.  My mother recognized my addiction and bought me my first typewriter when I was eight.  I taught myself how to type and produced my first book shortly thereafter.  From then on, it was game on.  I read as much as I wrote and absorbed the words and the writing styles of my favorite authors.  It was just a part of who I was.  Mama got me a better typewriter when I was 12, and my stories got longer and more complex.  I actually wrote and completed my first "real" book at 14, which was a major accomplishment.  I even drew a cover and tried to bind it with rubber cement.

I also used to write when I was in school whenever the teachers lectured.  It wasn’t a secret; everybody knew I was scribbling stuff underneath my class notes.  Sometimes I would pass pages along for my classmates to read.  It never detracted from my school work, but it was an obsession.  I wrote stories that were an amalgam of what I saw on TV, what I read, and what I saw in my mind.  I couldn’t help myself.  Obviously, there was something deeper at work.  I was a moody, mercurial child; prone to fits of rage, and it was especially during this time that I did a lot of writing.  I couldn’t help it.  I was driven, but I didn’t question the force that drove me. I wore out my typewriter in high school, but I would sneak and write stories on the school computers, and if I could get away with it, print them out.  My file cabinet is full of my teenage scribbling and I guard them with my life.  No one will ever lay eyes on those stories.

I’ve developed my own style over the years and found resources that helped me become better at my craft.  I never took a creative writing class while in college; it didn’t make sense for me to take a class in something I was born to do.  But I did read magazines and books on what I could do to improve my writing, because I didn’t have a beta or anyone I trusted with my stuff.  It didn’t matter; the need to write was overwhelming and I knew it was something I had to do or I wouldn’t survive.  When I was angry, I wrote.  When I was sad, I wrote.  When I was hyper, I wrote.  If I was struck with an impression, there was nothing I could do except write about it.  God forbid if I was hit over the head with multiple thoughts that coalesced into one powerful idea.  If that happened, the compulsion to tell the story overwhelmed me and everything else became insignificant details.  Then there were the times when I couldn’t write a single word, even though I was full of ideas.  I would sit and stare at a blank screen or piece of paper and wonder why I couldn’t focus my thoughts enough to start a story.  It was frustrating, but there was nothing to be done about it.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and took the time to reflect over my life.  I realized that my ability to write coincided with shifts between mania and depression.  Sometimes the shifts are mild and sometimes they are extreme.  Mild shifts produced short stories and unfinished pieces with heavy undercurrents, but powerful shifts allowed me to produce novels (be they fanfic or other) with dark and deviant content; as if I was conveying repressed memories and stuff that I had no business knowing anything about.  When I examined my work between mood swings, I could not believe I’d written it.  The stories are laden with obscure references and multilayered meanings.  Sometimes I have no clue as to where all of the detail came from.  Sometimes I have to ask if it was actually me that was sitting there telling the story, as opposed to being a channel for a greater entity.

My insight helped me to understand the force that guides me: my muse.  There’s no rhyme or reason to when she visits, but when she does, I am sucked into her embrace where I happily reside until she leaves me.  She’s a lover of the greatest kind; a spirit which opens my mind and clarifies my thoughts until they’re lasers and I can see miles and years beyond my experience.  Truly, there is no better place for me to be, even though she makes emotionally raw inside and drains my brain until I'm incoherent.  I’m incapable of doing little else; I’m forced to go to work because I like living in a house, but as far as anything else?  No.  I have minimal contact with my friends.  I forget to get the mail, I don’t sleep, I forget to eat, and I sit for hours and hours in the dark and my fingers move like lightning over my keyboard as I try to keep up with the movie in my mind.  When I do come up for air, my legs and back are stiff and my hands and eyes hurt.  My stomach is furious because I forgot to feed it. 

These are minimal concerns because the muse is greater than my discomfort.  It’s a marvelous thing that my bills are paid electronically, otherwise I’d be screwed.  When I’m open like this, I can write multiple convoluted novels at once, and I can seamlessly move back and forth between them without confusing characters, plots, scenes or descriptions.  I thought that was normal, but apparently it’s not.  At least that’s what the people with the alphabet soup behind their names say.

I’m sure I’m not done talking about this.  I have some questions for those of you that are authors: do you know your muse?  Do you have one?  What compels you to sit down and write what you write?  Do you recognize it as something other?  When did you realize that, at your center, you were a true writer?  And does everything else you do pale in comparison?

The Hunt (1/?)

A/N:  This story is third in the Dark Beauty series about two Star Trek Mirrorverse original characters, Sheila Stephens and her Vulcan husband, K’avir.  While “The Hunt” can stand alone, reading the first two stories, “Combat” and “Feenin’” will provide a great deal of context.  You can find these two fics underneath the “Sheila & K’avir” tab on my menu bar.  One does not need to be a Trekkie to appreciate this story.  

I own nothing Star Trek related.  Any characters you don't recognize are my intellectual property.  This story is for mature audiences only.  If the subject matter makes you uncomfortable, feel free to stop reading at any time.  Comments are welcome and flames will be used to roast my Thanksgiving turkey.  --Amaya

* * *

          Sheila sat on the edge of the bed and dried her hair.  She smiled as she watched her new husband perform his morning ablutions, wearing nothing but his gray Imperial-issue sweats.  They’d been officially married for two days, and the captain elected to give them three days’ honeymoon.  It was spent in quiet, seductive peace and it was a time of learning more about one another.  They shared breakfast in the officer’s dining room, sampling various items from each other’s culture.  Then they would have a lesson in the gym, including hand-to-hand combat and instruction in the use of Sheila’s tachi.  Then they returned to her quarters and Sheila took a nap.  K’avir was content to hold her as she slept with his head on her chest.  He would go get their lunch and have it ready when she woke up.  Then they spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking, making love, and engaging in other intimate behaviors.  

K’avir read pre-reform Vulcan poetry to her from a large, old, leather-like bound text.  Sheila listened to him, enraptured at the beauty of the words and how wonderful they sounded from his lips.  He summarized the content of each poem after reading and Sheila bombarded him with questions, as she wanted to learn the language.  He was patient and sometimes would hold her mouth to guide her enunciation.  He also told her about his life on Vulcan and all about his family.  In return, Sheila shared with him her history and details about human experience.  She taught him how to touch her and how to show his affection without sex.  She took down her braids shortly after the bonding ceremony, and K’avir, entranced with her hair, helped her after she showed him how to unwind a braid.  She washed her hair and he helped, awestruck at the feel of gobs of shampoo and her hair between his fingers.  He expressed interest in painting her toenails after watching her do it.  She showed him some of the secrets of her femininity and it did not take him long to revel in it.  

They had dinner in their suite and afterwards, sat together in the big chair; her on his lap.  Sometimes they were quiet, and sometimes Sheila talked about random events that took place in Medical Bay.  It was a fascinating concept; being married.  For so long, life on the ISS-E was a place where women were treated like property or were victims and anything even remotely resembling a full life was laughable.  The idea of marriage was unheard-of until the captain’s wife, Nyota, arrived and changed everything.  Sheila was now the second married woman on board the starship, and if things kept on the way they were, she would not be the last.  There were 260 women on board the Enterprise and 140 men.  Twenty-two of the men were Vulcan, and, inspired by Sheila’s unconventional romance with K’avir, other women were staking their claims.  Captain Spock once claimed that Vulcans were immune to the charms of human females, but made a liar out of himself the moment Nyota appeared in the transporter room.  K’avir was no exception, so Sheila’s circle of girlfriends knew it was possible to win the heart of a Vulcan.

She looked up just as he emerged from the bathroom, tugging on one of his ears.  She loved his ears; the tips of them felt marvelous on her tongue.

       “What would you like to do with your hair today, k’diwa?” K’avir asked.  He was fascinated by her hair.

“I think I may wear it in its natural state for a little while.”  Sheila spent the last day conditioning her hair after taking down her braids.

K’avir nodded.  “Would you like to have breakfast in our quarters this morning?”

Sheila smiled at him.  He’d become a little more verbose within the past couple of weeks, but only with her and only in private.  “I don’t feel like getting dressed, and it’s the last day of our honeymoon.  I want to stay in the entire day and stare into your beautiful eyes.”

She was teasing, but K’avir had no sense of humor.  “Sheila, I do not mind staying in our quarters for the day, but I do think that your suggestion would be unproductive. There are other things we can do to maximize our remaining time together.”

          Sheila smiled at him as he put on his uniform.  “I was teasing, K’avir.  We can do whatever you want.  I just want to be with you.  Tomorrow we have to return to a normal life.”

          He nodded his head.  “I shall return with your breakfast,” he said.  “Do you have a preference?”

          “No.  I’m starving.  Whatever you bring, bring a lot.”

          He nodded again.  “As you wish.”  Then he left their quarters.  Sheila got up and went to her dresser to moisturize her hair.  She quickly twisted it into six thick plaits and slipped on one of K’avir’s Imperial-issued T-shirts.  It was something that they both discovered he liked the first time he saw her in one.  Then she made the bed and cleared the table so that they could have their meal.  She sat down and waited for him, smiling to herself as she wondered about her girlfriends.  Sheila knew they were dying to know details about her honeymoon.  She’d share a little bit of information, but not too much.  She, like Nyota, was not inclined to divulge too much information about her husband.

          Then her thoughts turned to the captain’s wife.  She was Sheila’s patient, but was currently under Shawn’s care.  Nyota was three and a half months pregnant, and she’d suffered a uterine injury that required constant vigilance.  Captain Spock made sure that Nyota was taken care of, and if she didn’t want to put a toe out of bed, she didn’t have to.  He’d promoted one of the lieutenants to command the communications console so that Nyota and the baby could heal.  Sheila made it a point to check on her the moment she returned to work.  Nyota and her unborn child meant everything to the women on board the ISS-E.

          K’avir rolled in breakfast and Sheila took a deep breath.  Captain Spock retained the gourmet chefs on the advice of his senior officers.  They prepared decadent meals and there was even a Vulcan chef who catered to those with Vulcan tastes.  K’avir removed the tray covers and Sheila deep-breathed again.  The Vulcan entrees consisted of lirs, a grain dish similar to tabbouleh, warm kreyla bread, a bowl of hirat, which were juicy, fat black grapes, and plomeek soup.  He also brought boiled eggs, hash browns, watermelon salad and turkey bacon and sausage.  He always brought a lot of food; Sheila was not surprised to learn that K’avir had a healthy appetite.  He was big and fine; he needed to eat to maintain his physique.  She had always known him to eat only breakfast, but he began taking afternoon and evening meals with her shortly after the debacle with Julian Matthews.  It was then that everyone learned that the ship’s physician and the security chief were involved.

          The breakfast was delicious and afterwards, they sat in their chair and K’avir’s hand idly moved up and down her thigh.  He’d removed his uniform at her request and put back on his sweatpants.

          “Sheila, I must speak with you.”

          “Speak,” she said, as her fingers moved along his collarbone.

          “My time of…illogic…will be upon me soon.”

          “How soon?”

          “I cannot say.  I just know it to be so.”

          “How will I know?”

          “I cannot say, Sheila.  I did not experience my last pon farr; I was able to isolate myself and meditate my way through it.  But before I met you, I was celibate.  I have resisted the need for many years and channeled my energy into my duty.  I will not be able to do that now.”

          “I understand.”

          “I do not wish to hurt you.”

          Sheila looked into his eyes.  “You won’t hurt me, honey.”

          “I will not be myself.  I could be like an animal.  I will be driven by nothing but a primal need to mate with you.  All that was once restrained will be unleashed…upon you.  You must utilize whatever is at your disposal to keep me at bay, even though you will not be able to.”

          “I can handle it, K’avir.  I’m not afraid.”  She was a little, but it was more of her own response to K’avir’s words.  Who was she at her core, really?

          “Still, I would like for you to be prepared.  I do not know how my…symptoms…will present themselves, so I cannot warn you.  But if you feel that things are…different…between us, then you must put distance between us immediately.  Do you understand?”

          Sheila nodded.  “I understand.”

tbc...


Soundtrack:  
Massive Attack: "Mezzanine," "Dissolved Girl (Remix)," & "Black Milk" 

Sexy Things (5)

My beloved homegirl Noob asked me a question today and it took me a moment to answer.  I hadn’t thought about it in years, but it’s always been at the top of my list.

Her question:  If you could go and get it right now, what is the sexiest, most salacious outfit that you would buy for yourself?

My answer?  A Playboy Bunny costume.  At least for the sexy part.  Salacious comes later in the post.  I have wanted one of these costumes since I was a little girl, probably barely 10 years old.  I first saw one in the movie A Bunny’s Tale, and these glamorous women were attendants in a gentleman’s club.  They strolled around in stilettos and these colorful bunny costumes looking like supermodels.  Of course, the movie focused on the non-glamorous side of the lifestyle, but I didn’t care about that.  All I cared about were the bunny suits.  And from that moment on, I made up my mind that I was going to get me a Playboy Bunny costume or die trying.

Now life gets in the way when we’re making plans, so I put away the idea of the bunny costume to handle my life as it unfurled.  A lot of things have changed since I was that goofy, scrawny nerd, but definitely not my desire to own a bunny costume.  And since I’m now a grown, voluptuous nerd, I can finally find a bunny suit that’s made to fit my thick, sexy curves.  ElectriqueBoutique’s got some.

The second outfit—the salacious one—I want (and will eventually own) is a black leather corset, hot pants, thigh-high leather boots, with a choker, whip, and leather opera gloves.  Hey, you guys know I have a dark side…

Anyway, I was going to write a post lambasting Tyrese Gibson’s retarded ass, but after I calmed down, I realized that there was no point.  Others are doing it for me, and I wouldn’t say anything different than any other sistah who’s tired of getting dumped on by everyone else, especially brothers.  He, like Steve Harvey, can go straight to hell on the Hell Express.  I’d much rather waste my time thinking about getting my Playboy Bunny suit for Christmas.

So I’m going to pass on Noob’s question to you, dear readers. Ladies, what is the most salacious outfit that, if you could get it right now, you’d buy?  Don’t be shy; give us the details!  Guys, what about you?  What is the most scandalous attire you’d want for your boo?  Orientation doesn’t matter; here in the Dark I welcome all comers.  If you want to describe a sexy AND a salacious outfit, go right ahead.


And so I'll leave you with this...

Not quite the outfit I want, but this woman is GLORIOUS! 

Boss Chicks: Kai Winn Adami

Kai Winn Adami, played by the marvelous Louise “Nurse Ratched” Fletcher, is the spiritual leader of the Bajorans.  The Kai, which is the equivalent of the Pope, is a very powerful, influential figure.  When DS9 begins, Winn is a Vedek (or a cardinal).  She is ambitious, devious, and calculating.  She is deeply resentful of Captain Sisko, who is the Emissary of the Prophets (Jesus, in other words).  Winn has a very strong, very deep faith; she is a true believer, but her true nature keeps her from being the voice of the Prophets.

The first time she stepped foot on DS9, she started causing problems.  She disagreed with the teaching of evolution in the Bajoran school and called for a boycott, which led to the school being bombed and Keiko (the teacher) losing her job.  In actuality, the protest and bombing was designed to lure her greatest rival to the throne, Vedek Bareil, to the station to be assassinated.  She manages to get out of this situation unscathed.  

Major Kira openly disliked Vedek Winn.  She doesn’t trust her, and she has reasons not to.  Shortly after the bombing, Winn secretly backed the leader of a rebel faction called The Circle in order to force the Federation from Bajor.  She agreed to bless Jaro (the leader of The Circle) in exchange for being made the next Kai.  The coup fails and Winn managed to get out of this situation as well.  The woman was made of Teflon.

When it was clear that she was going to lose to Vedek Bareil for the position as Kai, she came upon some information that led to him having to remove his name from the ballot and ensured her election.  Kira is forced to accept her as the new Kai.

This opportunistic woman tried every trick in the book (and then some) to make sure she became the spiritual leader of the Bajorans.  While Winn’s unswerving faith is commendable, the Prophets never spoke to her or guided her because of her true allegiance, which was to herself and not the Bajorans.  As a result, she turned against them and began to worship the Pah-Wraiths (the enemy of the Prophets; or the Devil, as it were).  Kai Winn is helped along this path by none other than Gul Dukat, who disguised himself as a Bajoran farmer to gain her trust.  But her new faith in her new gods turns out to be a mistake, as she ends up being betrayed by them in favor of Dukat.  At the end of her life, Kai Winn tries to redeem herself by destroying the book that called forth the Pah-Wraiths, the Kosst Amojan, but she dies at the hands of Gul Dukat, the physical embodiment of the devil.

You may ask why I think such a horrid woman worthy of Boss Chick status.  It’s simple:  This woman did whatever she had to do in order to get what she wanted, fair or foul, while maintaining a false façade of goodness and honor.  Talk about being boss?  As far as I’m concerned, the Kai was one of the baddest chicks in the DS9 series.  You gotta respect a woman who lives by the motto of Malcolm X: “By any means necessary.”

Pictured:  Boss Chick summoning the Devil

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