[Star Trek: TOS] Aria (Uhura, Kirk | G)
Dec. 5th, 2009 12:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eponymous_roseAnother old, unposted ficlet I've polished up (I stumbled across a whole folder of them today!) - I think I wrote this one for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rapunzelita before the movie even came out! Goodness. Advent Calendar day four!
Title: Aria
Word Count: 578
Rating: G
Characters: Uhura, Kirk
Warnings: None
The computer files had only one fact on record about the Lo’Tharian people: that they communicated through song.
Uhura watched as the Lo'Tharian delegate, who bore a striking resemblance to a jellyfish with a mild case of acne, bobbed uncertainly in his chair. He gave a staccato chirp, and Kirk shot her a puzzled glance across the conference table.
"General greetings, sir," she said, and swallowed the unspoken I think.
Kirk returned the greetings in the gentle, sing-songy tone she'd recommended, and the delegate flushed orange with delight, warbling a tune that set off a series of indicators on Uhura's translation device. "That's good, sir!" she cooed, ignoring the wry look the captain adopted at her tone. "We've got a few more adjectives."
She paused. The translator, having processed its deluge of information, was trying to tell her something about fuzzy shoes. "Well, perhaps not."
The creature gave a trill that sounded almost like a question, but Uhura cautioned herself not to ascribe too many human inflections on the alien - for all she knew, it might just have politely declared war on the Federation. She blew a breath out between her teeth, wincing when the Lo'Tharian turned towards her and turned an unbecoming shade of puce.
"Hope you didn't just insult its mother," Kirk murmured, with a grin.
Uhura glared, but modulated her voice, attempting to imitate the warbling tenor of the creature's ordinary conversation. "This is fairly difficult, Captain. I think we may need better facilities." She turned to the Lo'Tharian, trying her best to communicate regret in her tone of voice. "I'm so sorry, but this doesn't seem to be doing either of us much good."
The Lo'Tharian hovered, immobile for a long moment, and then burst into song.
The tones were fast, springing, dodging around and between and past each other in a wild fugue, and a rippling bass emerged among the joyous cacophony, a rumbling that spoke of thunder and waves crashing to shore, and through it all, a high, trembling note whispered vulnerability and awe and wonder. Uhura was peripherally aware of Kirk sinking back in his chair, and then she was leaning forward, humming the tune, darting from harmony to melody until she had a feel for it, and then she was singing, creating something wordless and beautiful of her own, slipping effortlessly between the cracks in the aria, cracks that widened and changed and slid themselves around her song.
She sang about her childhood, about the old stories, the old songs, the melodies that belonged to her and her alone. She sang about the Enterprise, about her friends, about the wonderful, terrible, miraculous things they saw every day.
She sang her life, and the creature returned the gift in kind.
Twelve ephyra, rippling through the violet air, murmuring the secret songs of children, and the moments that made up a young life, rituals immortalized in joyful melody, and one day, one day, the stars stopped being points of light and became ballades, gavottes, wild dances whispering impossible, magical tales.
The Lo’Tharian stopped, after a time, and Uhura did the same, breathing hard, scrubbing at her tear-streaked face, her head spinning with new knowledge and wonder.
She glanced down at the translator once she'd caught her breath: the series of blips faded out into the translation unknown word unknown mellifluous lighthouse error error, and she laughed.
Across from her, Kirk was grinning, thumbing a tear from his cheek. "Well," he said, "Looks like we made contact."
rapunzelita before the movie even came out! Goodness. Advent Calendar day four!Title: Aria
Word Count: 578
Rating: G
Characters: Uhura, Kirk
Warnings: None
The computer files had only one fact on record about the Lo’Tharian people: that they communicated through song.
Uhura watched as the Lo'Tharian delegate, who bore a striking resemblance to a jellyfish with a mild case of acne, bobbed uncertainly in his chair. He gave a staccato chirp, and Kirk shot her a puzzled glance across the conference table.
"General greetings, sir," she said, and swallowed the unspoken I think.
Kirk returned the greetings in the gentle, sing-songy tone she'd recommended, and the delegate flushed orange with delight, warbling a tune that set off a series of indicators on Uhura's translation device. "That's good, sir!" she cooed, ignoring the wry look the captain adopted at her tone. "We've got a few more adjectives."
She paused. The translator, having processed its deluge of information, was trying to tell her something about fuzzy shoes. "Well, perhaps not."
The creature gave a trill that sounded almost like a question, but Uhura cautioned herself not to ascribe too many human inflections on the alien - for all she knew, it might just have politely declared war on the Federation. She blew a breath out between her teeth, wincing when the Lo'Tharian turned towards her and turned an unbecoming shade of puce.
"Hope you didn't just insult its mother," Kirk murmured, with a grin.
Uhura glared, but modulated her voice, attempting to imitate the warbling tenor of the creature's ordinary conversation. "This is fairly difficult, Captain. I think we may need better facilities." She turned to the Lo'Tharian, trying her best to communicate regret in her tone of voice. "I'm so sorry, but this doesn't seem to be doing either of us much good."
The Lo'Tharian hovered, immobile for a long moment, and then burst into song.
The tones were fast, springing, dodging around and between and past each other in a wild fugue, and a rippling bass emerged among the joyous cacophony, a rumbling that spoke of thunder and waves crashing to shore, and through it all, a high, trembling note whispered vulnerability and awe and wonder. Uhura was peripherally aware of Kirk sinking back in his chair, and then she was leaning forward, humming the tune, darting from harmony to melody until she had a feel for it, and then she was singing, creating something wordless and beautiful of her own, slipping effortlessly between the cracks in the aria, cracks that widened and changed and slid themselves around her song.
She sang about her childhood, about the old stories, the old songs, the melodies that belonged to her and her alone. She sang about the Enterprise, about her friends, about the wonderful, terrible, miraculous things they saw every day.
She sang her life, and the creature returned the gift in kind.
Twelve ephyra, rippling through the violet air, murmuring the secret songs of children, and the moments that made up a young life, rituals immortalized in joyful melody, and one day, one day, the stars stopped being points of light and became ballades, gavottes, wild dances whispering impossible, magical tales.
The Lo’Tharian stopped, after a time, and Uhura did the same, breathing hard, scrubbing at her tear-streaked face, her head spinning with new knowledge and wonder.
She glanced down at the translator once she'd caught her breath: the series of blips faded out into the translation unknown word unknown mellifluous lighthouse error error, and she laughed.
Across from her, Kirk was grinning, thumbing a tear from his cheek. "Well," he said, "Looks like we made contact."
