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Entry tags:
DS9 - For DS9 Tumblr Zine's Make Someone's Day prompt
Title: Accustoming
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: PG (reference to sexual harassment)
Words: 1064
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Nog has a lot to get used to at Starfleet Academy--starting with his roommate.
Author's Notes: In response to cosmictuesdays' prompt:
I would absolutely love to have made this longer, but at the time of its writing, my offline life hadn't been conducive to writing, so, well, that's all I've got.
I went with the "sir as default" thing that Star Trek did when it was airing, but yeah. Someday there's going to be a fic about this.
"Here are your quarters. I hope you will find them adequate."
Nog stopped stock still in the doorway and blurted, "That's it?"
It wasn't that tight quarters were unusual for him. When he and his father had joined Uncle Quark on Deep Space Nine (or Terok Nor, when they had first arrived), he'd gone from a house to a small apartment. But this wasn't an apartment—this was a room, and a tiny one at that.
Within an instant, his brain caught up with his big mouth. He spun, dropped his bag, and smacked his wrists together, hands open to offer an apology. "I-I'm sorry, sir, I was just expecting something a little . . . bigger."
The Vulcan senior cadet gave no indication that his apology had been accepted or rejected. She only said, "Larger quarters are a privilege attained through hard work and discipline. When you have proven yourself, you may apply for them."
"Yes, sir." His back was straight, but there was a sigh in his voice. He had so much to prove already—he didn't need more!
"Your roommate is to arrive shortly," the senior cadet informed him. "I advise you to take advantage of the time before their arrival to unpack your belongings however you see fit. Good day, Cadet Nog."
He tried to stand even straighter. "Good day, sir!"
Once she had left, Nog let out a long breath and took a closer look at where he'd be living for the next couple of years (or longer, if his application for larger quarters was rejected). The room was longer than it was wide by a lot—really, it looked like a conduit, except the ceiling was much higher. Still, if he was a Klingon, he'd probably be able to touch both walls. Just barely, but that wasn't the point.
To his left was a set of bunk beds, made up so tightly he wasn't completely sure the covers hadn't been painted on. Or at least, that was how the bottom bunk looked: if he wanted to see the top one, he'd have to go up the ladder, and after all the travel he'd been doing, he wasn't all that enthusiastic about the idea.
To his right was one long desk with shelves built into the wall above. Lucky for him, they were low enough that he wouldn't have to use the ladder from the bunk beds—that would have been embarrassing. Actually, he sure hoped his roommate wasn't tall or they'd be whacking their head all the time.
Once his survey of everything but the closet was finished, he went to check the view out the window at the end of the room, past the computer terminals. He was expecting to see the wall of the next building—it was what the architects on Ferenginar would have done—but instead, he found a courtyard where a few cadets were playing some sort of ball game. Huh. Not bad.
And now he should stop gawking and get his bags unpacked before his roommate arrived—whoever they were. At the moment, all he had was a name, Zalt chim Prav, the certain knowledge that they weren't a Ferengi (not with a name like that), and the possibility that they were a fe—a girl his age. He'd been asked many times over if he would be all right with a roommate who was a girl and had been not very subtly reminded about the academy policies on sexual harassment. It had been annoying, but every time he had been on the verge of getting fed up, he'd pictured his Uncle Quark trying to fit in. That usually calmed him down—a little.
"Hey."
At the demand for his attention, just a notch under a shout, Nog turned. Standing in the doorway was a Tellarite girl in cadet uniform, glaring at him.
He worked very hard (and very unsuccessfully) at not cringing and tried a smile. "Um . . . hi?"
She didn't smile back. Instead, she strode in and slammed the door. "The back of your head looks like—" She stopped, grimaced, and in a much quieter tone, went, "Frig. Sorry. I'm Zalt chim Prav. Are you Nog?"
"Th-That's me." He almost stuck out his hand, remembered at the last minute that it was a Federation Human gesture, not a Federation Tellarite gesture, and scratched his cheek. "Uh . . . what was that about?"
Zalt made a growling sound. "On Tellar, you start a conversation with someone either by arguing with them or insulting them. My mothers made me practice greeting other species over and over before I came here, but I just can't get the hang of it."
"It's all right." Nog tried to uncringe; he made it most of the way. "Habits are hard to break."
"You're telling me." She stomped over to the bunk beds and dropped her bag. "Speaking of which, you'd better not get funny about me wearing clothes."
Think of Uncle Quark, he reminded himself. Out loud, he said, "Actually, my grandmother wears clothes all the time."
"Really?" Zalt gave him a strange look. "Huh. Hey, I'm turning the temperature—argh. Do you mind if I turn up the temperature?"
"Please. And turn up the humidity while you're at it." It wasn't as bad as DS9, but the air was still dry as gold dust.
"Got it. Computer, turn the temperature up, uh . . . ten degrees, and adjust the humidity up by thirty percent while you're at it. I can't believe how cold it is!"
"My best friend Jake is a Human from Earth and he says it's only going to get colder," he offered.
Zalt made a sound that was probably rude even for a Tellarite. "Why does the Academy have to be on this ice ball?"
"It could be worse," Nog said with his first unforced smile. "It could be on Andor."
Zalt laughed—or at least, Nog was pretty sure that was what she was doing. "Top or bottom bunk?"
"Bottom."
"Great. Top is just the way I like it."
That made his lobes tingle a bit—she was cute, after all—but he kept that to himself. Already, he liked Zalt, and he didn't want to make her angry. Not just because she'd thrash him in a fight, either. He got the feeling they could end up pretty good friends.
Maybe sharing a room wouldn't be so bad, after all.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: PG (reference to sexual harassment)
Words: 1064
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Nog has a lot to get used to at Starfleet Academy--starting with his roommate.
Author's Notes: In response to cosmictuesdays' prompt:
Prompt four: Nog at Starfleet Academy. Does he need special accommodations? How does he deal with the culture shift? Does he find the climate of San Francisco pleasant or unreasonable?
I would absolutely love to have made this longer, but at the time of its writing, my offline life hadn't been conducive to writing, so, well, that's all I've got.
I went with the "sir as default" thing that Star Trek did when it was airing, but yeah. Someday there's going to be a fic about this.
"Here are your quarters. I hope you will find them adequate."
Nog stopped stock still in the doorway and blurted, "That's it?"
It wasn't that tight quarters were unusual for him. When he and his father had joined Uncle Quark on Deep Space Nine (or Terok Nor, when they had first arrived), he'd gone from a house to a small apartment. But this wasn't an apartment—this was a room, and a tiny one at that.
Within an instant, his brain caught up with his big mouth. He spun, dropped his bag, and smacked his wrists together, hands open to offer an apology. "I-I'm sorry, sir, I was just expecting something a little . . . bigger."
The Vulcan senior cadet gave no indication that his apology had been accepted or rejected. She only said, "Larger quarters are a privilege attained through hard work and discipline. When you have proven yourself, you may apply for them."
"Yes, sir." His back was straight, but there was a sigh in his voice. He had so much to prove already—he didn't need more!
"Your roommate is to arrive shortly," the senior cadet informed him. "I advise you to take advantage of the time before their arrival to unpack your belongings however you see fit. Good day, Cadet Nog."
He tried to stand even straighter. "Good day, sir!"
Once she had left, Nog let out a long breath and took a closer look at where he'd be living for the next couple of years (or longer, if his application for larger quarters was rejected). The room was longer than it was wide by a lot—really, it looked like a conduit, except the ceiling was much higher. Still, if he was a Klingon, he'd probably be able to touch both walls. Just barely, but that wasn't the point.
To his left was a set of bunk beds, made up so tightly he wasn't completely sure the covers hadn't been painted on. Or at least, that was how the bottom bunk looked: if he wanted to see the top one, he'd have to go up the ladder, and after all the travel he'd been doing, he wasn't all that enthusiastic about the idea.
To his right was one long desk with shelves built into the wall above. Lucky for him, they were low enough that he wouldn't have to use the ladder from the bunk beds—that would have been embarrassing. Actually, he sure hoped his roommate wasn't tall or they'd be whacking their head all the time.
Once his survey of everything but the closet was finished, he went to check the view out the window at the end of the room, past the computer terminals. He was expecting to see the wall of the next building—it was what the architects on Ferenginar would have done—but instead, he found a courtyard where a few cadets were playing some sort of ball game. Huh. Not bad.
And now he should stop gawking and get his bags unpacked before his roommate arrived—whoever they were. At the moment, all he had was a name, Zalt chim Prav, the certain knowledge that they weren't a Ferengi (not with a name like that), and the possibility that they were a fe—a girl his age. He'd been asked many times over if he would be all right with a roommate who was a girl and had been not very subtly reminded about the academy policies on sexual harassment. It had been annoying, but every time he had been on the verge of getting fed up, he'd pictured his Uncle Quark trying to fit in. That usually calmed him down—a little.
"Hey."
At the demand for his attention, just a notch under a shout, Nog turned. Standing in the doorway was a Tellarite girl in cadet uniform, glaring at him.
He worked very hard (and very unsuccessfully) at not cringing and tried a smile. "Um . . . hi?"
She didn't smile back. Instead, she strode in and slammed the door. "The back of your head looks like—" She stopped, grimaced, and in a much quieter tone, went, "Frig. Sorry. I'm Zalt chim Prav. Are you Nog?"
"Th-That's me." He almost stuck out his hand, remembered at the last minute that it was a Federation Human gesture, not a Federation Tellarite gesture, and scratched his cheek. "Uh . . . what was that about?"
Zalt made a growling sound. "On Tellar, you start a conversation with someone either by arguing with them or insulting them. My mothers made me practice greeting other species over and over before I came here, but I just can't get the hang of it."
"It's all right." Nog tried to uncringe; he made it most of the way. "Habits are hard to break."
"You're telling me." She stomped over to the bunk beds and dropped her bag. "Speaking of which, you'd better not get funny about me wearing clothes."
Think of Uncle Quark, he reminded himself. Out loud, he said, "Actually, my grandmother wears clothes all the time."
"Really?" Zalt gave him a strange look. "Huh. Hey, I'm turning the temperature—argh. Do you mind if I turn up the temperature?"
"Please. And turn up the humidity while you're at it." It wasn't as bad as DS9, but the air was still dry as gold dust.
"Got it. Computer, turn the temperature up, uh . . . ten degrees, and adjust the humidity up by thirty percent while you're at it. I can't believe how cold it is!"
"My best friend Jake is a Human from Earth and he says it's only going to get colder," he offered.
Zalt made a sound that was probably rude even for a Tellarite. "Why does the Academy have to be on this ice ball?"
"It could be worse," Nog said with his first unforced smile. "It could be on Andor."
Zalt laughed—or at least, Nog was pretty sure that was what she was doing. "Top or bottom bunk?"
"Bottom."
"Great. Top is just the way I like it."
That made his lobes tingle a bit—she was cute, after all—but he kept that to himself. Already, he liked Zalt, and he didn't want to make her angry. Not just because she'd thrash him in a fight, either. He got the feeling they could end up pretty good friends.
Maybe sharing a room wouldn't be so bad, after all.