milliways_bar | (no subject)

There's a transformed Horta lying on a table.

She would rather lie on the floor, but she has a feeling people will think something is wrong with her.

As it is, she's lying on her stomach on the low table made for her when she was a Horta (the prone position seems to make her feel a bit more normal).

I'm sure she's an interesting sight.

Ford looks over from the bar and cannot resist strolling over.

"That looks terribly comfortable," Ford says with a grin. "Bugger convention, you know. Just enjoy yourself."

Naraht raises her head from where it is resting on her folded hands.

"I've carried out the majority of conversations in my lifetime from this position with no difficulty," she says. Yes, she's absolutely clueless about the implications.

Ford isn't. In true galactic hitchhiker fashion, he takes a hyperspace jump to precisely the wrong location.

"Hey, no offense," he says, holding up his hands. "It's a living, you know. I've had some very meaningful... conversations in just that position with several of your... colleagues all around the galaxy."

"What?" she asks, puzzled. "You've spoken with my fellow Starfleet Officers? Although, the majority of them converse sitting up seeing they are mostly humanoid." Something occurs to her. "And how did you know I was in Starfleet? I'm not exactly in uniform here."

So they finally unionized, eh? Well, it's about time. And an official uniform? What does that look like, Ford wonders.

"Star-fleet officers?" Ford says, stifling a chuckle. "That's what you call yourselves now? Well, it's certainly no worse than some of the alternatives. Hope you're getting some decent benefits now. I tell you, it's a shame the way some of you've been treated over the years."

Naraht's getting a sneaking suspicion that two completely unrelated topics are being discussed here.

"We have been called officers ever since the founding of Starfleet as the defensive and exploratory arm of the United Federation of Planets," she says cautiously. "And yes, the benefits are quite good."

A wistful smile plays across her face. "Even over and above the 'benefit' of getting to go places and do things that not even the First Mother could have dreamed of...even with the risks involved."

Ford has a unique ability of being able to hear what he wants to hear out of any conversation. For instance, he completely failed to hear the words "defensive and exploratory arm of the United Federation of Planets". The remaining words fall neatly into his understanding of things, and so anything extraneous is discarded.

"'First Mother' is definitely preferable to 'Madam', I think. More friendly-sounding. And the various forms of protection available in most places in the galaxy really help cut down those risks, don't they?"

Naraht blinks. Madam? Protection? She pushes herself up and sits crosslegged on the table.

"Excuse me, sir, but I believe we are experiencing a failure to clearly communicate. Perhaps it might be wise for you to tell me what in space you are talking about."

Uhhhhhhh.....

The above is the sound of a thought process screeching to a halt as it realizes it should have taken a left turn at that last junction point.

"Actually, I don't think that would be wise at all, miss. Why don't we pretend that I've just walked over instead? Hi, my name's Ford, what's yours?"

Naraht is all too happy to comply. So she swallows her curiosity as to what he did mean and stretches out her hand.

"Lt. Dahai Iohor Naraht, but most people simply call me Naraht. I am very pleased to meet you."

She frowns as she realizes she's extended her hand palm up. "Oh sorry," she says, turning it to the side. "This is how you shake hands, if I recall correctly."

Ford reaches for the extended hand, flinching back as Naraht adjusts the position. He'd assumed from the position that Naraht was simply from the planet Tringalia, but her words made him rethink that. Unused to being humanoid, he wonders, or just unsued to being around so many Earthers? Bob knows that Ford's had a few social cock-ups of his own when dealing with other humans. (And damn Arthur for putting Bob into his vocabulary.)

Ford accepts the hand and shakes it gently. "Pleased to meet you."

"Sorry about the mix up," she says. "I'm still adjusting to having hands in the first place, much less trying to remember the right way to use them in greeting."

"Are you new to Milliways or simply one of the many regulars I have not mananged to run into before?"

"No worries, love," Ford replies with a grin. "I know what you mean, not from personal experience -- I've always had hands -- but from trying to remember the right way to greet other people who may or may not have them."

He waggles his eyebrows. "In fact, that particular greeting we just did, on some planets, represents consummation of a marriage. Has to do with the reproductive organs being located in the fingertips.

"I'm relatively new here. Haven't been around for long. We've probably just missed each other."

Naraht's eyes widen. "Oh dear!" she says with a chuckle. "Wait until I tell Commander Talbert that one."

Her face falls. "Which won't be for a while because returning to the Enterprise in this body would be...problematic."

"But what about yourself, Ford?" she asks, forcing a smile and patting the table beside her. "What do you do when you're not at The End of the Universe?"

Ford answers quickly. "Partying as though it were.

"And what's problematic about that body? Looks fine to me." Was that an appreciative stare or a drunken leer? With Ford, it's hard to tell the difference.

Whichever it is, Naraht is rather amused by it.

"Sounds like a rewarding career," she says dryly. "As for my body...well, suppose I should be flattered you think so, but it's not me. I'm a Horta. Or I was one until two nights ago."

She sighs. "That's why you found me lying down earlier. That position is closest to the one my normal body would be in 99.9% of the time."

Ford is as oblivious to sarcasm as ever. "And the pay is good, too," he nods.

"Horta... Horta... species doesn't ring a bell. I wish I'd brought my Guide down from my room; I'd look it up. I hate to ask, but could you elaborate?"

"Depending on the Universe you come from, my race may or may not be listed in your Guide," she says , leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

"Horta are silicon-based lifeforms. We evolved completely underground and only recently have achieved space-travel. As to our appearance, picture a lumpy, orange and grey boulder with a prehensile fringe around its base."

She chuckles a bit. "Although, some less-than-polite people have described our appearance as 'a shag rug gone horribly wrong'."

Some of her hair chooses that moment to fall across her face. She pushes it back with a sigh. "So, as you can see, adaptation to this form has been...challenging."

"If you ask me, a shag rug is horribly wrong to begin with."

So, a lumpy, orange and grey boulder. Well, it does take all kinds. Although, Ford had to admit that he probably preferred this form to the other. Not that he'd be crass enough to say anything to that effect. Oh, wait, yes he would.

"A challenge, to be sure, but well worth it, I imagine."

"Well, I am learning a great deal," she says with a bit of a twist to her mouth. "But I would have prefered it to have been my idea to do so...or at least for my consent to have been asked in the first place."

She grimices. "How do you deal with having a blind side all your lives? It makes me nervous."

"Stay nervous. That's how you deal. Unless you want to have eyes surgically implanted in the back of your head. Which can be done at most moderately disreputable spaceports.

"Or have children. From what I understand, you develop the same ability."

"Either option seems to be somewhat extreme," she says with a snort. Then it hits her. She is a she. She is in a body that is gendered and capable of mating.

Moreover, it is a body that is capable of mating and won't die soon afterward.

Can we say "shellshock", boys and girls?

"Oh, dear," Naraht mutters uneasily.

You see, mating urge among Horta isn't quite as...well, overridable as it is with humans. But how is she to know that?

"In that case, just keep nurturing that paranoia. Best survival rate that way."

Ford's brow furrows.

"Oh, dear? Problem?"

"Well, I'm...not really sure," she says somewhat dazed. "It could be. Could be a rather significant problem. I mean, I wasn't prepared to deal with this for at least another 49,900 years, and..."

She turns to Ford. "I don't suppose you could answer a few questions about mating drive in humans, could you? At the moment, I have no experience with the mating drive of my own species and now...I suppose I need to know what to expect."

And how the hell to head it off! The last thing I need is to deal with that.

Somewhere in the multiverse, the Dark Gods of Comedy are laughing their asses off that Naraht is asking Ford Prefect that question.

Ford opens and closes his mouth a couple of times without saying anything.

Was that a pass? he wonders. Well, Ford's an enlightened, open-minded, well-seasoned traveller... Don't think about orange and gray lumps... don't think about orange and gray lumps...

"Sure, I'd be happy to answer anything you want to know," he replies, slipping into a chair nearby.

Naraht pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, staring fixedly at her toes once again.

"Exactly when in the human reproductive cycle does it...kick in? Are there any warning signs? And are humans able to get anything else done in the meantime?"

She sighs. "The last thing I need is to feel an overwhelming compulsion to dig Milliways its own Chamber of the Ages."

"The first thing to learn about humanoid mating urges is that they have nothing to do with the reproductive cycle. Oh, sure, some fancypants scientists say that it gets more urgent when the female is fertile, which is about once a month for most humanoid species. But the truth is that humans get the urge to mate even if they have no intention of reproducing.

"As for warning signs... well, we call that 'arousal'. Unfortunately, it's different for everyone, and it shares a lot of common responses with fear. Most people can usually tell if the person they are dealing with is aroused or terrified. With experience, anyway.

"Luckily, though, the responses aren't distracting enough that we can't concentrate on other things or push them into the background if it's not appropriate to mention."

Otherwise, I'd be nothing more than a drooling, gibbering maniac sitting here with you. Ford wisely doesn't add.

Naraht breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank the Mother! I was worried that..."

She smiles up at him. "Things are a little different with Horta, you see. With us, there is no such thing as 'recreational mating'. We don't even acquire gender until we are 49,900 years old. Whereupon, we become a race that is 99.99% male and 0.01% female. Once our mating urge kicks in...well, you pretty much have no choice in the matter according to Mother."

Ford blinks at the implications. "I suppose that'd make you awfully popular when the time came. Although, I have to admit that it seems a bit inefficient from a purely biological standpoint."

don't think about orange and gray lumps having sex... don't think about orange and gray lumps having sex...

Naraht shugs. "It works for us. Of course, after mating is over, if you happen to be a male...well, I hope mating is all that it's cracked up to be, because that's pretty much your last act as a living being."

((ooc: okies, have fun. thanks!))

Live 50,000 years, have one night of how's your father, and then die?

"Bugger that."

(deleted comment)

((ooc: Sure, that's no problem. I'll be around.))