08-13-2025, 10:22 PM
==VIP Guest Quarters==
C’had had asked for some personal, alone time before going to this special dinner that the crew had planned. It was for him. It was in his honor. It was meant to celebrate… someone else. Something like this would have been apropos for the Symbiont’s previous host, a woman so admirable and stubborn that she had become one of Trill’s oldest people on record.
But there were others.
Everyone seemed to want to focus on Kestir’s previous host, or Kestir alone. No one wanted to bother with C’had. He understood that when a host bonded with a symbiont, the much-longer-lived being tended to have “right of way”, as it were, but he was still C’had. Still a young man who had thoroughly enjoyed life, and thought he’d have at least one more year before being tied down to this Symbiont’s life’s work.
Kestir had had many hosts. With the last host also being the longest-lived, C’had knew that the woman had left quite the imprint. Even as he sat on his guest bed meditating, he could feel the urge to make a cup of disgusting, bland tea. At room temperature, no less. He tried to contact the leftover psyche of Kestir’s other hosts, and use their voices to crowd out the last voice that had carried the Symbiont’s soul so far.
The Federation computer chimed at him, a warning that the party was about to start without him. He ignored it. If he could just get himself in touch with the previous hosts, their many voices could drown out the one that plagued him the most. He didn’t want to think like an old lady. Kestir was in a much younger body now. A handsome, viral, and flirty young man. The hardest part about being a Host Trill was the fight to keep your individuality. And right now, C’had felt like he was drowning.
The computer chimed at him again. He was officially late to his own party.
The Trill continued meditating. He wished he had replicated a candle, so he could open his eyes and focus on the flame. The flame, which was ever-changing, but always somehow still the same. It could grow, and it could fade, but it was always a flame. He saw it in his mind’s eye; a flame atop a candle, burning fiercely, steadily. A wind could blow and change the direction it leaned, another candle could take the flame when the current candle grew small. But the flame was evermore. And its candle, whichever candle held the flame, continued to be a candle.
C’had was very, very late to his dinner party.
==I am hoping to be able to post in Crew Mess in the near future.==
C’had had asked for some personal, alone time before going to this special dinner that the crew had planned. It was for him. It was in his honor. It was meant to celebrate… someone else. Something like this would have been apropos for the Symbiont’s previous host, a woman so admirable and stubborn that she had become one of Trill’s oldest people on record.
But there were others.
Everyone seemed to want to focus on Kestir’s previous host, or Kestir alone. No one wanted to bother with C’had. He understood that when a host bonded with a symbiont, the much-longer-lived being tended to have “right of way”, as it were, but he was still C’had. Still a young man who had thoroughly enjoyed life, and thought he’d have at least one more year before being tied down to this Symbiont’s life’s work.
Kestir had had many hosts. With the last host also being the longest-lived, C’had knew that the woman had left quite the imprint. Even as he sat on his guest bed meditating, he could feel the urge to make a cup of disgusting, bland tea. At room temperature, no less. He tried to contact the leftover psyche of Kestir’s other hosts, and use their voices to crowd out the last voice that had carried the Symbiont’s soul so far.
The Federation computer chimed at him, a warning that the party was about to start without him. He ignored it. If he could just get himself in touch with the previous hosts, their many voices could drown out the one that plagued him the most. He didn’t want to think like an old lady. Kestir was in a much younger body now. A handsome, viral, and flirty young man. The hardest part about being a Host Trill was the fight to keep your individuality. And right now, C’had felt like he was drowning.
The computer chimed at him again. He was officially late to his own party.
The Trill continued meditating. He wished he had replicated a candle, so he could open his eyes and focus on the flame. The flame, which was ever-changing, but always somehow still the same. It could grow, and it could fade, but it was always a flame. He saw it in his mind’s eye; a flame atop a candle, burning fiercely, steadily. A wind could blow and change the direction it leaned, another candle could take the flame when the current candle grew small. But the flame was evermore. And its candle, whichever candle held the flame, continued to be a candle.
C’had was very, very late to his dinner party.
==I am hoping to be able to post in Crew Mess in the near future.==