*****
There is that smell again.
T'Pol refuses to let her...her what? Irritation? Dislike? Disgust?
Revulsion?... show. Those are all emotional states and she refuses
to
allow humans see her falter in her control. She will not react
emotionally, no matter how outrageous the provocation. For years she
has been drilled in mastering her response to unpleasant stimuli. She
will not permit herself to be disgraced in front of a group of petty,
juvenile-minded humans.
But the smell....
She permits herself to raise a single eyebrow in commentary, though
had she been home among her own kind she probably would have
wrinkled her nose.
The smell is...definitely noticeable, most especially in these close
quarters. How do these humans manage to ignore it? Are they truly as
scent-blind as T' Sel and her other teachers have suggested? Perhaps
she can query--discreetly, of course--Ensign Sato about it. She is
female and speaks a passable version of the Vulcan tongue. One hopes,
though, that her...understanding...is superior to her pronunciation.
T'Pol blinks and refocuses her attention on Captain Archer's words.
It is
difficult. The room roils with odors, most of them unpleasant. There
is
the greasy, stomach-lurching scent of cooked flesh that lingers in
the air
and on their breath; the stale, bittersalt odor of old sweat that clings
to
their skin beneath the artificial spice of soap; the sweet, half rotten
smell
of damp socks, worn shoes and other more intimate garments.
And underneath, other, more primal scents crouch: aggression, ambition,
dominance, competition. Desire. Arousal. Shame. Fear.
The first four are to be expected-- human males are so transparent in
their primate needs--but the second four come as a surprise to her.
Shame and sexuality. Lust and fear. This journey may prove more...
difficult ...than she has anticipated, yet she will not refuse the
challenge.
Another smell infuses the compartment. This one is warm and musky.
Almost bestial. A warm heat spreads itself around her leg. She looks
down. Captain Archer's pet canid now grasps her knee between his
forepaws and is attempting mating behavior with her shin.
"Porthos! Bad dog." Mr. Tucker lifts the dog by the scruff, shaking
him slightly in reproach before he re-places him on the floor. His
face
shams embarrassment, but he cannot keep the amusement out of his
voice. "Guess he *likes* you."
"I'm sorry, " Captain Archer apologizes with sincerity, as the dog awaits
his master's judgment in the corner. "He's never done that before.
Usually his manners are better...."
The tell-tale tang of dominance and desire thickens the air until T'Pol
nearly suffocates with it.
"It's is of no import," she says dismissively. No trace of her new
understanding is allowed to reach her face.. "At least, he is honest."
That gains her a pair of odd looks from the two men inside the
Captain's quarters, but she knows her judgment is correct. She nods
her
departure, leaving Archer and Tucker, none the wiser, to dissect her
odd
behavior.
The End