Youthful Distress

Curzon was not a happy man. Not at all. Not only had he lost a vote with the Rihannsu ambassador, he'd also lost a date in the progress. He sighed harshly and pressed his back against the flat wall, observing the way the Dabo whore winked primly at the Romulan man. "Wretched bitch," he whispered under his breath, drawing a curious glance from the corner. He ignored it, still watching the dreary gathering with a withered eye. He was tired. He was old. Most of all, he was bored. He looked into his glass and muttered again. Empty. He moved to shift from his comfortable place when a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned, then raised snow-white eyebrows at the youth smiling at him. If Curzon's guess was right, the young boy was no older than 8. But the long limbs and very mature smile made the line between doubt and fact a very fuzzy one. "Yes?" he said gruffly.

"Sir, I can get that for you," the young boy smiled politely, already reaching for Curzon's glass. The old man snatched the glass away.

"I'm not an handicap!" he hissed. "I can get it myself!"

The boy's eyes slanted in sudden anguish. "I'm sorry Sir ... I was only trying to help ..." he sniffled, looking down at his feet. Curzon stared at him, suddenly feeling sorry.

"Oh now ... don't start crying' on me!" he said harshly. "Where's your father?"

The boy wiped his eyes with one hand while he pointed at an elder man in the room with the other. Curzon followed the direction, and spied the father. A rather handsome man, with dark features and a shapely mustache. He recognized him on the spot. "Richard Bashir," he said with a nod. "The diplomat."

The boy nodded, still sniffling. He still wasn't sure what he'd done wrong to attract this man's bad mood. It seemed whatever he did annoyed the people around him ... even his own parents sometimes.

"Well now my boy, what's your name?" Curzon asked, a little more softly. The boy looked up, his wide expressive eyes shining.

"Julian," he smiled hesitantly.

Curzon nodded and wrapped a friendly hand over the boy's shoulders, steering him toward the bar. "Well Julian. Have you ever met a Trill?" he asked, and Julian looked up at him with a puzzled frown.

"Am I boring you?" Jadzia asked with a light laugh in her voice. Julian blinked suddenly, looking at his lunch partner with an embarrassed smile.

"I'm sorry ... my mind wanders often these days."

"No doubt to a certain tailor I know," Dax winked playfully, relieved she could finally have these sort of laid back moments with Julian without feeling as if she was being stalked.

Julian blushed slightly. "Actually, I was thinking about Trills."

"Oh?" Dax asked with a raised eyebrow.

Julian nodded. "Hmm. I was thinking about the first one I ever met ... oh I forget his name, but he was ..." he thought about it further, then grinned. "Well he was downright grumpy! But ... he did introduce me to my first martini," he giggled.

Dax smiled enigmatically. "And I still think you were too young for that ..." she said, and went on to ignore the oddly familiar puzzled look Julian directed at her.

The End