It was certainly a challenge to find something on Risa that warranted a complaint. The sky was capri-blue, the sun bright, the temperature perfectly balanced – not too hot, not too chilly – and the people were friendly and approachable to the point that even a lifelong cynic might start believing in universal kindness.

Still, it felt artificial. A carefully curated paradise, an exotic plant that had been engineered to perfect its beauty.

“I like it here,” said Nestira as she opened her eyes and looked to Rixx. She had been bathing in the sun, knowing they had a few hours left before she planned on dragging him to one of those “Blackout” celebrations she had heard so much about, but never attended.

They were a recent addition to Risa’s social life. When the Blackout hit and stranded them here, the people had started to grow restless – those celebrations were a way of distracting them while Starfleet figured something out.

And really, it wasn’t the worst place to be stranded at.

Rixx, however, was hesitating at the threshold of their shared abode, watching the celebrations in the streets beyond with equal parts pity and disdain. “I don’t understand why these transients keep celebrating what could be an impending apocalypse. Or why they need to be so… loud… about it. Perhaps we should just stay here.”

Because if the universe was going to end, did it really matter where you were?  Rixx would be most comfortable in solitude. Not necessarily the most happy – happiness and comfort were two very different things. He had a very thin, hazy relationship with happiness, but a clear understanding of comfort.

“You promised that we would go.”, she gently reminded him. “And there are so many restaurants we haven’t tried yet.”  They spent much of their time at ‘home’, having things delivered to them or making use of the replicator rather than venturing outside, but he had committed to trying new things.

He sighed, looking back at her with a critical gaze. He was older than her, by a century – and despite the fact that she was decades older than almost everyone else around them, he still managed to give her a world-weary gaze and a deep sense of pessimism from his bland expression. “I suppose, in your defense, we are biologically required to eat.”

“And to socialize.”, she shrugged. “It’s people, you can ignore them.”

For a man of over two hundred years of age and experience he had perfected the eyeroll designated as a human teenager staple and maintained it for centuries. “Need I remind you that the last time we went out for dinner we ended up fighting off a group of terrorists literally led by an insane person?”

No he did not need to remind her of any of that, especially since she had a deeply personal connection to said insane person. But he did anyways. Because he was a brat.

Her brows knit together in a frown. “Your terrorists, my dear.”
There was a hint of playful condescension in her tone. She had copied the ‘my dear’ from him, and if he was acting like a child, it was the perfect time to use his own words against him.
“And I will hear no more of it.”

He signed, but this time it held a note of resignation. “Not mine, I didn’t lead them. I merely gave a nascent organization a kick start. But touché. I cannot disregard that I gave a toy to a naughty child and then turned my back while it spiraled out of control.”

Was it his fault?  Yes, and no. Like so much of Nacien Rixx’s life his actual involvement and responsibility over things was vague – hazy, complicated. His business for decades as allocating resources. He had control over who he choose to allocate resources to… but he didn’t control how they used the resources or what they did once they had them. And his disconnected sense of humor and ennui meant that he had allocated resources to contentious groups just to see what they would do. Not that he helped them afterwards, but like a looming chessmaster watching other players play a game, he would here and there add or remove a piece from the board.

But he was trying to understand his role in the universe, trying to step back into the here and now and live as a real person who was part of the ebb and flow of life and part of the stream of decisions and consequences, not above it.  So he drew in a low, slow breath and relented.

“I should probably change out of this green vest.”

It was an attractive vest, slim cut and form fitting which he liked the style of. But the last time he wore it was a month ago and he received the criticism that it made him look sallow, and unpleasantly thin.

Nestira eyed him up and down “No, I like it. It looks good on you now your tunic and your skin do not have the same color any more.”

He had looked worryingly pale when they had met, and then sickly pale after his injury. But now, after weeks underneath the Risian sun, he almost looked like a real person again.

“Well, that’s certainly better than ‘death’s doorstep’ so I’ll take it.  Are you ready?”

“I will get dressed into something pleasant.”, she nodded, and rose from her chair. Not that she wasn’t dressed or didn’t look pleasant, but going out was an opportunity to wear something intricate rather than casual.

He leaned on the doorframe waiting for her, gazing out over Risa. The telepathic signature of the poeple celebrating beyond was wild, exuberant with a note of careless abandonment, as if, deep down, every single one of them knew that something was coming…

But they couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it, so why not party while you were still alive?