Bottled Mischief

Posted on 2025, Sun Jul 27th, @ 8:31pm by Lieutenant T'Vera Rahl & Ensign Juno Atala & Civilian Zeriah Vel-Orin

946 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Episode 1A "Shadows of the Empire"
Location: Earth | San Francisco
Timeline: Present

Exterior: Vel-Orin Botanica – Wharf District, San Francisco
The storefront was a tasteful blend of Old World charm and Orion mystery: pale green glass windows, ivy-wrapped doorframe, and a sign that simply read “Aromatic Enhancements.” Inside, the air was thick with jasmine, cardamom, and trouble.

Juno Atala squinted at the painted glass sign and frowned. “Tell me again why we’re here?”

T’Vera Rahl grinned without looking back. “Because I need something to spice up my quarters. And you need to loosen up.”

“That’s slander,” Juno muttered. “I’m plenty loose.”

The door chimed as they stepped inside. The scents hit them like a gentle slap—warm, floral, with a suggestive undertone that made Juno’s ears turn pink.

Behind a velvet-draped counter, Zeriah Vel-Orin looked up from a tray of iridescent vials. Her expression shifted smoothly from professional to amused predator.

“Well, well. A flyby and a frowner. I was beginning to think Starfleet forgot how to party.”

T’Vera beamed. “Zeriah. You do remember me.”

“How could I forget?” Zeriah purred, gliding forward. “You nearly shorted out my pheromone diffusers last time you visited. Something about a dare and a Ferengi diplomat?”

Juno glanced between them, concerned. “I feel like I should report this to someone.”

“Only if you’re looking for tips.” Zeriah reached beneath the counter and produced a small violet bottle. “This blend is for clarity and confidence. Made it for a Vulcan once. He burst into poetry.”

T’Vera took it, sniffed, and raised a brow. “Smells like rebellion and citrus. I’m in.”

Juno folded her arms. “Do you have anything for ‘not getting dragged into trouble by your pilot friend’?”

Zeriah leaned close, conspiratorially. “Of course. But it comes in a two-pack. The second bottle is for after you’ve failed.”

Juno hesitated. Then… “Fine. But if I wake up in Orion silk with no memory of tonight, I’m blaming both of you.”

“Please do,” Zeriah said sweetly, passing her a bottle with a faint green glow.

Ten minutes later, they left the shop. Juno’s bottle was tucked away like contraband. T’Vera’s was already in her jacket pocket. Zeriah leaned against the doorframe, watching them go with a grin that promised the shop would still be there next time curiosity outpaced caution.

Interior: Castellan Bistro, 19:16 Hours
A cozy, upscale Romulan fusion restaurant in the Marina district. Low lighting, green-hued decor, and a soft string quartet playing classical arrangements of Klingon opera. The perfect setting for a low-stakes double date. Theoretically.

Juno Atala shifted in her seat, tugging at her collar like it was suddenly made of live plasma conduit.

“I think I put too much on,” she muttered to T’Vera Rahl, who lounged across from her in an elegant black civvie jacket, looking smug and extremely pleased with herself.

“You only put on half a drop,” T’Vera said, sipping her green cocktail. “Your mistake was believing there’s such a thing as ‘just a little’ with Zeriah’s blends.”

Their dates arrived moments later:

Sami, a medical resident from the Daystrom Institute with soft eyes and a shy smile.

Tevan, a civilian flight instructor and T’Vera’s date-of-the-week, who looked like he moisturized with dilithium paste and confidence.

“Sorry we’re late,” Sami said, sliding into the booth next to Juno. “We got turned around near the Wharf—some weird incense cloud on the street.”

“That was probably us,” T’Vera said sweetly.

Tevan leaned in toward her, inhaling deeply. “You smell like danger and moonlight.”

“Accurate,” she said, not breaking eye contact.

19:40 Hours – Drinks arrived. Conversation... did not.

Juno was overheating. Literally. Whatever Zeriah had bottled was doing something to her endocrine system. She couldn’t tell if she was blushing, having a reaction, or just ascending to a new emotional plane.

“So, Juno,” Sami said, smiling gently, “you said you’re in Security?”

“I was,” Juno replied. “Now I’m in... whatever this is. Some kind of pheromone-induced freefall?”

Sami blinked. “Uh—what?”

“I mean, yes. Security. Phaser drills. Very professional.” She slammed her water.

Across the table, Tevan and T’Vera were speaking in flirtatious Andorian. Juno didn’t speak it, but she recognized the universal dialect of trouble brewing fast.

T’Vera turned and smirked. “I believe your scent has captivated poor Sami.”

“Great,” Juno muttered. “Maybe it’ll distract him from how I just spilled sauce on myself.”

20:07 Hours – The scent hits critical mass.

Sami had leaned closer. “You’re really warm. Should I call someone?”

“It’s just the... spice blend,” Juno said. “Nothing lethal. Yet.”

Tevan, meanwhile, had attempted to toast T’Vera and nearly knocked over his glass. The splash landed in a flaming centerpiece, which flared up impressively.

“I like him,” T’Vera said, clapping once.

The waiter returned just in time to see Sami dabbing at Juno’s forehead, Tevan patting the tablecloth with a napkin, and T’Vera laughing like a Bond villain.

“Do you require assistance?” the waiter asked.

“We require restraint,” Juno said flatly.

20:45 Hours – Date concluded. No fatalities. Minor fire damage.

Outside the Bistro, Juno exhaled into the night air.

“That went... better than expected.”

“You mean, ‘not arrested,’” T’Vera corrected.

Sami gave Juno a polite kiss on the cheek and a datapad ping ID. “You’re chaotic, but you’re cute. Call me?”

Tevan bowed to T’Vera in full Romulan fashion. “We should do this again. Preferably somewhere fireproof.”

“Oh, definitely,” T’Vera purred.

As their dates walked away, Juno turned to her wingwoman.

“You are never picking the scent again.”

“You’re welcome,” T’Vera said, and sauntered off humming.

RSS Feed