A Prick of the Thorn: Part 1/3

Posted on Sat Feb 14th, 2026 @ 8:05am by Sergeant Jace Morven & Rook

1,352 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Rook's Quarters
Timeline: Early 2389

Jace adjusted the collar of his jacket with one hand as he stood outside Rook’s quarters. He had sent the message the moment the delivery of the Luna ice wine had come into his hands, and received a quiet confirmation in return, just a time. The rest was just asking the computer. He had prepared for this the same way he prepared for a mission, or deployment. Not really thinking about it as much as just putting on clothes. He didn't wear his uniform. The jacket he wore was black, a civilian thing he had picked up years ago. A grey jumper that had felt soft when he had touched it and black combat trousers. Even the boots were the ones he wore on duty. It was simpler this way. He rang the chime, looking down at the bottle in his hand. Wondering why Luna ice wine had been chosen...but knowing it was the price to hear the story behind naming of the blade. Now and then, the bargain came to him. And he thought about it. And this? Well...this was what happened when the mission was to talk, not act, not shoot...not hurt.

The door opened, revealing Rook, who was already leaning in the doorway. The half-Romulan, half-Vulcan crossed his arms across his middle as he saw him, a small smile pulling at his lips. Half of him had expected the man to bail. But perhaps Jace never quit a mission once it had begun. Rook wore clothes in the same vein as when he was behind the bar, just a more comfortable version. Black velvet trousers, a deep purple waistcoat that was fastened to clinch in a half open, voluminous sheer-black silk shirt. He wore the pendant that resembled a commbadge as always, and his long black hair was loose apart from a thin braid behind his scarred ear, which was woven with a matching violet thread. "Planning to run?" he asked lightly, his bare foot nudging forward to indicate Jace's boots.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, or recalibration, as Jace watched the other man. His eyes flickered down, understanding what he meant, sort of. "They're the only pair I have," he finally said and met his eyes. "I have the...Luna ice wine."

"Perfect," Rook took a breath that indicated action, turning swiftly and motioning Jace to follow him in with a delicate hand that had at least five rings on it. "Have you ever tried it?" he asked as he moved to collect two glasses from the antique drinks cabinet. The rest of his quarters was a collection of fascinating objects that spanned both time and space. Antique furniture, art from alien worlds, rich velvets and soft delicate wools draped and hung around the room to offer a sense of luxury in the utilitarian Starfleet quarters. The lighting was low, and it became apparent that a number of lamps around the room were causing the ambient glow, not the overhead lights.

Jace followed, eyes taking in what was there. It felt like entering a den, not someone's rigid Starfleet quarters. His eyes went to the art, a slight frown coming to him as he tried to understand it. He dismissed it. The lighting made everything appear soft, almost dream light. "Never," he said, having realised he had been asked something. And he had just been silent.

"It's rich...deep...maybe a little much for some people, but, well..." Rook shrugged with a slight chuckle, setting the bottle into a tube to chill. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Jace looked around for a seat, a moment of...not indecisiveness...it was more the lack of knowing. In the end he did with what he usually went with...where he could see the exit. He sat down, slowly, eyes on Rook...wondering where he would sit. Wondering if he'd be an obstacle if this went south.

It only took a couple of moments for the device to beep and Rook carried the now perfectly chilled bottle to the low table by the seats. He dropped a single rock of ice into each glass before pouring a generous measure over. He passed one to Jace, clinking his own to it before sitting himself on the sofa, draping himself languidly against the back and arm of it...directly in Jace's line of vision to the door. "May the wind be forever at your back..." he toasted before taking a sip, closing his eyes briefly to savour the depth of flavour.

Jace held the glass, eyes on Rook...at where he had positioned himself. He was cornered in someone else's territory...and yet he put the glass to his lips and drank, slowly. It burned. It mellowed, hit sweet in a way he hadn't tasted before. He swallowed. A brief grimace, not because he didn't like it but because it was different and in that moment he couldn't hide the impact of it. He lowered the glass and just held it. "You said the bottle and two...stories."

"You're not even going to tell me if you like it?" Rook laughed softly, taking another sip of his own before setting it down. "You are a provocateur..." he accused with a lilting, smooth tone as he sat back.

He looked at the drink, considering it for a moment. "It tastes...heavy," he said, before he met Rook's eyes. "Thick, but...sweet. Not sugar, or honey...just...sweet and thick...I don't know if I like it. I know I don't...dislike it."

"Well, it's a start," Rook arched an eyebrow with a chuckle as he crossed his legs, leaning back into the sofa that was covered in at least three different throws. "And yes, a bottle and two stories, so...I shall require one as a down payment..."

Jace nodded slowly, holding the glass...looking into it as he weighed it up. He hadn't thought too hard on it before. He had decided to...see what happened once he was there. Now he was here though, it felt different. He swallowed. Didn't drink despite the temptation to dull something. "There was a nameless boy," he finally said, voice softening a little. "Didn't know who he was, or how old he was, where he came from. Didn't remember a mother. Just the tunnels and the work and the blood and the hunger...but he started to think of a name. A memory of one..." he glanced at him before he let out a breath. "I think someone once called me Jace. So I picked it. When others called me something different I kept silent." He took a sip, slowly, letting the liquid roll over his tongue before he swallowed. It coated. "Morven came later. I liked how it sounded. Jace Morven. It sounded like a man who didn't get hurt." He met his eyes, holding them. "I never said it until I was away from Turkana. It only became real then."

Rook listened intently, his head tilted as he held his eyes while he spoke. There was something he could say to his naming himself, but he didn't. For now, at least. "Did it work?" he asked lightly instead, draping an arm along the back of the sofa. "Is Jace Morven a man who doesn't get hurt?"

For a moment he looked thoughtful before he shrugged. "Didn't make me impervious to weapons..." he said, and there was a lightness to his voice in the words. A joke. Or as close as he got to it. "But I'm still breathing."

"Better not drink too much of that then..." Rook quipped back, motioning to his glass, but with a small, wry smile. "The beauty of a name that you pick yourself is that you can choose something...just right."

Jace considered it before he let out a soft breath. "Maybe," he said before he took another sip, despite the warning. "It's who I am now anyway."

To Be Continued:

Rook
Proprietor of The Green Kiss
USS Guinevere

&

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant, Alpha Squad
Federation Ground Forces Detachment
USS Guinevere

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