Title: No Noh
Characters: Tamara Johansen, Camile Wray.
Summary: Not all opposites attract.
"No," Camile said.
This was no more satisfactory for Tamara Johansen, than the previous rejection had been, a full minute ago. She continued propositioning Camile - using every line from 'I just need a warm body beside me tonight, nothing more' to 'I'm curious' to unabashed wailing and chest-racking sobs that strangely did nothing to impair her asking Camile to sleep with her.
Camile knew Colonel Young was busy, had been occupied for days now, with no relief or break in sight for a week at least. Scott was with Chloe, so that explained why Tamara didn't turn to him.
She wasn't sure she wanted to know if Tamara had put the moves on Dr. Rush or Eli before coming here - the answer wouldn't change, but a girl has her pride.
There were times, she thought to herself, that this whole Destiny fiasco - or most of it, at least - was a play written for an audience. A very drunk writer, Camile might think.
Scenes such as this, certainly didn't help counter that impression. "Nein," Camile said. I know Swedish, if that'll knock comprehension into that head of yours.
She had half a mind to call Greer and ask him to take Tamara...somewhere, anywhere else - just not here. Camile wasn't picky as to the details, not right now. What stayed her hand, was the suspicion of how Greer would react. A few possibilities, two with the largest likelyhood of occuring - Greer smiling at Wray's predicament, or shoving Camile away as though she was the one making advances to the ship's doctor.
"No," Camile said again.
Venice was founded in a marsh. A marsh on an island. A splotch of land wanted by nobody.
A splotch which grew into a city. A city which would come to rival The City (Rome) and The City (Constantinople)
A city which was always defined by its water, by the fluid nature of politics, even in the time when the Doge ruled them all. Everything is liquid, like water, prone to changing.
Desdemona is the daughter of the most influential man in the government of Venice. She might have been appointed Doge one day, but for the fact she is a woman. So she has been married.
To the highest, most powerful man in all of Venice...is the son of Moors. Like to the southwest, it is a Moor who is at the head of the fleet (El Moro with his army, granted)
But sunlight sparkled on her eyes one day like it does upon the tranquil waters and choppy waves alike, forcing one to look aside ever-so-briefly.
A moment wherein she caught the eye of one Iago, second to Othello the Moor her Husband.
Like currents, they collided, Desdemona and Iago. Like riptides, they surged in unison beneath a tranquil blanket the shade of seafoam.
They are both Venetians. Born, for all intents and purposes, upon the water. Water is their second nature.
And water can destroy.