Paris and Tuvok Holonovels -- New

[This scenario was written by J.A. Toner, AKA "Jamelia," and Julia Houston, AKA Hopeless Romantic, for St. Patrick's Day, 1998.]

The tall American walks over the bridge to his new home. Nothing more than a wee, humble cottage, not lived in by any for many a year. Paris breathes in the scent of damp moss and humid greenery, reminding himself how nice it would feel to be home after traveling so far. Into the night air he murmurs with a broad accent he's been working on for weeks that reminds one of a man on horseback, "Innisfree has always seemed like Heaven to me."

The wind picks up. Clouds scatter across the sky. Rain might be coming. He hurries towards the shelter of the house, sleeping bag and carryall in hand, but stops to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Smoke, rising from the chimney of a deserted cottage?

He steps cautiously over the threshold and into the cottage. Since this is Ireland, at least there shouldn't be any snakes or lizards...

But someone is here. Lizards after all? No, something much bigger. Even when he was a lizard himself he didn't use brooms or set fires in cold hearths.

He picks up a stone and throws it through a window pane, startling the other one inside. A woman. A fine figure of a woman, with dark red hair and flashing eyes, her toolbox in one hand: Mary Kate O'Torres.

The tall man grabs the woman's arm as she tries to run by him, pulling her back inside before she can escape. Scooping her into his arms and barely managing to avoid the heavy toolbox she is trying to swing into his gut, he bends her backwards with the force of his kiss as her engineering smock blows back in the brisk breeze.

When they finally separate, she looks into his eyes and says, breathlessly, "Is that in the script, Tom?"

"It sure is. Why do you think I wanted to do this holonovel, anyway? Not for the horse race, that's for sure. Or for Neelix dressed up as half-leprechaun, half-character actor. Speaking of character, how about we get back into it?"

Shrugging, she drops the toolbox and swings a fist at his face, which he manages to avoid with a quick flick of his hand. Still, it does sting a bit.

"It's a bold one you are, Sean Eugene Thornton!" she says with her own practiced accent. "And who gave you leave to be kissing me?"

"So you can talk?"

"I can talk and I do!"

"You've sure got a wallop, too."

"You'll be getting over it, I'm thinking."

"Some things you don't get over so easy. Like a girl walking through the sunlight...I mean....a woman walking through the sunlight. And coming into a man's house to clean it for him..."

"That was just an unexpected act of kindness."

"Wrong script, but close enough. And it was nice of you, Mary Kate O'Torres."

She buries her face into his manly chest, then separates from him. He casts a wary eye upon her as she stoops to pick up her toolbox. Suddenly she darts back to him and steals a quick kiss, biting a bit, before running out the door.

As he wipes the drop of blood his lip, he murmurs, "That red hair really is no lie," as the program resets to a country road that runs down a long hill between lush green fields.

Torres joins him again, eyes sparkling, and they walk with a pony cart following behind. A short man with blondish-red hair, orange freckles as big as tiddly winks, and a big smile is bouncing up and down on the seat as the cart bumps down the road. "No patty-fingers, if you please. The proprieties are to be observed at all times."

Torres mutters, "I've a fearful temper. You might as well know."

Paris grins. "I can think of a few things other than fighting I'd like to do with one of the O'Torres family."

Torres frowns. "Did people really used to waste this much time?"

"What, you think this is more complicated than being stuck out in space in damaged environment suits?"

Torres takes a swing at him.

Neelixeen O'Flynn calls out, enjoying himself thoroughly, "Is this a courtship or a donnybrook? Have the courtesy not to hit the man until he's your husband and entitled to take a swing at you back. You know, back home, my people have a rather complicated courtship procedure..."

As Neelixeen drones on, and before Torres can give him the brown-eyed death glare she has planned, Paris quirks a smile as he bends near her ear to whisper, "Can you ride a bike?"

The woman looks up at her blue-eyed companion. Her lips part in anticipation, and a growl issues from her throat. "Ride and bite?" she says hopefully.

"Not ride and bite. Ride A BIKE. The script, remember? Although maybe later…"

Spying a conveniently abandoned two-seater bicycle and hopping aboard, they race far ahead of the cart horse, which Neelix frantically urges to move faster. The horse comes to a screeching halt, however, in front of a pub bearing the sign: "Stout. Ale. Lunch Special, today only, Pleeka Rind Casserole with Leola Root Porridge."

Neelixeen O'Flynn grins at his equine friend. "I do believe you're smarter than me," he says, as he jumps down and slips into the pub for a bit o' lunch and a drink to soothe his poor parched throat, all the while sharing blood-curdling tales with the locals.

On the other side of the holo deck, Paris and Torres speed through the countryside until they abandon their two-wheeled conveyance near a stone wall. Skipping through fields and splashing through streams they come to a graveyard surrounding old ruins. The sky begins to darken. He sweeps her into his arms. "I'm about to kiss you, Mary Kate O'Torres."

Torres is about to grab him back, then remembers her lines: "Oh, no, the kissing is a long way off yet, Sean Eugene Thornton. First, there's the walking out together, and then there's the thrashing parties..."

Hearing the growl in her voice, he feels compelled to clarify, "Not that kind of thrashing parties. Thrashing wheat."

"Oh. Well, maybe we won't have to wait for the thrashing parties."

"No, we won't."

She turns in his arms. They kiss as the wind stirs up behind them and the first big drops of the shower descend. As they move to an archway in the ruins for some shelter, he gallantly removes his jacket to toss around her shoulders, for she is clad only in a light summer dress. The lightning comes. Several times. He leans over to her. "That's your cue."

"If you think I'm going to cower over a couple of bolts of lightning, Helmboy, think again."

"You're supposed to stay in character!"

"So change the script. You wrote this thing, didn't you?"

"Adapted it from a classic 2D movie, but okay, you don't have to cower. What about the part after the cowering, though?"

"Oh, I don't mind kissing you again," she smiles, complying before rubbing her face into his chest. "I like this part."

"If you like this, you're gonna love it later."

The scene ends and they scramble through their costume change as the tall dark Father Tuvok Lonergan, dressed in a black cassock and accompanied by his identically clad assistant, young Father Vorik, glances around the parlor. The bride and groom walk through the door, still tugging things into place, for their wedding picture. Loud music of a rather perky variety is flowing out of the opened doorway. Some shouts can be heard in the background, along with what sounds like glass breaking.

"Mr. Paris, have you noticed how much hostility is expressed in this particular holodeck program?"

"Can't anybody stay in character? Yeah, I have. Hostility and romance. It's perfect, isn't it?"

"Perfect? In what context?"

"We don't have time for this now, Tuvok. You're the narrator. Narrate. I want to get to the wedding night part."

Despite his uptilted eyebrow, Tuvok intones, "...And so they were married in the little church in Innisfree where both were baptized. And later, a nice, quiet little celebration..."

Father Tuvok approaches the Reverend Mr. Harry Playfair and his statuesque blonde wife, Seven Playfair. She is standing next to her adoring husband, muttering, "I do not comprehend why I should be wasting my time here on the holodeck when there are so many tasks that require my attention in Astrometrics."

"Just look at it as part of your social skills training. You're learning to play."

"I had sufficient exercise in this sort of 'imagined scenario' when the Hirogen were aboard this vessel. I should not require another lesson for an extended period."

"Come on, Seven. Who knows when Tom and Tuvok will invite us back to one of their holonovels if we don't play along this time?"

The figure of Father Tuvok joins them, saying, "If you do not wish to stay in character, Seven, you may leave. We have subroutines that can replace you."

"Seven," Harry whines. "Come on. Here, take your champagne. Now, say your line," he wheedles as he snuggles his arm about the form of his lovely "wife."

With what sounds suspiciously like a sigh, Mrs. Playfair raises her glass. "Here's to a successful conspiracy," she says flatly.

"Hear, hear," answer her husband and Father Tuvok, as they are joined by a man with a supercilious air and a balding pate.

"Hello, everyone," the Doctor says. "'Snuffy,' isn't this just grand? I'm so glad you invited me. Well, is anyone going to be taking any bets about how this will go?"

"I thought everyone was supposed to stay in character, Commander Tuvok," complains Mrs. Playfair.

"Actually, that statement was well within parameters for this program. Your comment, however, was not."

What might be described as a sullen look appears on her beautiful face as Mrs. Playfair's husband squeezes his arm around her a little more closely.

She is saved from needing to respond further by one of Squire O'Torres' lackeys, who calls out to the wedding guests, "Your attention, if you please, the Squire has an announcement to make."

Two figures walk into the parlor, arm and arm, and dressed in bridal clothes. A white dress and veil for her, a suit and derby hat for him. They are both smiling magnanimously at the crowd. The broad smile distorts the tattoo over the "groom's" usually unsmiling left eye.

Paris, gesturing at his own wedding clothes, approaches. "Captain, Commander, it's too soon for those costumes. At the end of this program, you're only starting your courtship under Neelixeen's eye. If you want, I'll write a sequel for the widow Trelane and the Squire's wedding, but now..."

"Thank you, Mr. Paris, but I would prefer to play Mary Kate myself. I've never liked that diminutive of my name, but I'll make an exception in this case. It's a marvelous part. Much better than a mousy English governess."

"But Captain..."

"Lieutenant, when the captain gives an order, I'm here to make sure it's obeyed," says the second groom.

"Not in a holodeck scenario like this," objects the first bride.

"May I point out that my red hair is real?" asks the second bride.

"My hair's gotten just as red as yours! And I'm the one with the temper!" shoots back the first bride.

"And I don't have a temper? Ask Chakotay!" the captain retorts, obviously enjoying herself.

"Now, now, everyone, calm down," Paris says. "We can settle this peacefully." He hisses at his "bride": "We don't want to spend our wedding night in the brig, do we, Mary Kate O'Torres?"

Knowing his duty, Father Tuvok moves majestically towards the two couples. No one can be quite sure how it happens, but as he arrives he trips, landing upon bride and groom number one, who then land on bride and groom number two, who land on the small cherry occasional table which splinters quite realistically into dozens of pieces. Before anyone knows it, the Playfairs are dodging several quaint figures who are throwing punches at multiple targets while the bishop calls out, "What are the odds, Snuffy?"

"It's too soon for this! I haven't had a chance to say, 'Impetuous! Homeric!' yet! That's my best line!" Neelixeen shouts as he climbs up onto a chair, but he is forced to duck a vase that comes flying through the air to crash against the mantle above his head. "Okay, in that case, let me say this is a private fight! All nonbelligerents are to stay in a neutral corner! The Marquess of Queensbury rules are to be observed at all times! I thank you!"

Neelixeen is plucked from his chair by the graybearded Old Man At the Bar Who Never Says Anything McAyala just as a dervish of combatants come flying through the doorway to knock the chair over. As the chaos swirls around him, Neelixeen is shoved by a townsman, who hands him a banknote and says, "Ten to one on Thornton!"

A second later, a man dressed as a railway conductor runs up to Neelixeen. "Five to one on O'Torres."

"Which one?" calls out Neelixeen, looking for both Chakotay and Torres.

"Oh," Mrs. Seven Playfair breathes in relief. "I understand this part!" With a snarl, she turns to her "husband" and gives him an even better beating than the one she administered in the cargo bay. Kim unfortunately does an even worse job defending himself.

As more townsfolk careen through the parlor, the two bridal couples and the priest crawl beneath a large table. Tuvok tries to call for an end to the program, but the order is distorted through all the noise and several jack-booted Hirogens in Nazi soldier costumes stomp through, punching a screeching Species 8472 below the belt. A black-leather-clad Borg is poking nanoprobes into anyone he can reach, while a Kazon, shedding clumps of hay from his hairdo as he is being dragged through the room, chomps his mouth into the leg of the Borg doing the dragging.

"Father Tuvok, you want to give that another try?" asks the first groom as a chicken lands squawking next to his head.

"Indeed, Mr. Paris. That is to say, 'Yes, lad, 'tis our duty.' End program," Father Tuvok says, much more loudly this time.

Hirogen, Borg, Kazon, 8472, townsfolk, broken tables, and the chicken all shimmer for a second before disappearing. Father Tuvok, both bridal couples, Neelixeen, the Playfairs, and the bishop are crouching or sprawled around the silver-walled holodeck.

"That was fun!" enthuses Neelixeen. "This is a great program, Tom. Really gets your blood racing, doesn't it? It's got everything. Romance. Jokes. Fights. Thanks for inviting me."

"Yes, Mr. Paris, Mr. Tuvok," agrees the second bride. "Just a wonderful program. The creative process is so intoxicating, isn't it? You didn't mind the slight script change I came up with, did you?"

"Oh, no, Captain. Moving the donnybrook to the wedding itself was definitely . . . innovative."

"I didn't do that. I thought you and Tuvok changed the program."

"We did not, Captain," Tuvok replies as he rises to his feet and fixes his co-author with a calm glare. I do not believe we have suffiently cleansed the holodeck systems from their influence by the Hirogen. And next time, I suggest we limit the number of guests in the scenario. Too many out-of-character comments contributed to the melee."

Everyone looks just slightly abashed as they leave the holodeck, though Paris lingers behind, snagging Torres.

"Tom," she says when they're alone, "now I see why you wanted to run this program. It's so romantic! And all that fighting. It's almost therapeutic!"

"Yeah, isn't it? I'm just disappointed we skipped over the really fun parts. I never got to yell, 'Woman of the House, where's me tay?" or, 'There'll be no doors between us, Mary Kate O'Torres.' "

"We can go back to my quarters if you want. No doors in the way there."

His eyes alight and he growls softly, delighting her. "Sounds great. Just promise you won't kill me when I break the bed."