Post #11. Does Anyone Have a Better Idea?

What was I thinking?

Syra leaned back against the wall of her room and stared anxiously at her form in the mirror. Quickly she went into action, washing and brushing and trying to find something to wear – she looked at one dress after another, holding up a blue one to the mirror, and then a green one and a burgundy one.

Why the hell was she even thinking of wearing a dress? This was dinner with the Captain… …it had to be something casual but proper at the same time. This was dinner with Sebastian, the white lace.. that was it, the white lace dress that fit her body to above her knees. She took it from its hangar and threw it down again. No, no, no – this was all wrong. Causal, but formal – she dug through her things again.

Syra frowned – a dress suit would make her look like his accountant. She reminded herself that was actually what she was, and what she should look like to him and yet Syra tossed the suit away quickly. Jeans were too casual, she threw them on the floor as well and a fluttery tie back blouse found its way into her hands next. She held it up against herself in the mirror –

--oh no, too – it said too much. It said, well, in her eyes for this occasion the shirt overly shouted …I want you.

She tossed it away as well.

It had been so long since she had to dress like a woman, for a man, but this was someone she couldn’t love. Turning from her things she sat on the edge of her bed in dispair, “I want you,” She said the words out loud that had ripped through her mind. It hurt her to say them. It burned inside her every time she saw his eyes, heard his voice, and touched his hands. Syra sighed. He eyes drifted to the simple, white lace dress again and she picked it up and looked at it.

It couldn’t be that bad, could it? It was better than the blue strappy thing. Pulling herself together she got into the thing before she changed her mind and checked herself in the mirror. Did it work? What would he think? Would he like it, “oh hell!” she shouted, “why the hell should it matter.” A thought came to her and she nodded, “I won’t wear shoes, that will keep it casual. Yeah.” Then she turned and decided to try to find next what could possibly be made into a dinner for him.

This was bad, Syra thought, as she threw everything together quickly in the kitchen. This is really – really not a good idea and yet she was so looking forward to it and nervous as though it was an actual date. It was not a date. They had to figure out the shore leave, and he had to tell him about what happened with Anya. She smiled at the thought of the amusement that would be in his beautiful eyes as she reached for the crystal glasses and put a bottle of his favorite year of wine in to chill…

How did she know this things?

“Oh yeah,” she said, “worked together for while now…worked…”

Together.

The thought trailed off. She should probably find shoes after all, or sandals or something. It was close to seven.

With the food ready Syra made herself not light the hoardes of candles she always kept out in her quarters, there was something about candle light that…

“Shoes,” she told herself, glancing at the time again, for certain, by now – he was almost here.