3ww: Trunks for the Memories

It's 3WW! Captain, forgive me for what I am about to do.

*

Trunks for the Memories

It was just another Wednesday night in just another cantina on another armpit planet. A bar like the rest of them across the galaxy, smelling of dust and dirt, horny men and perspiration. The guy serving up the drinks -- was it a guy? the lavender tank top threw her off -- made 'em strong, kept both his trunks out of the booze, and threw in a free one every three or four. The sign over the bar, roughly translated, said this particular dive was called Slugs On Fire. After a few waitresses went by with flaming plates, she wondered if perhaps it wasn't the name of the bar, but the nightly special.

She sat at the end, purposely out of the light. But yep, here came another of the local yahoos, sidling up. Of course, they all sidled, having one leg shorter than the other.

"Howdy, ma'am," he said. Well, what he actually said was, "Zibbit plu oskosk," which does not exactly caress the human female ear. She grimaced and made a show of turning back to her drink, giving him the cold shoulder. Dejected, he sidled away. She sighed.

Couldn't a girl have a drink by herself? Was there something so morally offensive about a woman drinking alone in public that every male in the vicinity felt compelled to save them? Maybe she should start wearing a fake wedding ring. Although, the rings weren't a sign of a committed monogamous relationship all over; she was on a different planet every week, and the ring wouldn't work on half of them. Plus, her girlfriends all told her that wearing a ring was a sure-fire way to get guy's attention. Something about men knowing you were taken so you wouldn't get all crazy obsessive with them. Cow, milk, something along those lines.

The bartender sent over number nine. He motioned with his left trunk to a guy sitting on the end. She waved the drink away. The bartender shrugged and left it.

And here he came now, sidling up like he was her personal savior, trunks thrown back to reveal a mouthful of Earth-straight, Hollywood-white teeth. She was not impressed.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Hey, I just want to be alone tonight." She nodded towards the glass. "Thanks for the drink, anyway."

"Aw, come on. No one likes to be alone."

"I do. Beat it."

"Listen, why don't we get out of here--"

"I said, not interested."

"We can go back to my place..." His trunks massaged her shoulders. She stiffened.

Oh, he did not!

He did. One trunk traveled lower.

"Get your trunks off me," she grit out.

"Hey, baby, it's all right."

She jumped up, shoving the stool over. He looked down in surprise at the item in her hand.

"Hey!" said the bartender. "No weapons allowed in here!"

"Don't worry. She won't use it. Will you, darling? Come here..."

There were guys like this on every planet in the known universe. God, she hated them. So full of themselves. She aimed.

"Leave. Me. Alone." She didn't want to hurt him.

"Sweet thing like you doing with a nasty weapon like that." He wiggled his trunks suggestively. "I've got a couple of weapons you might like to play with better."

Okay. That was it. Time to teach this moron a lesson. Phaser on stumble -- fire!

He started forward, nearly fell over, righted himself and tried again. Bam. Into some chairs, knocking them over.

"Hey! What the--!" Up, down, pitching forward onto his hands. He grabbed a table and stood, fell over again.

She pocketed the phaser and walked regally around the stumbling fool towards the door. The cantina had exploded with laughter, and Mr. My-Trunks-Are-Deadly-Weapons was blushing to the tips of his floppy ears as he crashed about.

She ran into the Captain on the way out.

"Lieutenant Uhura! I would never expect to find you in a place like this," he leered. "Coming or going?"

"With you, sir?" She batted her eyes and felt the trigger on her phaser. Moved it to Floppy, just in case. "I've got to get going, sir. Sorry."

"But--!"

She was already gone, sashaying down the boulevard. Just another Wednesday night on just another planet.

*

A/N: I might have taken liberties with one of this week's words. And with certain characters. I humbly beg your forgiveness.

But taking liberties is what it's all about, I went to White Castle and I got thrown out.

Beastie Boys RULE.

Also, Jonathan Frakes from ST:TNG once hit on me in the bar I was working at, while he was in town for a sci-fi convention. True story. He's a slug.

And no, I am not drinking. It's too early. Catch me later. ;)