Jenna's shift was nearly over and she was cold. The outfit she had chosen for that day was extremely flattering to her figure, and while the material was sheer and wispy (and therefore sexy and eye–catching), it did not help retain body heat (but then, the idea had been to catch Blake's eye and retain some of his body heat for her!)
But it hadn't worked and all she had gotten for her troubles was a mild case of frost — both on her extremities and on her attitude towards a certain curly–haired idealist. Maybe he wasn't an idealist after all, if this outfit had failed to give him any, she mused.
Oh well, back to the ship's clothing room and to the design–synthesizer machine there. It was plain she needed something a lot warmer, but she still did want to look sexy (just in case Blake regained his idealism.) The trouble was that Jenna liked to take someone with her when she was shopping for special clothes. Second opinions were invaluable and the idle chatter helped to pass the time during changing.
She glanced unhappily at Cally, remembering the last time she had enlisted the Auron's help to choose clothes; it had not gone well. Cally did not have a good eye for either flattering colors or designs when it came to clothes, and neither did she have a firm grasp on what the human male found appealing.
Jenna considered the rest of the crew as possible candidates. Gan, she thought, would have the same problems as did Cally. Avon — his taste probably ran more towards circuit boards and dresses made of diamonds. Blake she discarded on principal; if he was the object of the hunt, it wasn't fair to involve him on the other end of the game.
That left Vila. As she thought about it, Vila was her best choice. He obviously had a good eye for what made a woman attractive (she had noticed him, noticing her, when she knew she was dressed as a knock–out) and he had the temperament for such a job. All he had to do was sit there, chatter and tell her what he liked about her outfits.
That settled, she announced that her watch was over and officially handed control over to Blake. She walked over to the pit where Vila was lounging and put her hands on her hips.
"Vila. There are some adjustments that need to be done on one of the lower levels. Since you are obviously not busy, you can come down and assist me," she ordered.
Vila made a face and protested. "Why can't one of the others go with you?"
"Because I am telling you to," she said sternly. "Move it."
"All right, all right," he soothed, not wanting to upset her. "I'm coming." He stood and followed her off the flight deck.
Blake chuckled approvingly as they left. Vila needed firmness or else he was easy victim to his wide streak of laziness. Jenna was a good judge of her crew to pick up on that fact.
On the other hand, Avon watched them leave and was vaguely puzzled. He had sensed something more to Jenna's words and it roused his suspicious nature. He turned his attention back to the overhaul he was completing on the communications console. Perhaps when he reassembled this he would be able to locate and eavesdrop on what they were really up to. For if the truth be known, he had a powerful attraction to one of the pair that had just left. For months now, he had been frustrated by his own clumsy attempts at signaling his interest in this special someone. Subtlety had not worked and was almost always misunderstood. He was nearly resigned to trying a more obvious tack, but was still reluctant, in case he ended up making a fool of himself.
He lifted the tool and inserted it in the console with a precise and abrupt move. He had to know what was going on.
* * * * *
Vila leaned back happily in his chair, drink in hand, chattering merrily to a seemingly empty room. This was his type of job — oogling pretty girls and on a professional basis, too!
Jenna interrupted him as she strolled out of the changing room. "What about this one?" she asked, shifting from left to right as she offered him different views.
Vila eyed the long, form–fitting black gown that covered her from neck to wrists to ankles, the skirt tight about her hips, but widening out to hide her shapely legs.
"It's gorgeous, of course, and I can see it'd be warm enough for you."
"But?" she prompted.
"Too formal," Vila decided. "Gives a hands off impression. Besides, black is not your best color. Blues, I think. Try something similar in a dark blue."
Jenna eyed her reflection critically. He was right, she decided. "Dark blue," she repeated.
"Yes, definitely," Vila said as she disappeared. "Black is very difficult color to wear, you know. Only a few people really look good in it."
"Like who?" Jenna asked, her voice floating out from the changing room.
"Travis, for one."
Jenna peaked out from around the door frame. "Travis?! When have you ever seen Travis?"
"Oh, you know — when you and Blake were fighting him down on that planet? We got to see the whole thing through that alien–lady's eyes."
"Oh, yes," she said as she disappeared. "You think black suited Travis?" Personally, she thought Travis had been extremely powerful looking and sexy; she was just surprised that anyone else thought so, too.
"He looked great in it. Very menacing. Powerful, too. Did you notice that he wore real leather? Pure black and skin tight."
"Now that you mention it, I do remember that." Actually, she hadn't needed Vila to remind her; she had seen the real thing up close and in person. It had prompted her to try and picture Blake in black and that had sent shivers up her spine.
"Yes," Vila continued. "Pure black — like his soul." After a beat, he said, "Have you noticed who else looks good in black?"
"No, who?" she asked, feeling her flush fade; images of Blake and Travis in black had definitely got her heart beating fast.
"Our Avon. Did you notice that black outfit with the silver strips he was wearing a few days ago?"
"Yes, I did. Personally, I didn't think it did much for him."
"Me neither. Mind you, he does look good in black, but those silver strips put a few years on him, somehow."
"Hmm, yes."
"Actually, Avon would look fantastic in black leather. Sort of dangerous, if you know what I mean." Vila was quiet as he let his imagination roam. "Maybe a few silver studs to catch the eye and lighten the over–all effect," he mused. Jenna paused as she tried to picture it. Vila could be right about that, too. She felt a touch of disorientation as she realized that Vila was a lot deeper than he let on. Sneaky little devil, she decided fondly.
She walked out in a blue version of what she'd worn before. She put her hand on her hip and turned from side to side. "Well?"
Vila sat up and gave a low whistle. "VERY NICE…." he said appreciatively.
"But?" she prompted.
"Silver," he stated. "You need some silver clasps or jewels or something to really catch the eye. Then it'd be perfect."
Jenna eyed her reflection. He was right again. Maybe a silver starburst here on each shoulder and another on down there to offset the symmetry.
To hell with subtlety!
* * * * *
It was a couple of days later and everyone, save for Gan and Avon, were in the galley eating the morning meal. Gan had the watch, but Avon was just plain late. Jenna pondered why, deciding that he was just a show–off, taking advantage of the least little thing to display his superiority. Tired of that train of thought, she glanced surreptitiously at Blake as she sipped her coffee, wondering just what it'd take to get his attention. She heard the door open and looked up. She was so surprised at what she saw there, that she choked on her drink. Coughing and sputtering, she leaned forward, trying to regain her breath.
Blake reached over and thumped her on the back. "Are you all right?" he asked, quite concerned.
She held onto the table as the well–meant blows continued, and tried to set down her hot coffee before she spilled it on herself.
Vila watched with mild interest and felt a little sorry for Jenna; she had her work cut out for her if she had set her sights on Blake. He cast a quick glance at the door, then nearly snapped his neck doing a double take.
Avon stood just inside the room, dressed in a tight, black leather top. A single row of quite a few silver studs decorated the shirt, running up one arm, across the chest and down the other arm. Fantastic didn't begin to describe the way Avon looked. The whole effect was nearly spoiled though, by Avon's expression; he was glaring sourly at the still coughing Jenna.
Avon hazarded a look at Vila and was satisfied to see a look of astonishment fade into pure and open admiration. He allowed himself a small, pleased and very smug smile before he left the room. This time, he was certain he had communicated effectively!
Vila scrambled to his feet. "I've just remember I've forgotten to…uh, eh, turn off the lights in my room," he muttered as he hastily left.
"What is he talking about? Turn off the lights? All the lights are automatic," Blake said, baffled.
Jenna had seen the whole exchange and hurried to cover for Vila. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about Vila. You know how he can get. His confusion could be an after–effect of the decontaminates we took."
"Hmm. I suppose so," Blake said absently. He was gently rubbing her back as he returned his attention to her. "How do you feel? Are you all right?"
Jenna was in ecstasy. "I am now," she sighed.
Blake suddenly realized what he was doing. Shocked at the liberties he had taken, he hurried to apologize. "I didn't mean…I'm sorry, Jenna," he said, embarrassed.
Jenna was exasperated. "Well, I'm not."
Blake's expression lightened as realization hit. "You like this?" he asked hopefully.
She turned to stare him in the eye. "You can bet on it."
A happy smile overtook him as he considered her words. That had given him an idea!
END