Chapter Text
Julian yawned. It was looking to be just another boring, routine day of doctoring in the infirmary. In the coming years, he would look back on these boring days with longing, but he didn't know that yet so you'll have to excuse him.
He was spouting medical technobabble at one of his nurses, when suddenly he heard the voice of Chief O'Brien along with another he didn't recognize. Always eager to meet new people, he raised his eyes in the direction of the voices, and found he was unable to pull them away from the intriguing specimen before him.
The reptilian alien approached him briskly and looked him over curiously from head to toe. When the man's eyes returned to Julian's face, the doctor gave him one of his famous "hey there" smiles, and he snuck his own once-over when the man turned away to speak to the Chief. He thought it was subtle, but it definitely wasn’t if you're paying attention to these things.
Unbeknownst to Julian, the nurse beside him was giving the alien her own once-over, albeit with a bit more scientific curiosity and less personal interest, if you know what I mean. Or perhaps she wanted to bang a lizard, too. Choose your own adventure.
But I digress.
Julian raked his eyes over the alien, very much liking what he saw. One of the quirks the doctor knew he had was that, while he did not consider himself a “breast man” when it came to women, nothing could get him going more than a man with a voluptuous rack. And this rack was quite voluptuous if he did say so himself (he did), and very sparkly and scaly to boot (best not get into how he felt about boots).
Something about the alien’s beautiful, luminescent scales and prominent pectorals sparked a memory of a time in the recent past when he had felt a similar way. An image sprung to his mind of another rounded bosom accompanied by silvery scales, shapely neck ridges, and a lascivious smile that promised to divulge enthralling secrets.
Ah, Garak. Yes, there was something about the mysterious Cardassian tailor that really juiced the doctor’s jumja. Not that he could ever do anything about it. No, his exciting newly minted role as a contact between Garak and Starfleet was too important, and—speaking of divulging secrets—he couldn’t risk doing so while in a compromising position with a probably-spy. Julian knew a lot about espionage, including what a honeypot was. He wasn’t going to fall for that one!
But he could daydream. And just thinking about those gorgeous scales—
…wait. Was he a “scale man”?
Huh. You learn something new about yourself every day!
Well, Julian thought, staring in slack-jawed appreciation as the alien walked away with Chief O’Brien, if I can’t have my *first* choice of busty reptilian…
🐊～🐊～🐊～🐊～🐊
This place and the beings that inhabited it were truly strange. Everything Tosk learned about the Alpha Quadrant perplexed him even more. Oatmeal. Rest and relaxation. Synthales and holosuites. Imagine, dedicating the majority of one’s days to sleeping and fantasizing!
Oh-Brien said that his organization’s purpose was to seek out new worlds and learn about each other. He spoke proudly of his people’s unconventional lifestyle as he took his sweet time helping Tosk repair his ship so that he could continue his honorable journey. Tosk’s heart beat rapidly as they worked. Was this breaking the rules? No, he had not spoken of the mission. He was simply using the tools before him. Surely there was nothing more honorable than that.
Tosk was deeply ashamed at the state in which the hunters found him on the station. How could he have let himself get trapped in such a way? He knew that Oh-Brien did not understand his mission, and thus did not expect the alien to help him regain his honor and continue the glorious hunt. He would never forget this so-called friendship that the man had offered him.
As he steered his ship back through the anomaly, Tosk thought about what he had learned about the aliens. They were free to do whatever they wanted with no path laid out for them by a benevolent master. How overwhelming it must be to have no direction! How would one even begin to choose what to do? Still, most of the beings seemed to have no problem with it. In fact, they appeared to be enjoying themselves quite a bit.
Tosk had to admit to a curiosity about such a lifestyle. And perhaps a bit of… yearning? Was he somehow defective? Or had he been infected with some type of mind-altering virus in this strange new quadrant?
Tosk wondered if the hunters lived similar lives as these aliens. He had never been privy to their everyday activities outside of the hunt. He had been taught that his species’ purpose was to provide a satisfying chase for the Drai*. While he had never questioned this before, he was certainly doing it now. The Drai claimed to have his species’ best interests at heart; had this been a selfish deception on their part? A blasphemous thought, but one that began to gnaw at him.
Tosk had encountered other species before on his hunt, but none like those he had met on the other side of the anomaly. They had seemed so shocked and appalled at the idea that one species could dictate the actions of another. Now, having seen another way of life, Tosk began to wonder if perhaps there was another path for him. He thought about the vices of which the barkeep had spoken excitedly.
You know what?, thought Tosk, screw it.
As he turned his ship around, he recalled a phrase that he had heard some youths throwing around on the station.
YOLO.