“Hey, can I sit here?” Cadet Hayek asked with a smile down at the nervous looking blonde girl with a giant bow in her hair. The bow was bright blue, and contrasted nicely against her academy reds and was the entire reason that Hayek had decided to approach her. People with hair accessories were few and far between at Starfleet, and should be treasured.
“That’s fine,” The cadet with the bow allowed, and looked back down at her PADD, which was perfectly smudge free and aligned at a ninety degree angle to her desk.
“Thanks,” Hayek flopped down, tucking her bag underneath her chair and her feet up on the seat underneath her. “I’m Cadet Hayek, but feel free to call my Ila.”
“Curson,” Hair-bow replied, “I’m taking this class because Vulcan textiles was full again, and I’m hoping that a background on Vulcan culture will give me a jump on interpreting their textile remnants when I finally get in.”
“That’s so cool!” Hayek beamed, “I’m just taking this as a language credit, because I already failed Antedean, Organian, and El-Aurian.”
“Isn’t El-Aurian a dead language?” Curson asked, looking a little horrified at the idea of failing any class.
“Yeah. I thought it would be easier if there were no native speakers to hear me butcher it?” Hayek giggled a bit nervously, then barreled on. “But this class should be easy-peasy! Vulcan’s don’t have any poetry, and even if they did, poetry’s meanings all made up anyway.”
Curson gulped. “Poetry is not made up! Poetry is an expression of deep feeling and emotion!”
“Yeah, and expression. You write poetry. You don’t really read it. Or at least, I don’t know anyone who does.”
“I’ll have you know that many people have dedicated their lives to the study of poetry.”
“And does anyone remember them? No.”
“I remember!” but before the conversation could get interesting, the pair were interrupted by their instructor’s arrival.
“Hello class,” A short man, wearing an uncomfortably wrinkled teaching uniform, called attention to himself.
Curson sat up, attentive and ready to learn. Hayek giggled softly, breifly turning her PADD so that Curson could see a picture of a cat who appeared to be doing the vulcan salute. Accompanying the image were the words “Live long and pros-purr.” Curson’s gaze softened, and she smiled for the first time.