This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme -an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: the word “onomatopoeia”. I used the word, its meaning, and several examples, in this story. Trip and T’Pol ran away with this one! =D
Trip T’Pol, and all the rest of Star Trek: Enterprise belong to Paramount. I play with them strictly for my own amusement – and perhaps yours, too. =)
This is an extrapolated story, occurring after the events in S1E8: “Breaking the Ice”. No spoilers.
“Zip, Zap, Whoosh, ZOOM!”
“OK, Little Miss Number Cruncher, are you sure all your calculations are properly calibrated?” Before the young woman’s hazel eyes could even shift their focus from his hands – she spent a lot of time looking at his hands, lately, and he wasn’t sure whether that excited him, or bugged him – Trip added, “Cause, if they aren’t, when I hook up this relay, I’m liable to go sizzle pop splat, when what I’m looking for is for this entire circuit to go zip zap whoosh ZOOM!”
She tipped her head the tiniest bit, and now he had her attention. Loved having it, when she was like this, with that little frown that said she half-thought he was crazy, and half-liked being with him because of it. Times like this, he loved working with her – not that it wasn’t fun arguing with her, but that was exhausting, and she usually won. All that damned logic laid ambushes faster than he could spot them….
Trip started counting; he was testing a theory. He got to ‘three-Mississippi’ before she said, “‘Zip zap whoosh zoom?’ ‘Sizzle pop splat’? Is this a regional dialect, Commander?”
“Well, that depends on if you want to call comic books a regional dialect.” Sometimes, it was the most fun to answer her seriously, as though he didn’t get that she thought he was three parts uncivilized, at best. Didn’t hurt to remind the smartest girl in any class that he had a brain, too…”I guess you could say it’s more of a literary dialect. Any way you look at it, though, we humans love our onomatopoeia.”
“That is Latin.”
“Give the little lady a cigar.” Just to keep her guessing, he touched his nose and pointed at her – damn, his fingers were coated with valve lubricant, and it itched – “She’s got it!” If you can’t lambaste them with logic, flounder them with farce…
“It translates is ‘the formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named’. ”
“Hoshi would be proud, if she could hear you now.”
“That hardly seems relevant, Trip.” Score! She didn’t even know she’d said it, but, at the same time, he caught the first faint smell of her perfume, that one she wore that shifted with her moods. The one that kinda still made him want to drag her off somewhere, all alone, where there was, as they’d said back in that cell, a comfy bed and a door they could lock.
No, Tucker. You’re workin’ on being the lady’s friend. Just her friend, cause she needs that more than complications, right now.
But the way she was looking at him – the way she smelled…being her friend didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy them, right? And, maybe remember them later, when he could do something about it? Was he still a gentleman, if he didn’t tell her how much real estate she occupied in his fantasies, these days?
No way he was going to find out, if he could help it. But damn, the way her face opened up when they talked like this…
“Well, we like words that sound like the sound they describe. It tickles us, and, if you think about it, it’s pretty efficient. Do you have words like that on Vulcan?”
“No.” He thought that was gonna be it; she glanced at the data pad like she’d forgotten she had it, but that meant she was getting ready to get back to business. But then she added, “I believe we experience and quantify sound – differently – than humans.”
Well, now, that was pretty intriguing. “What do you mean?”
“We tend to focus on the aural quality, rather than the emotive. Decibel, frequency, amplitude, distance, direction, aesthetic appeal or capacity to induce damage. Our language regarding sound tends to reflect that reality.”
“So no sizzling or popping?”
“No. Nor whooshing nor splatting.” One of those beautiful slanted brows went up a tiny bit over a bright, wide eye that was focused on him, just him. Damn, he could fall into those eyes when she looked at him that way… “Perhaps, in this case, humans have found a logic that Vulcans lack.”
“Not just in this case, ma’am. You just haven’t figured us out, yet.” And, while she was chewing on that one, trying to decide whether he was insulting her, he said, “Those calculations, T’Pol?”
She pulled herself a little straighter, and this time really looked at what was on her pad. “They indicate that the results of reconnecting the recalibrated relays will indeed produce ‘zip zap whoosh zoom’, rather than ‘sizzle pop splat,’” she informed him, more deadpan than any human could ever be, or hope to be.
Someday, he was going to teach her to play poker.
But he was learning from her, now. “Let’s hope you did your math right, then.” He punched in a code, then reached into the panel, and flipped the circuit on.
“Zip. Zap.” T’Pol spoke as the sounds she named echoed through the snug Jefferies tube. “Whoosh.” All around them, the ship gathered herself – and there was a subtle shifting of energy. “Zoom?”
Trip grinned at her. “Zoom indeed.”
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