A Person of Interest, Part I
Posted on Sun Oct 26th, 2025 @ 3:32pm by Lieutenant Siadra Molaur & Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Edited on on Mon Oct 27th, 2025 @ 4:54pm
1,708 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Episode 2 - The Sins of History
Location: Side Bar Lounge, Deck 5
Timeline: MD015, 0715 Hours
Stifling a yawn with her hand, Siadra wandered into the Sidebar, seeking some nourishment. She felt a kink in her neck and rubbed it as she looked around to see who was there. A good meal was in order, before she sought at least a nap in her own quarters.
It had been a long night for her, making certain that Jonathan slept, while she held his hand. She had been seated in a chair next to his bed. Now he was off towards the trial of Vamcet, and she was on her own time.
She ordered breakfast two eggs, bacon and some orange juice and a blueberry muffin, then looked to find a place to have a seat. Another yawn, Siadra catching sight of her face, seeing the weariness which was evident in her gaze.
Her food acquired, Siadra made her way towards a table where she could people watch while she ate. The hem of her blue dress gently billowing around her legs.
Ezra found himself at a corner table, the planet of Bajor reflected crisply in the screen of his data PADD. A small bowl of fruit--papaya, cantaloupe, and a few stubborn udarberries--sat half-eaten in front of him, the coffee beside it all cooling much too quickly. He wasn't a breakfast man in the traditional sense, but something about keeping his routine gave him a nice tether on days like this.
He noticed her before she noticed him: a faint tilt of the head, a majestic yawn caught behind her hand. There was an ease to her movement, even in the torpor of early morning, that reminded him some things carried themselves whether the universe was ready or not. He smiled faintly at her, uncertain whether she caught his look.
Returning to his fruit, he carefully picked at the remaining slice of papaya, catching the murmur of voices around him. He liked the Sidebar for mornings like these--not the noise, exactly, but the tender undercurrent of daily life.
He sipped his coffee slowly and watched her searching for a table, her dress touching lightly on her legs. There was almost a rhythm to it, and he made a mental note of it--not because he had to, not because it was part of his work, but simply because he enjoyed remembering the small, human patterns that persisted in a place like this. Where he had come from, violence and material gain had cut-away at those patterns, leaving only wide-eyed despair.
Ezra watched the woman--a Trill, he now realized--pause at a table.
"There's plenty of room here," he said softly to her. "Company makes breakfast less lonely."
She heard his voice, that timbre like an actor of days gone by, James Earl Jones yet softer. Rather pleasant to hear. And enough to make her heart skip a beat.
Her eyes widened with interest, the inner voice of Molaur's first host just shouting at her to go take a seat. A graceful turn, like that of a dancer, Siadra smiled and approached the table.
"Hello thank you for the invite, I accept." placing her tray upon the table sitting across from the gentleman. "My name is Siadra, what is your name?"
"Ezra van Wijnbergen," he said, his voice low, warm, a gentle vibration that filled the small space between them. "Victim Advocate. I've only been aboard for a few days."
Oh that voice. Siadra caught herself just staring at him, blinked coming back to focus. "Hello Ezra." reaching out to shake his hand. "Forgive me for staring, your voice is magnificent. Have you ever thought of being on stage or have you done so?"
Ezra accepted her hand, his palm large and broad--steady against hers. Up close, her eyes startled him--grey, though not flat; they caught the blue of her dress and seemed to carry it deeper, as though the fabric had lent them its sheer-like shade. He let himself notice, let himself feel the tug of it, then folded the thought away as he often did when it came to encounters with attractive women.
"It’s kind of you to say," he murmured, his mouth shifting to a smile. Her words continued to float in the air like bubbles, unexpected but not unwelcome. "No stage for me." His voice was softer now, like a river slowed but never diminished. "I think some voices are meant for quiet places."
He smiled at her and then noticed her plate, steam still rising from the eggs.
Siadra just couldn't tear her eyes away from him, being enchanted by Ezra's voice, and he was rather easy on the eyes as well. Inside Jamod was just having a fan moment, all a twitter about the man's voice across from Siadra.
The eggs were currently being ignored.
"So I was wondering, have you had an outfit tailor made for you?" Siadra having a somewhat dreamy look in her eyes.
Ezra chuckled softly. It was a sound that was more breath than any vocalization. He glanced down at his uniform as though he were seeing it for the very first time: the pressed seams, the blue shoulders cut against his frame.
"No tailor," he said with a grin. "Starfleet doesn't bother with such luxuries. Just regulation fabric and a replicator."
He lifted his eyes to hers, calm and steady. She still hadn't touched her eggs. The yolks were still bright, the steam curling upward as though they were urging Siadra not to forget them.
"You should eat, Siadra," he said gently, a solemness in his words. "Long nights catch up faster when you skip breakfast." He let his gaze linger far longer than he should have--again. Her hazel eyes seemed lit from within, shifting with flecks of green and gold, and the trail of her spots curved so naturally along her face and neck that they felt less like some mark of heritage and more an artist's brushstroke.
There was gravitas to her, too--a centeredness he couldn't properly give name to, but felt in the way she filled the space. He allowed himself that recognition, that tiny tug that stirred in his chest. Allowed it, and then set it aside once more. If he weren't a gentleman, his thought might have wandered further. But he was, and so they stayed locked away. For now.
Her eyes drifted down to the eggs he had spoken of, widening at the fact she had neglected to start eating.
"Thank you. You are right I should eat." Picking up her fork to cut into them, watching as the yolk spilled out upon the plate like a river of gold. It reminded her of a riddle.
"Riddle me this: A box without hinges, key or lid. Yet golden treasure inside hid." Siadra picking up her piece of toast tearing a small piece off to sop up the yolk.
Ezra tilted his head as the riddle stirred something familiar inside him. He turned it over in his mind for a long moment. A box without hinges, key or lid. Golden treasure inside?
"An egg," he said quietly. He lifted the remnants of his cooling coffee and took a sip, eyes steady on hers. "Though yours is less a treasure now. It's more... breakfast."
A soft chuckle. "Yes but still a treasure especially to my stomach." Siadra going quiet to tuck into her breakfast, she was very hungry. In a short matter of time, the food disappeared from her plate.
Siadra tried to be a bit more delicate in her eating, managing not to spill food upon herself.
Keema made a comment to Siadra My what an appetite you have. Wonder if he likes women who enjoy their food.
Siadra mentally scoffed, Really Keema? Being Judgemental right now?
Well he is handsome. And Jamod is still going gaga over his voice. Can't say I blame him. Even you were going all squishy inside. Keema giving a chuckle at Siadra.
Siadra took a drink turning her attention back to Ezra.
"What do you think of the ship so far? Any first impressions?" she was hoping Ezra didn't think she was an airhead.
Ezra leaned back slightly in his chair. Across from him, Siadra cut into her eggs with a delicate grace, her fork balanced daintily in her fingers as if she were coaxing the food rather than acting as its conqueror. He made note of how she handled it--unrushed, elegant even in her obvious hunger.
Most people ate like they were racing a clock, but she didn't. She had that way about her, something Ezra had noted in joined Trills with that carried forward from older hosts. Or perhaps it was simply Siadra. The yolk streaked gold across the plate, and he watched her lift a piece of toast to meet it, the fork following. He watched her without staring--it would've been rude and downright creepy--noting the rhythm of her eating and patience with which she accomplished the task.
"You eat well," he said softly, a tiny smile forming. It wasn't a tease, but an observation weighted with respect.
Siadra had just dabbed her lips with her napkin, the blue hued cloth pausing in its exploration of possible remnants left about her lips. Her eyes crinkled with her smile, she finished her small task.
"Thank you." Setting the napkin down upon the table, it slightly crumpled in her hand. She liked the way that small smile lightened up his features, adding even more to the warmth in his gaze. "And you have a lovely smile, it reaches to your eyes." Siadra softly said.
He felt her words warm and spreading somewhere behind his ribs. Compliments always made him a little uneasy--like being asked to stand under a spotlight he had yet to earn--but there was nothing forced about hers. It felt honest and offhand.
A Joint Post By
Lieutenant Siadra Molaur
Chief Forensic Science Officer, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Victim Advocate Counselor, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
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