Ziyal taps the rim of the glass, and the clear liquid stirs. Samarian sunset, Ezri thinks, but the colours that appear are too dark for that, pink and purple instead of yellow and orange, and they rise in layers from the bottom of the glass. They shade seamlessly into one another until they reach the top, and something sparks off the sugar dusting the rim. Smoke fans out above the glass, and for a brief moment there’s a perfect outline of an orchid, before Ziyal laughs and it dissipates.
Ezri’s breath catches in her throat at the sight. It’s beautiful – too beautiful for this no-name Syndicate bar, just like Ziyal. “Oh,” she murmurs. “Oh, Ziyal, you’re an artist.”
Ziyal jerks her hands back as if the table suddenly burned, and Ezri watches regret shutter her eyes like a physical thing. “I thought I was. Once.”
a very, very belated @trek-rarepair-swap round 15 fill for @outerspace-iiinnerspace, in which ziyal ends up hiding from the cardassian government by bartending on new sydney and meets ezri. i thought this would be a fic – i kept trying to make it a fic long after i think i knew it wasn’t working, oops, but there were some salvageable scenes like the one above – but i hope you like this as well (& i will definitely link you if i ever get past whatever was making this fic not work)
“You do care,” said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. “You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”