#t'paran

[conducting-cardassia]

The Vulcan Period

As the sleek transport shuttle descended towards the landing site, Ekor peered out of the narrow, oblong window next to his seat.

His first impression of Vulcan -- T’Khasi, as it was called by the Vulcans, Ekor reminded himself -- was that it was overwhelmingly red.

Where his gaze fell, rugged structures of rust-coloured rocks were protruding from red sands interspersed with stooping, small vegetation that sported thorns and needles. Shrubs and succulents rose stark against an orange sky that was purpling on the eastern horizon as the sun prepared to set. Ekor squinted at the unfamiliar light and colours.

He was the only Cardassian passenger on the transport; he bore the odd stare from the small non-Vulcan contingent of his travelling companions with relative equanimity and ease: this was expected. The majority of passengers were Vulcan and did not acknowledge him at all, beyond the odd polite nod that he received from someone passingly familiar with Cardassian customs. This, too, was as expected, Ekor thought as he returned the greeting with a flawlessly executed ta’al.

Apart from this encounter, Ekor kept to himself during the trip from the orbital station to the space port on the surface. He was only a young man then, barely past twenty years of age, and, he admitted to himself, he was nervous. He had never been away from Cardassia Prime before, not even to Letau, Prime’s only inhabitable moon. And now, he had committed himself to years on a foreign world, surrounded by p'rok--- by aliens, he corrected himself.

The Conservatoire had afforded him certain freedoms that were hard to come by within the Cardassian Union, unless one belonged to one of the privileged classes. Among those freedoms was the permission to study foreign musics, and Ekor had availed himself of the opportunities as they presented themselves.

He had not expected to find a wealth of excellence, of musical sublimity, of sheer unbridled expression.

It was foolish not to see that the musical stage was indeed interstellar -- and as such, the Union could only benefit from her most gifted minds invested in its studies. In music, at the very least, Ekor had come to recognise that alien was not necessarily less accomplished than Cardassian.

But that didn’t mean he had an easy time of it. He had undergone a murderish marathon of bureaucratic errands, just to get permission to merely apply for apprenticeship outside of Cardassian space -- and when his application had been approved, he knew that had been just the beginning.

Ekor stretched in discomfort as the artificial gravity plates gradually disengaged and they were subjected to the planet’s natural gravity field. He had known that gravity on Vulcan was more than twice as strong as it was on Prime, and in the weeks leading up to his departure, he had trained in high-gravity environments... but still, he found the effect shocking and oppressive.

He suppressed the urge to physically fight off the additional weight on his chest, and prepared himself for landing.

[conducting-cardassia]

👀 Are you still in touch with your Vulcan ex gf? Is she single? Does she like girls? Asking for a friend. — M’Pella xo

Very fondly, though not as frequently as of late. As far as I know, she has never married…

Now that you’re asking, I think that… your friend might find her very appealing. She is a little more impulsive than you’d expect from a Vulcan, and while we never discussed ‘girls’, I would not assume she doesn’t. Like them, that is, at least potentially.

She once told me she has to make a conscious decision to allow intimacy, but once that decision has been made, you will be close.

It was wonderful to be Hers.

[conducting-cardassia]

It does, Sir, it does all of the things you are suggesting. It makes me thoughtful, and it stirs me, and it arouses me. For some reason... it arouses me deeply to see you in my position, to see you expressing the same hesitation and struggle to become what you have today. To become what you are to me now. To know you share my experience, and your pride is nothing short of genuine and well-earned.

Sweet one,

it arouses me to let you see me like this, too. It arouses me to know that you know me. That you know how I came to be – because I would not have the confidence, I would not have the self knowledge that I have, had it not been for my time with T’Paran.

In short, I would not have what it takes to be good for you. I could never have guided you to where you are now, much less any further than that.

I would probably not have learned to appreciate how much courage submission takes. I would probably not have learned to appreciate you.

I would still feel guilty for my desires, and I would probably resent you for yours.

My time on Vulcan changed everything for me, and I’m forever indebted to T’Paran. A part of me that you will certainly understand cringes at how much I owe her, even though she would not see it that way.

The Vulcans have a saying, kaiidth: what is, is.

And in the end, being indebted to one who will not ever hold that debt over me is a very small price to pay for something so wonderful as we have today, little pet. Everything about it is veritable and truthful and yes, my pride in your achievements is so well-earned, my dearest love, that I can only hope it gives you the satisfaction and pride you deserve.

[conducting-cardassia]

Sir, the thought of you submitting to a talented Vulcan woman, playing for her while she watches... it has a profound effect.

Oh, does it, little one? Would you care to describe it for me, then? Does it make you thoughtful? What does it make you think? Does it answer or pose any questions about yourself? Or about me? Does it arouse you?

It wasn’t easy for me at the time. When she suggested it, I didn’t think I could. The proposal in itself was a very formal affair, and there were good (and logical) reasons for it…

I almost didn’t agree to it.

I told myself many things: that she was a non-Cardassian, and as such had no business knowing that much about me; it was a moot point, because at that point, she had already seen much more of me than I could afford.

I told myself that it wasn’t in my nature to submit; you know that isn’t true, because we are all trained to serve and submit, just not to a specific person.

I told myself that I didn’t trust her enough to let that happen; but in truth, I did trust her, personally. I understood why she was suggesting it; I understood she wanted to help me see something about myself, and I understood the reason she wanted that: to help me fulfill my potential as a conductor. I understood what she hoped to gain from this exchange, and while I was a little distrustful on just the basis that she was Not Cardassian, the connection we had established through music was much stronger than those misgivings.

I told myself all those things, but in the end it came down to this: I was desperately afraid.

I couldn’t begin to fathom what it would mean, what she would do to me – I only knew my own thoughts, my fantasies, and I condemned them as perverse. I knew that some of these things, she would probably demand of me (and she did, and more, much more). And I was scared.

She gave me all the time I needed to decide, but instructed me to come to her and inform her as soon as I had made the decision — no matter what the outcome was.

It was clever of her: She left me with an order that I would have no difficulty following: either as par for the course, as an apprentice is expected to follow the instructions they’re given… or, depending on my decision, as something else. Something more. 

I took days.

I did not see her during that time, and it was then that I started studying the Vulcan mental disciplines: for solitude, for clarity, for calm.

It is not necessary that I state how I decided in the end. You already know that.

But as she had required, when I realised I had decided, I sought her out immediately. My heart was pounding in my chest, but at the same time, my whole mind became absorbed in that one purpose: to do as she had told me – not as an apprentice does, but as my first act of submission. To walk up to her and look her in the eye, and say: ‘I agree to your proposal.’

You know, my dearest little one (or at least I hope you know), how very much admiration I have for your strength.

That day… what went on inside me as I walked there, alone, with nothing to listen to but my own racing thoughts… that is how I learned to appreciate what it means.

She was patient. She eased me into my new role gradually; in fact, in the beginning, she wouldn’t demand much of anything at all… and after a while, I began to long for an order.

That was how it started.

It was a long while before I played for her that way.

[conducting-cardassia]

If it's okay to ask... how did going to Vulcan change things for you?

Dear anon, it is indeed okay to ask, but I cannot promise that the answer will be satisfying. It is a very personal matter.

As you may recall, I had ended a relationship with a Cardassian woman not long before I made the journey to Vulcan – the only bad relationship I had.

I could have chosen a closer venue for my apprenticeship. Cardassia herself was out of the question – we do not exactly breed conductors, and at the time, there were less than a handful of options, and all of them would have resulted in much awkwardness. It would have been terribly gauche of me to take my apprenticeship with any of them.

But even if Cardassia had been teeming with master conductors: I wanted to go away, the farther the better.

So, when I received note from Vulcan that my application had been approved by one of the top musicians of their Academy, I did not think twice. I left at the earliest convenience. I ran, but of course I could not outrun myself.

I had somehow expected that when I arrived there, things would be different. That I would be different, or at least that what I was would simply fall into the background, leaving me free to become absorbed in my study of music.

Needless to say, I was disappointed.

The conductor I was going to study under was a woman named T’Paran. She was an accomplished musician and a master of many disciplines, as well as a brilliant scholar, in her early nineties.

I know many people find Vulcans dull, but I was fascinated. When she worked, she would be precise and efficient, every one of her movements well founded and devised just so. But even so, she was never cold, never just mechanical. Her music had an otherworldly quality, an ethereal subtleness that I have not heard from any other musician since.

Compared to her, I was… rough, unsophisticated, clumsy, and obvious.

It is quite ironic that I, for all I was part of a species that prides itself for its subtlety, would be so easily outclassed by a Vulcan, in refinement and nuance.

One of those Vulcans who always spoke exactly what they wished to convey – and whose wish at any one time was to convey exactly what they were thinking. It is not, as many people think, that Vulcans cannot lie: they just don’t. They are of the opinion that lying perverts the purpose of language.

I knew that in T’Paran I had found my master – and then, I found my master.

It’s a story of many hours, and one of great anguish and struggle. Perhaps I will tell it in more detail at another point.

In due time, I became T’Paran’s servant in all ways. I became her submissive.

We had a beautiful teacher/student dynamic, and I learned so much from her. I learned that what I wanted wasn’t as monstrous as I had spent my whole life believing. I learned that it could be liberating to subject oneself to someone else’s will, and I discovered a whole new world of truths about myself.