The Party, Part 1

Posted on Thu Nov 13th, 2025 @ 1:30pm by Lieutenant Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil & Ensign Wrenleigh Reed

1,573 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Character Backstories
Location: Topkapi Palace, Istanbul, Turkey, Earth
Timeline: August 2372

Twelve year-old Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil stood like a wax figure beside a marble balustrade in the grand hall of the ancient Topkapi Palace, his collar too tight, his shoes too shiny, his patient fraying by the second. The suit itched at the back of his neck--a dark navy linen ensemble replicated with a thinly subtle gold thread. It was something his father had insisted was 'traditional, but dignified.' His mother had adjusted his bow tie four times before they even left the hotel suite.

Now the boy stood beneath the crystal chandeliers and soft classical music, surrounded by people who looked like they'd been born clutching champagne flutes.

Around him, conversation murmured in half a dozen languages. Laughter seemed to drift through the party like a terrible perfume. The faint, savoury scent of spiced lamb and citrus wafted through the air, carried on the ocean breeze and admitted through the wooden-framed stained glass archways. The Bosphorus glittered beyond the terrace, like obsidian sprinkled with sugar beneath the Turkish moon.

"Jean-Baptiste," his mother's voice came from somewhere behind him--her smooth and lilting tone of a woman who seemingly won argument by remaining calm. "Posture, chéri. You are representing this family, not sulking in it."

He straightened. "Yes, maman."

Angeline and Élise were nearby, fidgeting in matching pale dresses, whispering in Kreyòl about ow boring everyone looked. They were pretending to duel with butter knives. JB caught their eyes and shook his head slightly. They giggled at him and continued anyway.

At the far end of the hall, his father, Pierre-Henri Dorsainvil, stood in animated conversation with two Andorians and a Trill. His gestures were incisive and deliberate--all part of a diplomat's ballet. Every few minutes, he threw a proud glance over to his family, as if he were saying, see, they belong here too.

But JB didn't feel like he belonged anywhere near this place. The floor was too bright and shiny and it made him overly self-conscious about scuffing it with his shoes. To his twelve-year-old nose, even the air smelled like it was important. And everyone here seemed to talk in circles--so many words that never really seemed to mean much of anything.

He tugged at his cuffs and drifted toward one of the open doors, letting the cooler night air brush his cheeks. Somewhere in the gardens below, he could hear laughter that didn't sound formal at all--a small group of younger children, by the sound of it.

Turning his head slightly, he tried to spot them through the lantern-lit courtyard. Maybe he could slip away for a few minutes, just long enough to end this feeling that he was a mannequin along his father's parade route.

Behind him, the orchestra began another gentle waltz that did nothing but remind everyone how refined they were supposed to be. He didn't feel refined. He felt miserable.

====

Wrenleigh Reed stood happily at her father's side as he talked animatedly to some other people, Betazoid and I think just normal human like me, she thought, about some new construction that was happening in some other country that he was a donor towards. In her hand she held a glass of Turkish limonata and sipped on it from time to time before going back to listening to her father and looking around.

Before coming to the event, her mother Laura had chosen a few dresses that were culturally appropriate and that would flatter the figure because she was getting to that age at fourteen, and Wren had chosen the blue one that was embossed with white and gold threaded Turkish designs around the waist and collar and came to just below the knee, and some white and gold heeled shoes with her red hair straightened and down.

Every so often, Wren would look around and take all the sights in from the other kids who had now disappeared somewhere, to the food on the tables, to the mixture of races and communities talking and eating and sharing stories together. In any normal circumstance, Wren would've been out there with them too but apparently it was important she stay close to her father.

Her younger twin brothers, Evan and Tanner, they hadn't wanted to be there with the rest of the family in the first place and had decided to play up until their mother had been embarrassed enough by their antics and let them go play outside. It was an actual surprise they hadn't gotten into a fight with each other by now.

Wren waited for a lull in the conversation before she tapped her father on his arm, "I apologize for interrupting, but do you mind if I go outside for a while to get some air and check on my brothers? It's getting a little bit warm in here."

Johnathan smiled down at her and nodded his approval, "Of course, darling. Stay safe and tell the boys off if you need to, okay?" He appreciated the fact they had a strong father-daughter bond and respected each other. Wren reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning away. "Go enjoy yourself."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she follows in your footsteps, John," came the comment from one of the people he was talking to.

====

Stepping outside, Wren followed the sound of children talking and laughing and found where everyone was including Evan but not Tanner. She wondered where he could be skulking around, probably in near the food no doubt.

There were a couple of kids Wren didn't recognise, and she thought that if she was going to follow in her fathers footsteps, then she needed to go up and introduce herself. So that's what she did.

"Hello," her mostly British accent was on display along with the smile on her face, hopefully it was warm and inviting, "I'm Wrenleigh. Who are you, I've not seen you around before?"

He hadn't expected anyone to talk to him.

The girl's voice was bright and lilting in a way that didn't seem to match the slow and stuffy rhythm of the gala. It was like someone had cracked open a window in a sealed room. Jean-Baptiste blinked, caught a little between wanting to vanish and wanting to answer before she changed her mind.

He turned. She was taller than him by a little, a slight figure in gold and blue fabric. Her straight red hair seemed to gleam under the lanterns, and her accent seemed to make the words sound rounder and more proper.

"I'm--" His voice caught, and he cleared his throat softly. "Jean. My family's... inside." He gestured vaguely toward the ballroom, as if that explained everything about who he was and his entire purpose in the universe. He found himself crossing his arms and not knowing why.

The sound of the orchestra drifted faintly through the open doors of the archway--violins and laughter, mostly. Somewhere behind Wrenleigh, children ran across the stone path, one of them shouting in glee, their shoes slapping against the courtyard tiles.

"It's nice to meet you, Jean." Wren smiled and giggled, "You look like you don't want to be here, am I right?" She didn't blame him in the slightest, not many kids actually liked being dragged to formal events like this unless there was the promise of sweets like dessert.

She paid attention to how Jean held himself, noticing that there was a slight awkwardness to him. "My parents are inside too, that's my father over there," she gestured and pointed to where her Ambassador father was standing talking. "You wouldn't happen to have seen two twin boys running around or causing chaos, would you?" He seemed interesting enough, maybe she just needed to try and get him out of his shell a bit.

Jean-Baptiste shook his head. "No," he said, maybe a little too quickly. "I heard some little ones running around the bushes down there." He pointed away from where they stood, the sound of little giggles making its way up to them.

He tried to smile, then looked down at his shoes--polished enough to see his reflection, which he hated. Somewhere behind them, a salty breeze from the Marmara to the south carried through the gardens. The sound of Istanbul felt distant, muted beneath the music and chatter of the partygoers trying to impress one another.

He lifted his eyes again, curious despite himself. "You father's an ambassador?"

"Damn," Wren said with a slight amount of irritation lacing her voice: she didn't know this place well enough to know where they'd disappear to without telling anyone. The thought of trying to find them was going to be a pain.

Her eyes went wide when she realised Jean had said something else, something about her father. "Sorry. Um, yes. He's an Ambassador to the Romulan Consulate. What do your parents do?" She motioned for them to take a seat on one of the benches nearby so it would feel a little less awkward, hopefully.

She managed to pick up various notes of the music being played, even though she didn't recognise the piece, and the voice of people talking inside were floating around and it made Wren realise that she quite enjoyed being around people and talking. Of course, she'd be the one in the family to follow in her father's footsteps, not her mothers.


~To Be Continued~

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