Paul sighed as he finished off another pint, and slammed the glass back down on the bar. It had now been over a month since that fateful night when he was cursed with these visions of a woman. He was growing close to insanity now, the visions were now constantly there. The woman was always with him, always beside him, wherever he went, yet she would never say anything, just quietly stand or sit and watch him. He had had numerous scans done on him in sick bay, but nothing could be seen wrong with him. Only telepaths seemed to be able to gain any headway into his problem, and only Piccolo had had any real success in that department.
He looked at his companion and shook his head. What am I gonna do? he thought.
As he was dwelling on his thoughts and awaiting his next drink, a pair of women came along and sat next to him at the bar. The one next to him, had her face away from him talking to the other. Paul slowly looked her over... long blonde hair, perfect hourglass figure... What zhe 'ell? Life goez on even wiz zhose vizions.
"Excuse me, would you care to dance?" asked Paul tapping the lady on the shoulder. She turned around and looked at Paul. Paul almost threw up on the spot, she was so hideous.
"Of course I would," she replied.
"You misunderstand me. I zaid you look fat in zhat dress." Paul felt that all-too-familiar feeling of a hard slap across his face and went back to his drinking.
"Here's your pint sir," said the barman, placing the drink in front of Paul.
"'Ave you got anysing different? Somesing new?" asked Paul.
"Well, we've got Altairian Brandy fresh in today."
"Anysing a bit more exotic?"
"Umm, Cardassian Kanar, Bajoran root beer, absinthe, a whole crate of Swarvan brandy..."
"Wait, what did you say??" said Paul almost jumping out of his seat.
"S-S-Swarvan Brandy sir," answered the alarmed barman.
"Where did you get it?! Tell me now!" demanded Paul.
"It came in on a shipment this morning. Uh, a Ferengi Daimon... Orunt... you'd need to speak to him. I think his ship is still docked here."
"Thank you very much, mon amis," said Paul as he hurriedly left the bar. He came back after a few moments and left fifty credits on the bar. "You 'ave no idea 'ow much zhis meanz for me!" he headed off again.