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Day 02 [1830] Who Counsels the Counselors?

[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn:  @stardust  @Juzzie  @Nesota Kynnovan

Standing upright was a welcome relief.  Between her time in sickbay, and the time she had spent either in a seated or supine position was growing weary.  While she respected and would keep her word to Dr. Leux that she would continue to respect the medical instructions she had been given, the opportunity to stand and walk, even if only in circles within her quarters was a welcome change. 

Having her staff meet her in her quarters, however, was far less comfortable. 

She did not object to visitors, of course.  Cross had brought her back to her quarters from Sickbay and helped her settle in before leaving on his away mission.  The Duty nurse had come in twice today to check on her condition, and she had taken an appointment with Commander Rutherford just a few hours earlier.  But none of those individuals were her direct subordinates.  Perhaps it was an old fashioned idea, she realized, but in her mind, the mingling of subordinates and their superiors was governed by certain codes of conduct, one of which was that you did not invite them into your quarters.

This concern is illogical, she told herself. This is not a social call.  It is a staff meeting taking place in your quarters as you are not readily able to traverse the ship at this time.

The obvious logic quelled her anxiety, and she continued about her tasks and prepared the table for their meeting.  Deciding to try a slightly less formal setting for the meeting she had chosen to invite her staff to her quarters so they might share in a meal while they discussed the business of the department.  At the time it seemed a logical choice, one aimed at reducing the stress and pressure of a department already  quite busy with all that had gone on.  It also seemed an appropriate way to attempt to reduce the tension within her own department.  She and Stellan Foster had not exactly seen eye to eye when they first met, and very little had happened in the intervening days to change that status quo.

The table in her quarters would seat the four of them with ease.  Hathev was no cook, nor did she attempt to try and be one.  Instead she decided it would be appropriate for her guests to avail themselves of her replicator to order whatever they wished.  This also had the benefit of further reducing the formality associated with this meeting.

The chronometer ticked closer to 1830.  Foster, Williams, and Ashby would be arriving soon, she knew and as she finished putting the last of her things away, she idly wondered who would arrive first.

OOC - Tag to @Ellen Fitz and @Tae for the mention of their characters.

Re: Day 02 [1830] Who Counsels the Counselors?

Reply #1
[Lieutenant Junior Grade Amanda Ashby | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy]
Attn: @P.C. Haring @stardust @Juzzie

When she’d first received Lieutenant Commander Hathev’s invitation to an informal meeting of the Counseling Department, Amanda was a little surprised. While her first impression of the Vulcan Chief Counselor was rather positive and the blonde-haired Martian considered the older woman to be highly professional and a reliable potential mentor, she never expected that her direct superior was even capable of processing the words ‘informal’ and ‘meeting’ in the same context; let alone in her private quarters and especially not less than a week after having met her for the first time. Amanda had been dating Krat for months before he finally invited her to Vulcan to meet his parents, and she remembered only too well how… interesting it had been to spend two weeks with Straal and T’Kol.

Then again, that experience with her parents-in-law had taught Amanda that informal Vulcan affairs were often much more complicated than formal meetings, at least to those unfamiliar with the Vulcan culture. Their concept of an informal meeting came with an entirely new set of unspoken rules and subtle customs other species would never associate with informality, and which would mostly be learned through either trial-and-error, the doting patience of a Vulcan spouse, or extensive diplomatic assistance. In Amanda’s case, she had needed all of the above and, even then, only barely managed to avoid offending T’Kol to the point of making an enemy for life.

Was it because of that experience that Amanda was standing in the corridor, just beyond the corner of Lieutenant Commander Hathev’s door, while continuously looking at the small chronometer in the upper-right corner of her PADD? Pretty much so. Intent on making a good impression, she had even polished her boots and replicated a brand new uniform just for the occasion because, even though she’d only been aboard the USS Theurgy for less than a week and the recent events had genuinely made her feel more like a Medical Officer than an actual Psychiatrist, the blonde-haired Martian really looked forward to the meeting. After all, thus far she’d only met Lieutenant Commander Hathev and, even though her office was right next door to Lieutenant Foster’s, she had yet to meet him or any of the other Counselors aboard.

Thus, when the chronometer on her PADD displayed 1830, Amanda quickly came around the corner and crossed the short distance to the Chief Counselor’s door within seconds before pressing the door chime. 

Re: Day 02 [1830] Who Counsels the Counselors?

Reply #2
[ Lt. Foster | Hathev’s Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring @Nesota Kynnovan @Juzzie

„And then the replicator materialized a cream pie with enough angular momentum to smack the guy straight in the face.” Stellan enthused, words bubbling from his lips like a babbling brook, skipping over worn-down alabaster. Dark irises sparkling with glee and even just the faintest hints of dew, hanging in the corners of his eyes like spiderwebs in spring. A sharp inhale, followed by much more tranquil respire, making the man’s vocal cords sing in the serene harmony of a placid sigh. “I swear … I could feel the chill of the cream on my face three quarters down.” Shaking his handsome pate in abject remorse the man was pleasantly aware of the absence of judgment, transpiring from his colleague beside him, across the telepathic ether. Or any plane of perception, for that matter. Despite the blonde’s sedater demeanor, he seemed to be able to appreciate comedy in the mundane as much as the next guy. Or more precisely, the dark haired counselor by his side.

“Poor Yridian. They are famously allergic to dairy.” Which only seemed to elicit an even more joyful reaction from the man, emerging in another effervescent chuckle. After all, it wasn’t quite a death sentence either and there wasn’t really much that could be done to such a face in terms of making matters worse, he judged nonchalantly. But for the time being that would have to be the extent of their joyful bantering with one another – which he had come to appreciate quite fundamentally. Not only did it mean there was actually an individuum on this ship that found him delightful and wasn’t simply composed of photons and forcefields. But also because he felt that it meant Rhys was coming out from under that giant microscope he put himself and his achievements under. Distraction being the mother of all reprieves, after all. This manner of convalescence, however, would ironically have to wait after the summit of Theurgy’s mind-fixers, in their boss’ quarters, of all places.

Talk about home advantage.

Having rounded the corner to the final stretch of their approach already, the Half-Betazoid’s comedic exuberance preceding them like trumpet fanfares a royal procession, Stellan caught all of his enjoyment in his throat with one last gulp of air, in the mere vicinity of their resident fun-monitor. Catching the last steps of their only female colleague Amanda – aforementioned aside – the brunette twisted his thin lips into a more modest smile, betrothing the blonde with another facet of his overrated charms. “The Duchess Ashby … the pleasure, the pleasure.” he boasted in a fake British accent, surfing on the tail ends of glee, while bending down slightly with a hand flat to his chest, prompting Rhys to follow his sentiment with a well-placed nudge to the man’s arm. There was still at least an hour of serious conversation waiting for them beyond these doors. Might as well nourish themselves on all the merriment that was left, until it would be deflated like a balloon, no doubt.

Seeing as the flaxen lady was just about to hit the chime as the chronometer hit the exact time of their summons, Stellan quickly intervened by diverting her attention through leaning in with a covert whisper on his scruff-lined lips. “I like your hair today.” he sparked, from the top of his head, taking the time the words took to trickle from his tongue to elaborate on the tangent. “More so than always, I mean. It has a distinctive sheen to it. Did you switch your conditioner?” He added, obsidian orbs tracing the outline of her scalp with his pate unwaveringly close. Letting the momentary blankness of her mental palette sink in, as if an arid desert, before coherent thoughts came flooding back like a biblical deluge. All while time was ticking on like the unrelenting tiger it was. He just wanted for them to be one minute late. One minute. Not out of defiance or some twisted sense of vindictiveness, but just because he wanted to see if a black hole would develop beyond the precipice of that door, where the Commander had been. If reality as they knew it would end, if plans were thrown into chaos.

Sadly – or luckily – however, Hathev’s quarters were still there, as the doors finally DID open. And so was the Vulcan herself.

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