Star Trek: Theurgy

[ Ens. Krystal "Meony" Tancredi (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Krystal_Tancredi,_callsign_%22Meony%22) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Anybody
[Show/Hide]It was so surreal to Meony. She actually barely remembered any and all events leading up to right then, since leaving the ship in the Sassy Slayer to meet unidentified bogeys, which turned out to be Martok and a force of Klingon fighters. She had been informed that Martok was now allied, or at the least, aware of the truth of Theurgy's plight. So that was good. Klingons were difficult allies at the best of times. She knew better than some, considering that Old Man Jedediah was once a formidable ambassador to the Klingon empire and taught her most of what she knew. Khorin's mother was also an ambassador to them, which resulted in his birth. She had been told that she'd left almost immediately after the surgery and waking up, with the sentient bioweapon in her head safely removed.

She tried to get into the dogfight. She wasn't sure what she was thinking, if she was at all, and then she witnessed the death of one James Mariner and F'Rell, the latter dying at the hands of a flight deck crewman, a result of a panicked reaction. Meony had gone utterly mental and assaulted him, very nearly turning his own rifle against him, before a combination of Carrigan Trent's efforts to calm her and her going into catatonic shock had her sent back to sickbay for proper recovery and monitoring of further malfunctions. Whether she'd be cleared for flight duty anytime soon was almost in question, and then she had to sit through a stern lecture from a security officer about her conduct. She was let off surprisingly easy, given her condition and state of mind at the time, but still, she could expect harsher judgement if she fouled up now, when all her faculties were straight and confirmed so by a doctor.

Chucking on her hat, a long sleeved white shirt and ancient styled blue jeans and boots, she left for the turbolifts to find company.

“Dehk twenty-aight.” said Meony.

“Destination unknown,” came the soothing voice of Thea, “Please try again.”

“Oh fer fahk's sake! DECK! TWENTIH! ATE!”

The turbolift began to move and Meony scowled at the speakers for a long time. So her ongoing feud with turbolifts was doomed to continue.

When she was in the beloved lounge, she was a little disappointed to see there was hardly anyone around. Was she early? Were people just sleeping? Maybe doing other things? Granted, she walked by a gaping hole that gave her a fine view of the stars on the way here, so, it stood to reason some people, unlike her, probably had more important priorities than coming to Below Decks to laze around. Well that wasn't going to stop ol' Meony! No sirree!

Where was the eloquent cat-man? Didn't matter, “Howdy,” said Meony, greeting the first thing that looked remotely like a bartender, “Ah wanna get wasted...wait...nah, Ah wanna get utterly destroahed and possibly sent into a coma. Gimme somethin' deadly an' most definitely illegal.”

A shot glass was soon placed in front of her, with the bartender looking at her expectantly. Meony's face and angle remained transfixed on the glass as she spoke, “Are ya kiddin' me? Gimme moah.”

The shot glass was upgraded to a whiskey tumblr, and Meony said, “Biggah.”

A full sized beer stein.

“Do Ah even need to tell ya?”

She was given the damn bottle.

“Oh mah Gawd, will ya take this baby away an' jus' bring me its parents? That's plurahl!”

Two kegs was placed before her, and a positively miffed bartender walked away. “Now we're talkin'. 'Ey, you!”

Meony adjusted her hat to slant down one side, pointed at people, then jerked a thumb at the kegs, “C'mon, don't leave a gal t' celebrate bein' alahv alone. Ah done gone an' did th' hard part, least y'all can do is help me drink it!”

Mugs on trays appeared near the bar, courtesy of the bartender.

[ Ltjg Jhozahosh “Blizzard” sh’Avhennes | Personal Quarters → Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ]

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After leaving the fighter assault bay some hours earlier, Jhozahosh had sought out an operations officer and had finally been directed to her assigned quarters. After a quick sonic shower to wash away anything she may have missed while cleaning in the fighter assault bay showers, she collapsed onto the bed and quickly fell asleep.

Some hours later she awoke, feeling well rested and energized. She stretched, and stumbled back into her bathroom, flicking the shower on, this time using the water setting. She stepped in and gave a happy sigh as the cold water flowed across her body. As the water poured down on her head Jhoza slowly began to undo her braids. She had been wearing them in the same way ever since she had left the Dauntless, what felt like a lifetime ago.

After a couple of minutes she snapped the water off and stepped out, quickly drying herself off. Moving to the replicator she ordered a skirted version of the TacCONN uniform, along with a pair of boots and one of the cool hoodies that she had seen some of her fellow pilots wearing. She pulled it all on, then stood in front of her mirror and spent several minutes re-braiding her hair in a new design. Once she felt her hair looked good she grinned to herself in the mirror, then flipped up the hood...and cursed. While the replicator had taken into account the fact that she was Andorian, the holes it had put in the hood were too small, and squeezed her antennae uncomfortably.

She removed the hoodie and picked up her Ushaan-tor. Delicately, she used one of the points to cut the fabric and make the holes larger. Once she was satisfied she pulled the hoodie back on, and flipped the hood up again. Much better. Experimentally her antennae ran through a range of motions, and she nodded, this was good.

Ready to go now, Jhoza stepped out her door and started off down the hall. Not really sure where she was going she eventually found herself in a turbolift. ”Umm...take me to the crew lounge please.” The turbolift began to move and Jhoza leaned casually against the wall. The journey was short, and when the lift arrived and the doors opened, Jhoza could see the doors to the crew lounge at the end of the corridor. She pushed off the wall and sauntered down the corridor. As she pushed the doors open she heard a woman with a strong accent calling out to the room.

“C'mon, don't leave a gal t' celebrate bein' alahv alone. Ah done gone an' did th' hard part, least y'all can do is help me drink it!”

This sounded like a woman she would get along well with. Her antennae focused on the lady with the big hat, and Jhoza followed them, striding forward. She wore a grin as she pulled up a seat at the bar beside the hat lady. ”I like the sound of what you’re offering Hat Lady.” Jhoza picked up one of the mugs and helped herself to the nearest keg. ”No better way to celebrate a successful mission than with a few drinks and good company.” She raised her now full mug in salute, then knocked back a large mouthful of it. ”Ahhh, that hits the spot. What exactly are we drinking anyway?”

[ Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Khorin_Douglas)| Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | In transit to Aldea]
[Show/Hide]Att: @Triage @The Ostrich @anyone else present



"Deck twenty-eight" rumbled Khorin once he got into the turbolift.


The pilot had just left Mickayla Macgregor on her own. He was unclear whether his attempts to cheer her up and make her feel at home at the Theurgy had served any purpose. He was fond of the woman, but she was stubborn and grumpy like an old targ. One of those animals that has survived a thousand battles, smelly and full of scars, but which you still couldn't help yourself to appreciate them. In spite of their extravagances and their tendency to bite the hand that fed them.


However, in those moments he needed a rest. And learn what had happened during his trip in the Versant, and where were his pack mates. He had visited the Pilots lounge but he had found it empty. One of the FAB engineers had informed him that the pack had met at noon, while he was still in the brig. After that, he had tried to contact the Alpha Wolf, but the pilot had been unable to locate him. The first time he had been untraceable. Then, in the next attempts, he had been in a conference with the rest of the Senior Staff. The Klingon had sent him a few messages requesting a meeting as soon as possible. Barely five or six windows. Enough to make Razor aware that he was alive and wanted to report where he had been, what had happened since he was aboard and his desire to be able to get back on a bird as soon as possible. There was a good chance that when the security report reached the Bossman he would decide grounded him for weeks, and Khorin wanted to give him his version of events before that happened.


The pilot let out a frustrated snort and put on the hood of the sweatshirt over the ridged head again. He didn't want to be stuck on the ground. He wanted to fly again, to feel the controls of a fighter under his hands. Back to normality. The turbolift doors opened in front of him and the Lone Wolf let his steps lead him to the place where he could most easily gather information. The below decks lounge.


He entered the bar with determined steps, looking for any known face he could approach. Unfortunately, the establishment was practically empty, only a couple of small groups who seemed to mind their own business and a couple of women at the counter who seemed to be gatering much of the booze that was being served at that hour. One of the women wore a sweatshirt like his, and the pair of blue antennas that  poked out the top of her hood marking her as an Andorian. Maybe she was Terror. Or Aria. In any case it was a wolf comrade and Khorin was glad to see it. Whoever she was.


As his steps moved toward the bar, his eyes moved toward the other woman. She wore a characteristic hat. One that brought back memories for the Klingon. Memories of someone he had not seen in years.


"C'mon, don't leave a gal t' celebrate bein' alahv alone. Ah done gone an' did th' hard part, least y'all can do is help me drink it!" exclaimed the redheaded woman, her thick accent almost impossible to decode.


Khorin stopped his long strides for a moment. It was impossible. Was it really her? By all the heads that Kahless cut off, how was it possible?

"No better way to celebrate a successful mission than with a few drinks and good company."  said the Andorian woman by her side, before drinking a long gulp from her mug. "Ahhh, that hits the spot. What exactly are we drinking anyway?"  Khorin had a pretty good idea of what it was.


He passed through the tables area like an exhalation, sweeping away any unsuspecting person who dared to come between him and his target. "What you have just drunk" he yelled, approaching the two women and posing two hands like two bear paws on their shoulders. ""It is a mixture of rotgut, swine's piss and bad intentions that will make you end up entangled in some diplomatic mess with a bellicose foreign nation,"he barked in a sinister tone, despite the broad smile etched on his bearded face.


Now, close to both of them, he could see that it was indeed her. Without waiting for the human to say anything to defend herself, he surrounded the small woman with both arms pressing her back tightly against his broad chest, letting her feet hang limply a half metre over the floorplates. The hat fell from the woman's head, leaving her friend's reddish mane visible. "Fucking crazy bitch, damn troblemaking hoe, I thought you were dead Tancredi!!" he roared happily, trying to ignore the knot that grew in his throat.

[ Ens. Krystal "Meony" Tancredi (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Krystal_Tancredi,_callsign_%22Meony%22) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Numen & @The Ostrich
[Show/Hide]Never fails! was Meony's proud thought when an Andorian woman responded to her invitation. Some of the other patrons merely piped up and smiled expectantly at her. Everybody knew Meony usually knew how to party. She certainly showed that the few times she'd been around after being brought on board. Aside from the last day or so where she'd been fighting the ever-worsening bioweapon that had been growing in her head. But now that it was out, she was more or less back to full capacity, and ready to start living again.

The Andorian took a mug and filled it from the keg. She had good taste...at least she thought until she tried it herself. “Oh fuck!” it was absolutely horrid, and terrible, and therefore, perfection. She laughed and grinned at the Andorian woman, “Ah'm Meony...”

She was not able to finish whatever else she was about to say when a familiar voice bellowed, resting a heavy hand on her slender shoulder, she tilted her head to get a confirmation on the fact that it was him. Khorin Douglas, in the flesh. He was also quoting events from their past. Except she remembered how it went a little differently. That was not all that was different. The ridges on his head were more pronounced, and he looked more...that was impossible. What happened to him?!? Her mouth hung agape as she stared stupidly at him.

“HWAH!” was all she managed before he crushed her against him, and her eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets. He was all but screaming into her ears and she was kicking wildly to no avail, her hat fell off and she was struggling to breathe, or survive. “Ah'll...soon be!” Meony wheezed, “...if ya don't...let...go!”

Mercifully, she was soon released, and she bent down to pick up her hat and put it back on. “Khorin, whot in tarnation are ya doin' 'ere?!? 'ow come Ah never saw ya 'fore all this?!?” She looked up at him, doing her best Heather Douglas impression, and somehow gave the impression that she was looking downwards when she was in fact craning her neck all the way to meet his eyes. “God Ah've missed ya!”

She broke into a big smile and leapt into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck and just hanging on there. “So ya better be married already, or so 'elp me...” she said into his ear as she slid back to the ground and looked up at him again.

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[Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Khorin_Douglas)| Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | In transit to Aldea]
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Att: @Triage @The Ostrich @anyone else present

After squeezing her one last time, Khorin deposited Krystal on the floor, his best sidewide grin etched in his face. Without it leaving his face, he watched as the human picked up her hat and pulled it down firmly, until it almost covered her eyes. Then she looked up to look at him, with that look that her mother had refined for years and only Tancredi had been able to replicate, the one that said 'I've seen so many shit lately that your braggadocio doesn't impress me in the least'. Or something worse in those lines. Khorin knew from experience that, in most cases, it was better not to mess with the woman who wore that look like a custom-made suit. Just in case.

Even so, he knew that his friend was only joking, so he merely represented the pantomime that she scared him terribly. But it barely lasted a few seconds, and soon he was laughing again, in chorus with her. "Well, I've been in the freezer for a while," he began to explain. "Then I was thawed shortly before the first battle with Versant. Savi abducted me from my bird. Those white bastards had a special dislike for hybrids, so they 'corrected' all of us to just one of our species. So, you see, now I'm full Klingon" this last sentence was pronounced with badly contained pride. She knew that he had idealized his Klingon ancestry all his life, so she could get an idea of the euphoria he had felt for his change, despite the terrible circumstances that had surrounded it. "We escaped, we fought, we fought again, we made allies, and yada yada yada, we managed to return a few hours ago". Khorin finished his explanation, shrugging. He didn't delve too deeply into the last few hours on the Versant and his return to the mothership. There were too many things he still had to process. And he preferred to think about it later. If possible after a full night's sleep and a good meal. Not necessarily in that order. "And yeah, I've missed you too, ginger."

That's when the Texan threw herself into his arms and hung herself around his neck like a murderous koala. What she said made him look away, fixing his eyes at some indefinite point behind her head. "Well, married, no no, you know, ME? but, well..." he tried to explain, without being able to define what was Zeph for him. What he wanted that she become for him. With him. Just the thought of her made his heartbeat speed up. He had lost sight of her hours ago and wasn't sure what she had been doing all that hours... Would she miss him? He missed her for sure.

"But tell me, how the hell did you get in there? And who's your friend? You're not Terror, aren't you? Maybe you're a new transfer?" he said to change the subject quickly, addressing the blue-skinned woman.

[ Deacon | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage  @The Ostrich  @Numen and anyone else

As the new patrons began to gather, Xenia's holographic form manifested, preparing to greet them and see if they had any special needs for the night.  Given the late hour, it was not unexpected that she would be on duty as she often served in the role of off-hours proprietor, but of late, it seemed that her virtual shift, such as it was, knew no bounds, having been in effect for several days.

Still, it was in her programming to make the crew feel welcome and comfortable, questions or concerns aside.  She'd heard snippets of information from some of the crew that the ship had been in dire circumstance with several members missing and, in fact, the ship explicitly split into MVAM mode.  She supposed that would explain the pronounced reduction in patronage and the resultant increase in consumption of intoxicants.  The boss had mentioned that she should expressly track that particular commodity as it seemed more precious than latinum to a Ferengi.

A warm smile crossed her lips and she began to move towards the bar, although it was unlikely the patrons would notice her until she'd spoken given they appeared wrapped in conversation with one another.

As the door to the lounge opened once more, she spared a glance to prioritize her activities, giving a pleasant nod at the new comer.  "One moment, si..." she paused, tilting her head slightly.  There was a certain familiarity that seemed to play at the edge of her artificial senses, prompting a cross reference of the ship's personnel records.  She did not recognize his face, but it seemed clear that whoever he was, Below Decks was likely not his intended destination.

Re-calibrating, she diverted her path to the door, bowing her head slightly, the short dark hair brushing along her simulated shoulders.  "Welcome to Below Decks.  My name is Xenia.  How may I be of service?"

The man gave her a look, eyes narrowing slightly, caught between irritation and, perhaps, a bit of confusion.  Taking a breath, he replied with a thin veil of exhaustion in his voice.  "It's me."

Xenia paused, extrapolating the voice and matching it against her internal database of patrons, finally locating a match, but one that prompted several confirmation attempts against the personnel database once more. "My apologies, boss.  You've... changed."

Deacon gave a slight sigh.  "I've been in sickbay since we got back.  I.. I couldn't sit in there any longer.  Once they were done with me, I needed to leave."

She regarded him, his Savi armor long since having been cast aside in favor of what equated to a t shirt and simple pants, likely to provide him with some long deprived comfort.  More to the point, however, she noted that he wore a visor across his eyes that bore a striking resemblance to something the historical records referred to as "sunglasses" and both of his hands were wrapped in neat, white gauze.  "If you've just come from sickbay, given the prior lecture you received about overexertion following a medical procedure, I must ask that you please refrain from your customary duties, sir.  For your own safety."

Deacon waved one bandaged hand at her as if to dismiss the notion that he would even attempt such a notion.  "I couldn't if I wanted to.  My hands are numb from surgery. I want my brain to join them," he said, moving past her to approach the bar, his shoulders somewhat slumped.  "I suppose kanar will have to do... or brandy... or whatever they're having," he added, waving his hand in the direction of those at the bar as he took a seat nearby, laying his head on the counter.   To say it was uncharacteristic for him to seek inebriation would be an understatement, but the past several days had particularly beyond all measure of sanity and if nothing else, he felt particularly uncharacteristic tonight.

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lillee_t%27Jellaieu) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage, @Ostrich, @Numen, @steelphoenix

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"Nnrgh...sire-fucking Starfleet mattresses...idiot humans..."

For a distinguished Romulan of good breeding, such uncultured language was most definitely not appropriate, but Lillee t'Jellaieu, once esteemed daughter of the Ship-Clans of the Rihannsu, didn't care a whit. Nor, indeed, did she care that she was lounging in bed in the middle of ship's afternoon, spread-eagle on her bedsheets, naked as the day she was born. She didn't even care that her long blonde hair was a mess, or that drool was running down down her jaw onto the pillow.

Right now, all she cared about was sleep, but sleep simply refused to come. Still drowsy after three hours of slumber, Lillee wanted nothing more than to return to it, but as she lay there, it was plainly obvious that it wasn't going to happen. The long habits of duty and the lingering aftershock of battle pushed her to full wakefulness, no matter how she might feel about the matter. And so, reluctantly, swearing under her breath the entire time, she swung her legs to the side and sat up, wiping away the drool with her bare wrist.

Fortunately, at least, while most NCOs had to share quarters, Lillee had been fortunate enough to have the entire space to herself. Thus she could be as slovenly as she liked as she got up and staggered to the shower, wearily going through the normal motions. That, at least, was a blessing: no red alert sirens meant that for once, for the first time since boarding the Theurgy all the way back in Earth's orbit, Lillee had the time to do whatever she pleased. A cursory question to the computer as she brushed her teeth indicated that all was well, and her next regular duty shift (oh, to have regular duty shifts again...) wasn't until 1000 hours the following morning.

The next step was obvious, and really, very long overdue. Lillee grabbed a hoodie, t-shirt and comfortable pants from the wardrobe, although she had to spend a good minute or so laughing herself silly at the clothing's bold insignia before putting it on. Really, what strange bureaucratic impulse drove someone to design a Lone Wolves emblem purely for off-duty clothes? Lillee certainly approved, she mused, although she started snickering anew when she noticed that even the underwear was proudly emblazoned with the squadron emblem.

Oh, the humans were just so adorable when they tried to be like Romulans! It was a pale imitation of Romulan military traditions, with their long-lived squadrons full of history and companionship, encapsulated by artfully crafted emblems, mottos, songs and countless other aspects of a squadron's soul. Still, it was just so beautifully adorable to see the Theurgy's fighter squadron try to forge a beginning in such an odd little example of bureaucracy. It was rather like watching a barbarian finally figure out how a wheel works after a decade of trying.

A few minutes later, fully clothed in the official off-duty regalia of the Lone Wolves, Lillee strode into the Below Decks Lounge. The area had been repaired quite nicely since the last time she'd visited, at least, when there had been Asurian corpses on the deck and damage everywhere, and she smiled in relief as she promptly made for the bar, gesturing for the barkeep.

"Vodka," she demanded curtly. "Romulan, Saurian, Terran, Klingon, whatever. Anything that's good. May the stars forgive me, I need to get drunk tonight." She glanced at the group of people beside her who all seemed appropriately merry given the large bottle of unidentifiable booze in front of them. Lillee sniffed haughtily at the Klingon as she accepted her drink, and she had it halfway to her lips before she heard the redheaded human's accent.

"Oh no," she groaned, chuckling in exasperation, not caring if the group heard her. "What is that accent!? That sounds worse than Klingon teenagers!"

[ Ens. Krystal "Meony" Tancredi (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Krystal_Tancredi,_callsign_%22Meony%22) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Steelphoenix, @Griff, @Numen & @The Ostrich
[Show/Hide]Meony almost wanted to check herself into the sickbay again. Maybe she was imagining it, but Khorin was right there in the flesh before her, being his usual loud, wonderful self, and a full blooded Klingon Warrior! She was only half-kidding when she'd told him about being married, but she caught on to something. Khorin was many things, but being good at hiding something was probably not one of his stronger suites. She had a hand on his chest and she'd felt his heart rate increasing, and then he was trying to quickly deflect the question. While Meony could have left well enough alone, she wasn't going to do that, no sir.

“Hold it right there, bucko!” said the redhead, “There is somebadeh, ain't there?”

Her eyes glinted with mirth and mischief, but also excitement. She was glad that Khorin had someone in his life. He deserved to have that, and that person, whoever they were, had better realize what a treasure they had with the big lug.

She allowed herself to be distracted by the various goings on after a while and she turned to look Deacon, remembering him. “Ay, howzabout ya join us, sugah! We got plenty-a-rounds ta go. C'mon, pull up a chair and take a load off!”

She swiped a mug off the tray and held it out to him.

As she did this, the other newcomer, a Romulan by the looks of her, spoke up, and she seemed both amused and intrigued by the flame-haired girl's accent. She winked at the woman and answered, “That, mah dear, is da accent of the lousiest people ya'll evah have da misfortune o' meetin'.”

While the statement was inaccurate, Meony could only think of her abusive family when she thought of Earth and home.

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[ Ltjg Jhozahosh “Blizzard” sh’Avhennes | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ]

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A large, loud Klingon appeared, and boldly proclaimed that they were in fact drinking piss. Jhoza had long ago discovered that Klingons very rarely came in flavours other than large and loud. She grinned, she liked Klingons, they fought well, and they fought with honour. She sniffed her drink suspiciously, then took a much smaller sip, allowing the drink to rest on her tongue for a moment. A moment later she screwed up her face and quickly swallowed. The Klingon was right, it was piss, but it was strong, the alcohol content was very high.

The Klingon and Meony as she had introduced herself were clearly old friends, and pleased to see each other again. After they had caught up suitably the Klingon turned his attention to Jhoza. ”My Zhavey used to call me a little terror, but she was the only one” Jhoza grinned and quaffed a large portion of her mug, then grimaced ”You’re right, this really is piss. Anyway, Jhozahosh is my name, but they call me Blizzard once I’m in the cockpit. As for a recent transfer...well, to a point, Starfleet never approved it, but with the parasite problem Rawley told me about I doubt they would have approved a request to come here.”

In short order they were joined by two more people, one with bandaged hands, and another who was Romulan, unless Jhoza was very much mistaken. She laughed as the Romulan complained about Menoy’s accent. While it was loud and brash, Jhoza was sure Klingon teenagers would be louder and brasher. Her antennae were practically touching when Menoy replied. Lousiest people ever to be met? This woman had wits sharper than an Ushaan-tor. Jhoza’s laughter echoed across the lounge, and she clapped Menoy on the shoulder. ”Surely not the lousiest, you managed to acquire these kegs of...of...Khorin was right, it is piss, but you acquired them, and that is not lousy!” She threw her head back and downed the last of her mug, grimacing again as she did so.

”But if we want to keep this night going well...BARKEEP!” She yelled, eyes and antennae flicking up, looking for one of the purple shirted staff. She grinned a moment later as she spotted one approaching.”Barkeep! We need Ale! Andorian Ale! The best you have! And don’t try to give us the cheap and nasty, my Charan brews this stuff! I know what the real deal looks like!”

[ Lieutenant JG Evelyn Rawley, callsign "Ghost" (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Evelyn_Rawley,_callsign_%22Ghost%22) | Below Decks | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Lounge Visitors
[Show/Hide]Eventually, after trying to rest in her quarters and coming to terms with all that had happened, Rawley had decided to go where she usually went after a battle, and now that the Theurgy was reintegrated, it was possible. She hoped to avoid a certain someone that had returned to the Theurgy, but hopefully some of the other wolves would be there.

When she entered the lounge, she ran a hand over her shaved scalp and grinned at the sight, several Wolves already there. She paid no close attention to them at first, meaning to get her drink first. With baggy gym pants and her Lone Wolves hoodie pulled over a white top, her rough boots clomped their way towards the bar. "Whiskey, neat!" she called, and the holographic waiter moved to oblige her soon enough. "Scotch, not bourbon for fuck's sake. What kind of bloody woman do you take me for?"

With her order made, she turned around and leaned against the bar counter with her drink hanging from her fingers. That's when she spotted the face of the tall figure. It was... rougher. The ridges more pronounced. Stronger. But no doubt. It was him, and she'd barely believed it when she heard he'd been thawed, only to be abducted straight out of his cockpit by those alien bastards in the white bug ship. Brown eyes creased with a smile at first, the elation of seeing him alive at the forefront of her mind, she soon remembered the last moments where she'd seen him go down - in the battle outside the Hromi Cluster. When the Calamity had attacked them the first time.

Hardtop was having a reunion with Meony, the redhead from the Resolve that Rawley had been flying with against the Rotarran, but eventually she caught the eye of her old wingmate where she stood at the bar counter. When she had his attention, she raised her glass to Khorin and called to him. "qaleghqa'mo' jIQuch!"

'I'm glad to see you again', was certainly an understatement, and it took all her restraint to not just walk up to him and slap his big Sa'Hut in greeting. For two months, they fought Task Force Archeron together, before he was put on ice the first time. She'd thought she'd lost him indefinitely the second time. Then again, he might have thought the same of her, after the Devoted cut her down. Either way, Rawley had missed Hardtop, regardless what the Savi had done to him. There hadn't been a more mismatched pair of wingmates in the squadron, she one point six and he close to two meters tall.

Rawley had raised her glass to the Klingon, in a toast across the lounge - the silence filled with meaning by the way she looked at him.

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qaleghqa'mo' jIQuch = I'm glad to see you again
Sa'Hut = (n) ass, rear end. buttocks

[ Deacon | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage  @The Ostrich  @Numen @Auctor Lucan  and anyone else

He'd truly only been paying the scarcest bit of attention to the others at the bar.  Really, only enough to tell that there were others at the bar.  That they had anything to drink was, truth be told, an assumption based on the predominant tendencies of the crew.  In that regard, it appeared he was correct, though he honestly took very little satisfaction in it, his mind swimming around the myriad of other concerns that were readily darkening his mood whether he willed it or not.

Slowly, he rolled his head, not really wishing to lift it from its position on the bar counter, casting a sidewards glance at the boisterous hostess of the group assembled to his right as she held out a mug of some intoxicant or other with an offer to join in whatever revelry had drawn them together.  He narrowed his eyes, struggling to push through his nigh inability to distinguish one human face from another, until he simply relented and held up his hands to demonstrate that both had been bandaged beyond any appreciable ability to use.

Thankfully, Xenia had not strayed far, accepting the drink and placing it in front of Deacon with a straw that she produced from behind the bar, whispering the identity of his benefactor in his ear as she did so, knowing his difficulty with distinguishing certain members of the crew without extensive interaction.

With a nod of thanks, he wrapped his lips around the straw and took a drink, his face screwing into a pattern of revulsion as the beverage reached his tongue.  The taste was every bit as wretched as his nose had been telling him during his admittedly brief duty shifts, as if the taste of rot might somehow wear perfume.  It was a flavor he suspected that most of the crew hoped to forget by the time they were rid of it.  That was, at least, his hope.

Behind him, a Romulan female approached, snidely commenting on the accent of his benefactor.  He was torn as to whether he should comment to enforce some rule of civility or simply let the matter unfold in its own way, but he was not on duty and had little concern that, should the need present itself, Xenia would address the situation.  The human female, however, seemed rather unperturbed, disparaging herself in response.  It was another of those monkey eccentricities that he struggled to understand... this need to self censure.  Did the galaxy offer so few insults that it was necessary for a human to lessen their sense of ego before others?

"Barkeep! We need Ale! Andorian Ale! The best you have! And don't try to give us the cheap and nasty, my Charan brews this stuff! I know what the real deal looks like!" 

The Andorian had made what he supposed was a more than reasonable demand given the vile taste that lingered on his tongue.  As Taliesin appeared, taking note of the new order, Deacon added his own. "Anything that tastes better than this," he stated even as another newcomer made a demand for a whiskey.

"You got it boss," was the customary response, but as was often the case with Taliesin, Deacon was hard pressed to determine to whom he'd addressed the response.  Presumably, all three, but it was delivered in such a way as to seem personalized to each patron's demands.  Deacon could only hope that his next selection was considerably less offensive than what he'd first been offered even as he slid it to the side with the back of his bandaged hand, raking his tongue against his teeth in a vain effort to scrape the taste out of his mouth.

[ Lt. JG Donna ‘Chance’ Petterson | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @The Ostrich
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“I need a drink,” was the clearest thought on Donna’s mind as she trudged towards the lounge called Below Decks. After leaving the sickbay, Isel had stormed off leaving her standing there, in the middle of the corridor, with no idea what to do next. The simple fact of Isel marching off without a single word said was enough for Donna to know that her Vulpinian lover needed some time away from her. So, true to her historical upbringing, she decided to find the nearest pub she could on this boat. Accosting the next crewman that walked past had supplied her with the name and location of the ships lounge that the Lone Wolves Squadron commonly gathered at. The Below Decks Lounge on deck 28.

Walking though the entrance, she saw several others from the Squadron conversing with people she didn’t recognise while others were at the bar ordering drinks, Rawley and the Andorian Blizzard amongst them. Feeling the need for old friends rather than new ones, she made her way over to the bar, leaning on it next to her former element leader from the Jadestone.

“It’s a long way from the Jadestone isn’t it Ghost?” Donna asked as one of the bartenders came over. “Pint of Rum,” Donna ordered, her mind flashing back to a bar on Earth where she had enjoyed another pint while enjoy where her life would lead next. “Strange how life takes things from you and then gives them back again,” she said to no one in particular.

[Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Khorin_Douglas)| Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | In transit to Aldea]
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Att: @Triage @The Ostrich @Griff  @steelphoenix  @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88


No matter how much effort Khorin put into diverting his friend's attention, Krystal didn't fall into her glibness. The tiny human shoved a finger in his chest, as sharply as if she was attempting to stab him with a d'k tahg. So he had no other choice but confess. "Okay, yeah, okay, there's SOMEONE, ginger.You've caught me." he rumbled while a grin widened on his face, more pleased than he ought to be. "You're going to love Zeph when you meet her" he assured her with badly concealed pride.

For better or for worse, Krystal didn't keep pushing the issue, as he got distracted by shouting at another of the bar's customers, a young man leaning his head on the bar a little away from them. At first, the Klingon had trouble recognizing him, but the long feline tail and the pointy ears were not a common combination. He was the murderous-eyed felinoid, the one who had celebrated his wedding with Neko in the entrails of the Versant. However, his attitude had changed so much that Khorin struggled to label him as the same person. Where once had been resolve and rage now there was only... helplessness and defeat. For a moment, Khorin was tempted to invite the newlywed to their small party, but he refrained himself from doing so. Unconsciously he put his hand on his neck and scrubbed the spot where they had inoculated the compound to control his chemical imbalance. He wasn't a counselor, as had become evident that morning with Mickayla. And possibly an outgoing and loud approach would be misinterpreted. So he left the feline-man alone on his own. He was planning to reunite with Zeph without extra bruises if he could.

So he let him be, and focused his attention on the Andorian. As he suspected, it wasn't one of his old comrades, but a new recruit. But she seemed like she would fit into the squad perfectly. She had a good attitude and humour. In addition to having served on a previous vessel with his former wingmate, " Any Ghost friend is my friend," he asserted, as he smiled at the memory of the small fellow and her attitude. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her. The last time he saw her, they both descended in a crazy spiral, wrapped in flames, under an incessant rain of enemy fire. He only hoped she would be alive. However, it wasn't the time to gloat over bitter memories, so he refocused on the Andorian. "Welcome to the pack Blizzard, I'm Hardtop" he introduced himself, patting at the thick ridges of his forehead. "For obvious reasons" he added with a chuckle.

Shortly though, their attention shifted to another Wolf that Khorin didn't recognize. It was a long-haired blonde Romulan who made a wry remark about Krystal's accent. The Texan's answer didn't take long to arrive, soon chorused by Blizzard's retort. Khorin burst out with guffaws, palming the Andorian's shoulder. "Hey pointy ears!" he shouted to draw the Romulan woman's attention. "If you think Krystal sounds like a Klingon teenager, you have NO idea HOW a REAL Klingon sounds," he roared. "There's no teenager around here but I can show you what an grown-up Klingon sounds like if you join up with the rest of the pack." After all, the Romulan was wearing the pilots' regalia, so she had to be another new addition. "The more, the merrier!" he affirmed, waving at her to approach the core of the group.

However, he didn't keep bothering the Romulan, as someone behind her caught his attention. The shaved head, the glass indolently held in the hand and that no-bullshit attitude were unmistakable. "Qi-yah" he grunted, baffled. The woman lifted the glass in his honour and barked a welcome in Klingon. There was no doubt then, there was Rawley, in one piece. "veqlargh puqbe'!!!!" Khorin cheerfully bellowed and he rushed towards her, no matter who stood in his path, in a perfect beeline. The quiet and frugal tributes were nice among Vulcans and other dull species, but they were not for him. So he did the only thing he could do. Moving forward against her. There was little that could stand between a Klingon Warrior and his target, and Khorin was no exception to this fact. "Fucking crazy rugrat, I thought you were shattered to pieces with your bird! naDev ghoS!" he barked as he approached. Once he had her within reach he wrapped her in his arms in a bear hug and lifted her off the floor, half suffocating her against his broad chest. "ToDSaH quvHa', we've got a howler party going on and you're sitting here pretending to be cool? No way! you come with us!" he scolded, half seriously half joking as he left her back on her feet.

Then he averted his gaze from Ghost to address one of the waiters who served a nearby table, which prevented him from hearing how another human was speaking to Rawley "Hey, Holodude!" demanded Khorin." Bring me..." Khorin paused for a moment, wondering what he was going to ask for. He hadn't drank anything alcoholic in years, but after his Correction in the Versant he had found that his favorite drinks (sickeningly sweet sodas and milkshakes in which he could chew the sugar) were no longer to the liking of his taste buds. "...Bring me something... no alcoholic,sweet but not much and that seems to have fought fiercely before they have liquefied it to pour it into a glass" he asked. It was a long shot, but he had to try. In the worst case he would end up with a glass of water in his hand, which was not an unusual situation for him either.

---

d'k tahg → klingon dagger
Qi-yah! → holy shit!
veqlargh puqbe'! → Fek'lhr's daughter!
Fek'lhr' →  the demonic guard of Gre'thor, according to Klingon mythology
naDev ghoS → come here
toDSaH quvHa' → damn idiot

[ Lieutenant JG Evelyn Rawley, callsign "Ghost" (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Evelyn_Rawley,_callsign_%22Ghost%22) | Below Decks | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Lounge Visitors
[Show/Hide]After Rawley had made eye-contact with Hardtop and called out to him, the known figure of a woman came to her side in the bar, ordering rum and talking to her. Khorin was making his way towards her, shouting in Klingon, while Chance's more quiet comments became a contrasting undercurrent for the development. It was a growing feeling of familiarity, with old faces indeed resurfacing.

No more had she turned her head to give the dark-haired woman from the Jadestone a grin, saying... "Aye, and at the bloody strangest of times too. Good to see you fly again, Chance. Seems like you fit in a Mk III cockpit like a cock in a cu-" Then, Khorin picked her up, and she'd barely been able to put her scotch on the counter before her boots left the deck. Lambasted with friendly accusations and demands, Evelyn could barely breathe. The Savi had taken him, and spitted him out a fair bit stronger than before. She ground her teeth while she chuckled and pushed against his chest so that she might get some air. "Shite you've grown you bloody blockhead! I'm here, ain't I? There will be shouting and celebrating a victory, and you thought I'd miss it?"

Khorin let her down, and when he moved to make his ambiguous order, Rawley did slap that big ass of his with the flat of her hand, before looking towards Chance again - her grin one of gratitude for fate bringing her more than Iron-Fox. "How's your wingmate, Foxfire? Heard she was beamed to the doctors. Nothing serious I hope?"

When an injured sister Wolf did make it back to the den, they all hoped the den would care for their own. As much as Rawley loathed sickbay after all the time she's spent there, she was no fool. They fixed people, and were quite necessary. Still, didn't stop her from hating their guts when they pulled her off active duty...

She sipped her scotch and looked the Klingon and the woman over, enjoying their company, before turning her head towards the Andorian in the distance. Another face of old. "Blizzard! You giving me a cold shoulder? Come her so that I might slap that fine ass of yours too!"

Oh, but she wouldn’t mind biting the bum of that redhead from the Resolve either, and she raised her scotch towards her as well. All in all, Rawley found herself fortunate, to have a pack such as theirs. Even the blonde Romulan was easy on the eye.

[ Ltjg Jhozahosh “Blizzard” sh’Avhennes | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ]

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Her ale arrived very quickly, and Jhoza examined the bottle with a keen eye. The label promised good things, and she grinned, quickly opening it and pouring some into the tumbler which had accompanied the cobalt drink. She took a deep sniff of the liquid, antennae trembling in anticipation of the consumption of the drink. Not wanting to keep her antennae waiting she quickly knocked back the drink, then bared her teeth as the alcohol burned a pleasant track down her throat. This was infinitely better than the swill she had been drinking moments earlier.

"Blizzard! You giving me a cold shoulder? Come her so that I might slap that fine ass of yours too!"

That voice, she knew that voice. Usually it was her antennae which displayed her emotions, but in this case she allowed a grin to accompany the posture of her antennae as she turned to look at the speaker. ”I’m the coldest lady on the ship Ghost! You should know that!” Jhoza laughed and approached her packmate from the Jadestone. She gripped Rawley’s shoulder firmly, Andorian ale in the other hand. Beside Rawley was another familiar face from the Jadestone, the pilot called Chance. ”You’re drinking the wrong drink here girls! This is what a true warrior reaches for!” She brandished the ale ”Don’t let the Klingons tell you its bloodwine, they’re wrong.”

She pulled up a seat her antennae flicking between the two women as she did so.  ”As for the ass slapping Rawley, you’ll have to take that up with my bondmates when we next see them.” She laughed, antennae almost touching each other, such was her mirth. She placed her tumbler on the bar and began to pour a fresh portion of ale. ”By Uzaveh its good to see the pair of you, who else from Jadestone is here?”

[ Deacon | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage  @The Ostrich  @Numen @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88 

He watched the other nearby patrons congregate and shift, their pairing dancing around one another as deftly and as rowdily as he would expect of fighter pilots.  In that regard, he supposed, they were not so unlike Kzinti warriors.  Perhaps there was something to be said about the simplicity of camaraderie when it came down to combatants.  The rare Kzinti warsage would even wax poetic on such base similarities, often echoing the reported wisdom of alien masters -- Lao Tzu, Kahless, Zoca, Surak... although he supposed some might take offense at being compared to warrior philosophers, but all things considered, it was the highest compliment he could likely give.

Behind his diverted attention, he could hear Taliesin dutifully exchanging the foul beverage he'd sampled for something he hoped to be of more suitable flavor.  He shifted his gaze back towards the bar to find a curious glass containing a mixture of variegated reds, from claret and vermilion to dahlia and coral, with ephemeral cream wisps laced throughout.  He sniffed at it, warily, wondering where the reckless abandon he'd had entered with had slipped away to, curious if his sense of disgust was really that finely honed.

Arching an eyebrow at the holographic bartender, his curiosity was met with a wink, a smile and a snap that transitioned into his finger pointing at the drink with confidence.  Well, he supposed it was feigned confidence, as Taliesin was little more than a simulation, but smug certainty of his quirky smile was oddly infectious.

Deacon propped himself up once more and wrapped his lips around the straw, his nose having assured him that the distinct bite of alcohol was decidedly missing.  The drink was thick, but not such that it was an effort to consume, and the first spark of flavor reached his tongue, bringing a subtle and sweet acidity that seemed to melt into his mouth as quickly as he could draw it in.  There was a curious familiarity.  "Strawberry...?" He cocked his eyebrow once more, glaring his inquiry into the hologram.

"Tastes better, doesn't it?  A little puree of strawberry, a splash of vanilla sweet cream, give it a chill.  Not all bad moods need hard liquor to drown," was the cheeky response, prompting Deacon to narrow his eyes warily before giving a snort of approval and taking another long sip.  "Figured I'd give a glass to the Klingon over there, too, although whether he'll think the berries fought fiercely or not is up for debate."

"Tell him the berries charged unflinchingly into the blades of the blender in the defense of their House.  It was an epic but futile battle that they knew to be hopeless and yet their honor demanded nothing less.  The onions are preparing an opera as we speak," Deacon replied with a smirk.  "It'll make it taste a hundred times better."

[ Lt. JG Donna ‘Chance’ Petterson | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @The Ostrich
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“Rawley always was a blunt talker. Good to know that that hasn’t changed at all,” Donna thought has she sipped her pint. It wasn’t as good as the genuine article, but it was unlikely that she would ever taste that again. Not now.

The full-blooded Klingon’s arrival and greeting of Rawley, was surprising to Donna. While there were half-breeds and other fractions of Klingon-blooded individuals in Starfleet, and the Federation as a whole, full-bloods were more uncommon. Which made his presence on board all the more intriguing. There was a story there to be sure.

“Isel’s alright,” Donna replied evenly to Rawley’s question on her wingmate’s health. She kept her emotions in check, not knowing the squadron’s stance on interpersonal relationships. “Just needs to rest for a bit and she’ll be good to go. Wherever we are going anyway,” Donna remarked, taking another sip of her rum as Rawley called out to Blizzard. Donna smacked herself again for not recognising the Andorian when she had first seen her on the flight deck. It had taken hearing her name to remind her that they had served together on the Jadestone. Who would have thought that the three of them would be together again here?

“No one that I know of, Jhoza,” Donna replied to the Andorian. “But, given everything that has happened so far, it wouldn’t surprise me if more showed up. And I’ll be sticking to my rum, thanks.”

[Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Khorin_Douglas)| Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | In transit to Aldea]
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Att: @Triage @The Ostrich @Griff  @steelphoenix  @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88

It was indeed a delight to be among his pack again. With new faces and old ones. With new acquaintances and old manners. Like that obsession that Ghost had of slap every turgid rear she had within her reach. "Geez, Rawley" he protested with feigned offense "You're such a gropper. How can I keep my virtue next to you?" He bantered while he waitedthat the holographic waiter served him something to cool his throat with. For her part, the tiny human seemed to focus on the pack's new recruits and Khorin gave them some space, letting old friends catch up with each other.

The Andorian joined that group, praising the virtues of blue ale over bloodwine. Khorin chucked softly, shaking his head.  Blizzard had no idea what she was talking about. But it's been so many years since he drank any alcoholic beverage that he wouldn't break his promise that night. Least of all to prove her new packmate wrong.

As he idly thought about it, a tall glass popped up in front of him. It was pink enough to sting his curiosity, but it also emanated a delicious vanilla aroma. Before his correction, he would never have thought twice about it and would have swallowed it in one gulp. But he was worried that the beverage delightful sweetness would be morphed into that earthy taste he was starting to associate with sugar thanks to his new Klingon taste buds. Khorin looked at the waiter and he nodded to the felinoid on the other side of the bar. "He asked me to told you that the berries charged unflinchingly into the blades of the blender in the defense of their House.  It was an epic but futile battle that they knew to be hopeless and yet their honor demanded nothing less.  The onions are preparing an opera as we speak." He explained with a mischievous smile on his lips.

Khorin burst out laughing, some loud and honest belly laughs. He lifted the glass in the direction of his fellow captive, thanking him without words for the present he had offered him. Then he took a tentative drink. It had a point of acidity, a pleasant density. Almost... almost perfect, almost a substitute for the smoothies he loved. But the raspy taste of soil and dust was still there. Khorin couldn't help but sneer and whimper afterwards. "I'll never be able to enjoy my favorite flavours again," he wailed.

[Lt.JG Alessia Garcia – “Angel” (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alessia_Garcia,_callsign_%22Angel%22)  | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Lounge Visitors
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It had been a long day, and while the shower and Rawley's massage after the battle had helped relieve some of her stress, the news she had received after she had left had brought it all back and more. He was dead. Just like that. The soldier part of her knew that that was the risk of the job, hell as a fighter pilot every time she slipped into the cockpit of her Valravn could be her last but for Leon to go out the way he had....she shook her head, not wanting to think about it.

She had just finished beating up a punching bag on the Holodeck, which had at least helped her get her anger out but it had done little to help with her pain and grief. "Deck 28." She ordered as she stepped into the turbolift. The pilot remembered telling Rawley she'd head to the Below Decks Lounge later and getting drunk sounded like a great fucking idea right about now.

Once the turbolift had let her out she made her way down the various corridors until she reached the lounge, taking a look around the room as she entered. She's already spotted Rawley and her fellow Wolf sisters. although she hadn't gotten to know them as well yet and she certainly didn't know the Klingon or the Andorian and sighed, maybe she wouldn't get to completely drown her sorrows after all.

Making her way over to the bar, she nodded at the gathered group before taking a seat at the bar. "Bloodwine." She ordered as she looked towards the bartender "And leave the bottle."She added, the telltale phrase one said, at least on Earth when you planned on drowning your sorrows by drinking a whole bottle of something. She had to hand it to the Klingon's though, if you really wanted to get wasted Bloodwine was certainly strong enough to do the trick and unlike Romulan Ale, it wasn't illegal in the Federation.

[ Ens. Krystal "Meony" Tancredi (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Krystal_Tancredi,_callsign_%22Meony%22) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan, @Steelphoenix, @Griff, @Stegro88, @Numen, @The Ostrich & @Revan
[Show/Hide]It felt good being here. Meony had no regrets now of coming here, and starting up a drinking session with the various pilots that came in. Or the now-altered proprietor of the establishment. She smiled, laughed, toasted and raised glasses with her fellow pilots, and fellow survivors. The thought of the fact that they were survivors, brought to mind afresh, those that were not here. It made her want to laugh, cry, scream, and fall apart, but also race to the top of a mountain and shout out in remembrance of the fallen and in defiance at fate and life. Because she still stood. She still lived.

She was alive.

She looked over at Evelyn Rawley, the nearly-bald woman made Khorin laugh, and the big lug of a Klingon had more laughs when speaking to the holographic waitress. It made her smile. She was on one hand, devastated that he was trapped here too, on the hellship, but on the other, she was so glad to have him here, her heart felt like bursting with the sheer joy of seeing him here. Even though his brow and ridges were now more pronounced, he was still the same Khorin...well, except for one thing.

Her smile dropped when she heard the last bit of what he had to say and she was beside him before anyone knew it, silent and full of concern. Her big brown eyes bored up into his as she gently rested her palm on his shoulder, “Yer taste buds changed?” she asked, her voice soft and full of worry. What else had been taken from him. She was glad that he had someone, and she made a mental note to look up this Zeph, so that she could see this woman for herself and gauge her. But she brought her mind and attention back on the big lug, because she had a mission now, and it was to get him back his proper taste buds. He's not Khorin if he wasn't munching enough candies to send Meony into diabetic shock by sight alone.

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Image of the lounge
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[ Lieutenant JG Evelyn Rawley, callsign "Ghost" (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Evelyn_Rawley,_callsign_%22Ghost%22) | Below Decks | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Lounge Visitors
[Show/Hide]Rawley took a few sauntering steps to meet the Andorian of old when she came over, a grin on her face. She'd shared plenty of patrols with Jhoza, back in the day, and it was no surprise she still preferred the ale native to her people. Of course, there was no slapping Blizzard's bum 'cept when given permission, but it was fun to tease the other pilot. To think, that they were to be sister wolves anew? Unable to help herself, Rawley clapped the Andorian's shoulder. Perhaps the new pack wouldn't be so bad after all?

Donna said the Vulpinian was going to be fine, and that was good to hear. Whatever Miles Renard had done to her, she wasn't the kind to project it upon an entire species, rare as those werefoxes were. "Yeah, 'far as I know, the three of us ought to be the only ones from the Jadestone," she said and sipped her whiskey, looking between the two with a lopsided smile. She wanted to ask how the hell they ended up on the Theurgy for sake of conversation, but she'd already heard the scuttlebutt. "Since you're not flying a Valravn, Chance, I bet the bloody Dauntless needed new fighter pilots for the Black Wolves, right? I've traded torps with the SCO of that squad - Warlock - a couple of times since we fled Earth. Heard he finally bit the dust at the third Rendezvous point, back when you came aboard."

She then looked towards the blue-skinned wolf, gesturing with her glass towards her with a grin. "Shite, since you are flying a Valravn, you must have been at Starbase 84, right? Hope Goldeneye and I didn't scratch the paint on your bird out there, while we took on the Chester." She didn't add that Papa Bear, bless his grumpy soul, had taken the Reaver out for a spin to help them out. They likely had no idea who he was anyway. "In any case, glad you caught up on what's afoot here, Jhoza, so that I can fight alongside you instead."

She caught on to how Hardtop's tastebuds were changed, hearing him wailing at the bar. Before she had the chance to ask if his new forehead had anything to do with it, the hot redhead from the Resolve was there, asking in her stead, so Rawley just listened for a bit, until movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye.

Angel... she thought, seeing her nod towards her and the others, and ordering bloodwine. She looked... crestfallen in a way. Had something happened since their little moment in the sonic showers? She had come after all, but it seemed she was in no mood to celebrate. Rather, it seemed like she wanted to drink to forget. Bollocks, did someone die on her?

She had no idea how right she was, speculating still, and wondering if she ought to try and talk to her. She had listened to her sisters from the Jadestone talking, and gave them a grin. "Speaking of White Wolves," she said and nodded towards Angel. "Not sure what ruffled her fur, but I'm gonna find out. 'See if I can't help her with that frown. Back soon."

On her way over to Angel, she passed Bloodwing - the blonde Romulan - and gave her a glance, deciding that she'd speak to them both. So, Rawley sat down on the barstool right between Garcia and Lillee, trying to strike up conversation with them both. She had no previous affiliation with the two, like with Chance and Blizzard, but being one of the old Lone Wolves - and sorely needing to embrace the new sisters in order to distance herself from the return of Miles bloody Renard - she wasn't about to pass the opportunity to lift squad spirit a bit.

"Bloody hell it's good to still the nerves," she said to them, putting her whiskey down on the bar counter. "t'Jellaieu, I have no idea what you were doing flying shuttles before yesterday. You're a bloody natural, and I bet you have plenty of flight hours under the belt that you're not telling us about. It was a fucking privilege watching you fly."

Rawley then turned her shaved head towards Angel. "You okay, Garcia?" she asked, glancing towards the bottle of bloodwine. "Need any help with that bottle?"

[Lt.JG Alessia Garcia – “Angel” (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alessia_Garcia,_callsign_%22Angel%22)  | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Lounge Visitors
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Alessia had zoned out a little after the bartender had dropped off her Bloodwine and had already made her way through one glass by the time she saw a figure plop down on the stool next to her. Giving a sideways glance, she wasn't entirely surprised to see that it was Rawley who had come over. At least she'd started off talking to Bloodwing before moving on to her. While she appreciated concern she wasn't exactly big on pity either...although she was pretty sure she wouldn't get that from the shaved headed pilot.

When Rawley did eventually turn to her she managed a shrug. "Not really, but I will be." She answered truthfully before smirking at her sister wolf "Well I don't need help finishing the bottle but you're welcome to have some if you wish. Although I'm not entirely sure what the end result of mixing Bloodwine and whiskey will be and I'm not taking the blame for whatever that is, that will be on you. She smiled.

While the loss of Leon hurt, Alessia wasn't the kind of person to bring down everybody else's mood if she could avoid it, and most people here were gathered to have fun and relax after the battle and to take their minds off of everything so she would too. Besides she could still get drunk that she had intended while having some fun doing it.

With a nod of acceptance, more to herself than anybody else, the pilot poured herself another glass and raised it to Rawley with a grin "But hey Chica if you think you can out drink me, you can certainly try."  she said before downing the contents of her glass.

[Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Khorin_Douglas)| Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | In transit to Aldea]
[Show/Hide]Att: @Triage @The Ostrich @Griff  @steelphoenix  @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88 @Revan


When Meony popped up at his side and placed a friendly hand on his back, Khorin turned in his seat to face her. The human looked at him with a worried face, and he reciprocated with a deep sorrowful gaze. It was so intense that it left no room for doubt that the Klingon was overreacting. "That's right," he confirmed with a pitiful whimper. "It seems that one hundred percent Klingon DNA isn't compatible with tasting anything barely sweet. Everything tastes like chewing a handful of soil," he explained to the petite redhead, without going into details of how exactly he knew that a bunch of dirt tasted. Meony had more than enough information about it due their time together at the Academy. They had shared some strange adventures at various points. "What am I going to do now, ginger? I think the diversity in my diet has been reduced to less than half... no breakfasts yumminess, no smoothies, no..." for an moment Khorin just opened and closed his mouth as he pointed to the strawberry vanilla shake resting in front of him at the bar and then to the human on a display of desperate wordlessness. Finally, he ran his hand through the ridged forehead until he tangled his fingers through his wild mane, surrendering himself to the facts.  "I'm afraid I'll have to limit myself to meat and gagh for the rest of my life... at least we can share a plate of Wistan gagh if we ever stop at a Klingon trading post," he suggested to his friend. As he had heard in the starship rumour-mill, the captain had somehow allied himself with the Chancellor, so there were chances that they would visit a Klingon station sooner rather than later. Then there was the issue of the forced refugees who overcrowded the Theurgy's brig, who would have to be released at some point. Whatever it was, Krystal could soon be invited to a full-klingon meal. He knew she loved that food... more or less.

Behind his back, he noted that a new customer arrived at the lounge and that, like most of those who spent time around the bar, she also wore a white collared uniform. It seemed that they were really gathering the whole pack in there, both known and unknown faces. Curiously, this last group surpassed widely the known ones. Khorin barely took a casual glimpse at the new human female, until her clear voice asked for something. Something more than familiar. Bloodwine. He hadn't had a glass in ages, but it still sounded like a perfect choice. When the holographic waitress opened the bottle, the pilot took a deep breath, sniffing the familiar fragrance. His new senses gave the bloodwine's scent a new depth and, for a few seconds, he was tempted to ask for a glass for it. But he soon dismissed the idea. He had made a promise, and he was going to keep it. "Look Krystal, it seems the pack has some wolves with fine taste," he said aloud pointing a thick finger at the little pilot. "At least better than Blizzard's" he teased looking at the Andorian pilot. Then before the blue woman could reply anythig, he rushed to look for the waitress and wave his arm to get her attention. "Come on lady, lighten the mood a bit, put on some music. How about some Gav'ot toH'va or Shevok'tah gish?" he suggested.

---

Wistan gagh (https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Gagh) → variety of gagh which was packed in targ blood

Gav'ot toH'va  & Shevok'tah gish → klingon operas

[ Deacon | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage  @The Ostrich  @Numen @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88 @Revan 

Deacon watched the Klingon's reaction with a faint amount of curiosity.  Even off duty and with weightier thoughts to dominate his thoughts, there was a certain amount of professional interest that he could not suppress.  Perhaps it was the need for some small victory in the face of everything they'd encountered over the past week?  Or was it the challenge of circumventing the afflictions the Savi has unleashed.

Whatever the case, the drink had not quite fulfilled its purpose, prompting Deacon to analyze his own drink with a critical palate.  There was some small amount of added sugar, he could tell, but nothing overt as Deacon himself didn't care for excessive sweets.  It could have been the sugar itself, or perhaps the vanilla.  He doubted the the strawberries could be at fault as fermentation demanded some level of sugar content and nothing so defined the Klingon gastronomic experience as fermentation.  Well, fermentation and eating something still intent on climbing off the plate.  In the latter regard, they were not wholly dissimilar from Kzinti.

With a wave of his tail, he motioned for Taliesin's attention.  "Sorry boss.  Doesn't look like it was a screaming success," the hologram offered with a wry shrug.

"If your first attempt had been flawless, that would've made you a mind reader," Deacon replied with a sidewards glare.  "I hate mind readers."

The hologram had no ready retort.  It was more a rhetorical exercise than anything and hardly warranted a response.

"Prepare three more versions, no added sugar for any.  In the first, include a dash of salt. In the second, beets and carrot, finely mashed to match the consistency.  Last, milk -- Klingon breast milk, replicated unless you've acquired some new resources I'd rather no know about."  Again, his comment was punctuated by an almost accusatory glare that was rapidly dismissed.  "Each should offer a different sweetness qualifier and it should help us narrow down whether his issue is true sugar or any derivative there-of."

The rest, blessedly, seemed content with the standard fair of inebriates.

[ Ens. Krystal "Meony" Tancredi (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Krystal_Tancredi,_callsign_%22Meony%22) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan, @Steelphoenix, @Griff, @Stegro88, @Numen, @The Ostrich & @Revan
[Show/Hide]Meony felt bad for Khorin. Those Savi had done a number on him, near as she could tell. She also felt a bit guilty that she wasn't there to help him. Although they'd had different assignments after the academy, they promised to have each other's backs, always. She had promised Heather Douglas, and what good was she if she wasn't good on her word? Khorin...all the memories came racing back to her, the good, the bad, the ridiculous, and the just plain stupid. There were funny and wonderful moments too, in between. In many ways, Khorin had as much to do with taming the worst of Meony's tendencies, mostly because he was even crazier and wilder, especially on Sugar Sundays...Dear God...Sugar Sundays. Meony literally marked her calendars on those dates, and had a campus Dasher on standby to chase him down with.

And now? He was a friggin' full blooded Klingon, and misery be, he couldn't enjoy his favourite foods any longer. When he looked at her with those eyes. She had wrapped her arms around him again, leaning in to him, but also letting him lean on her.

When he went into a sort of despair, though, making quitter talk, the little redhead noticeably stiffened, and her grip became less comforting, though she didn't really move beyond that. He got distracted by someone ordering bloodwine, and he pointed her out to Meony. She recognized Alessia, having flown with her during the first sortie with the Savi. She was a great gal all round, so it's no surprise she had great taste too. But she wasn't gonna let her boy off the hook so easily. She needed to set his head straight and Meony was the one to do it. First though, she had to avert disaster once again.

“Oh hell no!” said the pilot, and she hastily pointed at the waitress, “Ya just leave th' damn music as is raht now, an' you, Khorin Douglas, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai, ya bring up that request ever again, an' Ah'll tell everyone abou' how ya know 'bout th' taste o' armpit!”

She rolled her eyes as she pulled herself out of her embrace with him, “Gav'ot toH'va  & Shevok'tah gish! Saints, man! An' anotha thing...”

She swatted him over the head with the force of a newborn kitten. It wasn't so much the force of the impact as much as it was the action itself, “Ah don't wanna hear no more quitter talk 'bout no longer tastin' yer favourite stuff. We're gonna find a way, 'kay? Bah thundah, if we 'ave to, we're gonna go after them Savi an' kick down their doors and make 'em do raht bah ya. Nobody messes with Khorin an' gets away wi' it, not as long as Ah'm around!”

---

Image of the lounge
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[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lillee_t%27Jellaieu) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage, @Auctor Lucan, @Revan

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It was a full blown party now, the kind of post-battle release that inevitably ended up devolving into an alcohol-fuelled celebration that would embarrass most Marines. Without even quite noticing, Lillee found herself already on her second bottle and sitting next to...what was her self-name? Alison? Alice? No...no. Alessia. The bold woman. Beautiful and fiery plus a capable warrior in the cockpit, but she clearly had weight on her shoulders and was releasing that weight, one gulp of bloodwine at a time.

Lillee could hardly blame the human since she was doing the exact same thing. The first bottle had been Andorian vodka, but the second was strange. There was Rihannsu script on the label, but it claimed to be made in Russia somehow, despite how impossible that was. But then again, was it impossible? Everything was made in Russia, after all. Lillee found herself snickering under her breath at her own poor joke. She liked the Russians.

Ah, she and Alessia seemed destined to be drinking buddies tonight, if not very sociable ones. Alessia seemed to be drinking to release her pain while Lillee was drinking to break her bone-deep weariness, but they were together all the same. Then another woman appeared, however, and Lillee flashed the newcomer a smile. She flicked back some of her blonde hair as Rawley spoke.

"There is much that you don't know about me, Rawley," she replied with a crafty smirk. "That's how I prefer it. And it is always a privilege to watch me fly, girl, but you were not too bad yourself. You have earned your callsign."

Then Alessia and Rawley bantered, and Lillee took the opportunity to down another glass. She felt an truly epic night coming on now, a night like such that she had not indulged in since before she'd been pregnant with the twins, but she didn't try to reign herself in. Nearby, the weird Klingon seemed to be being fawned over by the strange speaking redhead, and Lillee had to restrain a giggle at the ridiculousness of it.

"Ambitious are we, no?" Lillee then teased Alessia and Rawley, raising her own full glass of vodka in mock salute. The typically elegant Romulan made an odd sight in her comfortable grey sweats, her long blonde hair askew over one shoulder, but she didn't seem to care in the slightest for her visage. "But tonight, it is fair, because we've earned a drink. A lot of drinks." She grinned and downed a glass of vodka with relish that would shame any Russian before regarding her companions anew.

"Forget flying," she said, still looking at her companions with a smile. "When was the last time either of you really cut loose, hm?"

[ Lt. JG Donna ‘Chance’ Petterson | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]
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“I’m starting to think this wasn’t a good idea,” Donna thought to herself as she downed some more rum while Rawley replied to her. She’d had just about enough of meeting old friends. She was beginning to think that some of her old missions undercover were preferable to this. “At least when they were done, I could disappear and be forgotten. Not this time.”

“That’s about the measure of it,” Donna replied to Rawley’s supposition of the Black Wolves needing pilots. “Warlock was an ass though. Not sure who got him in the end but that’s one pilot I’m not sad to see go. He had the skills but not the mindset.”

“Is that even the right thing to say? Everything about this is messed up. We’re supposed to protect the Federation from its enemies. But what do you do when you no longer know who the enemy is anymore?” Donna wondered before downing that last of her rum.

“Reload,” Donna requested and once her second pint had arrived, the former/current intelligence operative moved away from the bay to stand in one of the far corners of the room, gazing out at the passing stars. She knew that this gathering was a way for all the pilots to bond and strengthen unit cohesion but at that moment, Donna didn’t feel much like bonding. She had too much on her mind.

That wasn’t to say that she would turn away anyone that came over to her, but she wasn’t in the mood to push into groups of people that she didn’t know beyond an intelligence briefing. 

[Lt.JG Alessia Garcia – “Angel” (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alessia_Garcia,_callsign_%22Angel%22)  | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]
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Listening to the exchange between Rawley and Petterson, Alessia downed the rest of her glass of Bloodwine and refilled it, taking another succession of gulps. While she wasn't really saying much, the pilot was listening to some of the conversations around her just in case she was pulled into a conversation, it would be good for her to actually know what people were talking about. As she sat there however, she heard the Klingon say loudly something about having good taste and looked over at the man, with a grin and raised her glass in his direction. "Damn right I do big guy, you Klingons certainly know how to make good, strong drinks." she smiled.

After that very brief exchange of words with the hulking warrior, Alessia found herself quieting again for the most part, returning her attention to the aforementioned Bloodwine, although she would occasionally interject in the conversation with Rawley, although not too often as her mind wandered back to her friends and her losses. "War Is Hell" as the old Earth saying goes and she knew the risks, but to lose two of her best friends in one foul swoop on top of their whole situation were two hits she couldn't really take right now. Taking another couple of gulps, she sighed quietly to herself. Losing Leon was hard but it was something she probably would have been able to deal with, it would have been hard but she would have been able to deal, especially since her other best friend, Logan had finally come to his senses and joined them as he would have been the one she would have gone to instead of hitting the bar.

She shook her head as she thought about the hotshot pilot. Originally, she had hated that he hadn't joined them...joined her when they had defected during the battle at the Starbase but had been relieved when she saw him during their briefing before the last battle. She hadn't gotten to talk to him before the fight and find out how he managed to be there and the next time she saw him, he was barely conscious and badly wounded in his equally broken Valravn after the battle.

After getting the news about Leon she'd gone down to sickbay to find out how he and his RIO Zeke were doing only to be told that they had both been put in stasis due to their injuries. That was it. That was the blow that had, if she was being entirely honest with herself not broken her but at least beat her down enough to bring her down here to drown her sorrows, after all what else could you do when you suffer a tragedy and the only person you wanted to confide in was damn near dead as well. "Todavía está vivo, idiota" she thought to herself before taking another gulp of her drink.

Alessia wasn’t entirely sure when the other person had sat next to her of if she had actually been there and Alessia had been the one to sit next to her, which was entirely possible given how inside her own head she had been when she stepped in here, but glancing out of the corner of her eye at the female Romulan, she immediately noticed the woman knocking back her own drinks much in the same way she herself was. Evidently if things continued the way they were on the flight path to being drinking buddies tonight, albeit not very talkative ones.

When the woman started talking to Rawley, Alessia glanced over at her and narrowed her eyes slightly as she tried to recall the woman’s name…Lacy…Laurel…she knew it started with an L and was very human sounding for a Romulan but she couldn’t put her finger on it…Lilly? Yes Lilly that was it, although she was pretty sure that wasn’t how the Romulan spelt it but that’s definitely what it sounded like.

At Lillee's comment about how it was always a privilege to watch her fly, Alessia couldn’t help but chuckle, that level of jovial confidence/arrogance while certainly something a lot of pilots shared had sounded exactly like something Logan would say which the Latina found quite funny.

“You sound like Wraith saying that, the two of you will get along great once he eventually gets his ass out of stasis.” She said with a grin. If he ever gets out of stasis a little voice in the back of her mind said, causing her to shake her head in an attempt to banish the thought, instead turning her attention back to the conversation and glanced over at Rawley.

“She is right though about the whole earning your callsign…or at least keeping it anyway.” she replied before taking another sip of her drink and turning her attention back to Lillee. “Although what about me hmmm? Have you seen me do something to earn my callsign?” She asked with smirk.

Alessia raised her own glass of Bloodwine in mock salute with Lillee and nodded in agreement “That we certainly have my friend, that we have.” as she too knocked back another shot of Bloodwine, while watching the Romulan down her glass of vodka in a manner that would make a Russian hang their head in shame in comparison, which was impressive.

At Lillee’s question about when was the last time they either Rawley or herself had really cut loose, the Latina smirked “Well that first depends on what you mean by really cutting loose now, doesn’t it?”

---

OOC: "Todavía está vivo, idiota" = He is still alive, Idiot

[Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Khorin_Douglas)| Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | In transit to Aldea]
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Att: @Triage @The Ostrich @Griff  @steelphoenix  @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88 @Revan

When Meony hugged him, Khorin felt he was at home, somehow. The redhead was one of her oldest friends and they had shared many things in the Academy. Besides, at the end of the day he was a real hug-monster and she knew it. However, that moment was short-lived, since at his suggestion that the loudspeakers in the lounge should play a little Klingon opera, the Texan rushed to cancel the request. "Hey," he barked with an offended expression, "Those are two of the best pieces ever written!" he assured. However, before he could continue with his protest, Krystal brought up a rather unepic event from their shared background. One that rather fell into the category of shameful and embarrassing.

"Ok, ok, missy, save the gunnery for later," he tried to appease her, his hands in front of his body as if he were trying to tame a wild animal. But his defensive stance was in stark contrast to the wide grin on his face. "Even though you have to admit that you HAD SING an aria of Shevok'tah gish with me some time ago... no matter how much you hate to remember it..." He bantered with a shit-eating expression etched on his angular face. He didn't keep teasing her for long, as a new glass of milkshake appeared in front of him and Khorin interrupted it all to taste a quick gulp. Unfortunately the tantalizing pink liquid hid a salty, acidic taste which, mixed with the everlasting earthy flavour, contorted his face in a grimace of disgust. "What kind of veQ is this?" he grunted under his breath, pushing the glass back to the waiter. The pixie-looking hologram appeared quickly to take the discarded shake, replacing it with a new glass of a more colorful tone. Khorin looked at it with some hesitation before approaching it slightly, but without tasting it. He would need a few minutes to take away the disgusting taste of the previous one from his mouth.

Just then, Krystal hit him right in his new ridges. It wasn't a hard blow, the Texan had always been more known for her determination to destroy something than for her physical strengthto do so. After all, Khorin was the brute force of the duo..... so Tancredi was the brain. Or something like that. Even despite the faint force of the blow, his previous 'meeting' with Micka sparked a burst of pain across his forehead. "Easy, missy, easy, this ridges are brand new, don't screw them up," he complained, half kidding as he took the redhead's wrists away from her aching head. Despite this, he straightened his back and looked at his friend with a slightly more serious expression. "Okay, okay, okay, we'll see what we can do. But I refuse to go through more labs. I've had more than enough with those bulb-heads' ones, Ginger," he said uncompromisingly, with his loudest tone. The one of making promises or declaring that more sugar was needed in a breakfast. To emphasize his phrase he gave a drink to his new milkshake. It tasted... better. Infinitely better than the previous one. Khorin felt bold enough to have a second sip... and the earthy aftertaste came back again, as acute as the first mix. The Klingon sighed in frustration and, with a sudden impulse, threw the glass at the hologram. The cup passed through the waiter and crashed to the floor at his back, shattering into a thousand pieces dyed bright pink. "Hey! Stop bringing me shit and pour me something edible now!" he barked.

Taliesin hastened to bring a new glass, so quickly that it was clear he must have prepared it beforehand, and deposited it in front of Khorin. The pilot looked at the glass cautiously. Then he stared at the hologram, which shrugged with a sly grin on his lips as he pointed at the felinoid in the other end of the bar. Khorin exchanged a look at him, frowning his thick eyebrows even more... and gave the milkshake a swig. The earthy taste was still there, but it was so faint that it was almost tolerable. And there was a very light, sweet tone in that concoction, something he had been afraid he would never be able to enjoy again in his life.  "Ha! Qapla!"  he eagerly exclaimed, just before he swallowed the beverage in one long gulp. It was a small victory, but a victory after all.

---

veQ → garbage

[ Lieutenant JG Evelyn Rawley, callsign "Ghost" (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Evelyn_Rawley,_callsign_%22Ghost%22) | Below Decks | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Lounge Visitors
[Show/Hide]Ah, so the Romulan with the fair complexion was a secretive one? Be that as it may, Bloodwing had more than earned her respect as far as Rawley was concerned, and merely chuckled when the compliment was returned. "Truth be told, I earned my callsign since I should be dead already. I have the scars to prove it. Yet here I am, still shooting wankers in my way."

Angel, on Rawley's other side, had admitted to not being in great shape, and that she needed no help finishing her bottle. Still, she wasn't opposed to sharing, which was a sign good enough for Rawley to stay rather than piss off and let Garcia drink her laments away. "Who cares about the end result? That's woes for the morrow, not tonight," she said with a lopsided grin at the mention of mixing scotch and bloodwine. Still, she let Alessia keep her bottle for the time being, rather preferring the challenge offered next. "Oh, you may judge me by my height, but this liver earned my callsign before me. You'll find me here all night lest something lures me away."

While Lillee and Alessia spoke of Wraith from the White Wolves and about Angel's callsign, Rawley had glanced around the lounge to see Khorin being unhappy with his drinking, but paid little attention to it. The women closest to her drew her interest, and the Romulan had the right sprit, saying they'd earned to drink. "We bloody well ought to, right?" said Rawley after Garcia had agreed with the sentiment, chuckling before she sipped her whiskey, leaning a bit back in her chair. "We smashed a Borg cube from inside and lived to tell the tale."

"Forget flying, when was the last time either of you really cut loose, hm?"

Angel might have asked what Bloodwing meant, but Rawley sure had her own interpretation. "Holo-shoreleave for me, a couple of weeks back. Almost the whole bloody crew was taking the opportunity when we could. Got totally pissed on high grade alcohol. Fucked the Chief of the Deck, woke up next morning with little to no memories of what happened next. My wingmate found me in my quarters and I think I might have had at least one more bedfellow in there, but I still have no bloody idea who they were. Guys or girls, they'd already left, leaving me feeling real good aside from the bloody headache. Memories still surface from that night now and then. Songs and smiles. Dancing and careless joy. Hell of a ride."

She sipped her scotch again with a grin. "As for cutting loose, I think that ought to qualify, right? At least for me."

[Lt.JG Alessia Garcia – “Angel” (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alessia_Garcia,_callsign_%22Angel%22)  | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Griff + Lounge Visitors
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Alessia knocked back another of glass of Bloodwine and poured herself another one, noticing that she'd downed almost a third of the bottle at this point and she was certainly starting to feel the effects. Not entirely drunk by a long shot but she definitely had that slight buzz feeling going as she listened to Rawley talk about her last shore leave and nodded. Of course she'd ended up getting laid and with potentially more than one person it might have seemed.

While Angel was certainly getting a buzz going, it hadn't yet started killing the internal pain she was feeling which was the whole point. She'd definitely lost one important man in her life and she might well be losing another. Physical pain was one thing, Alessia could deal with that, emotional pain however was something else entirely so the sooner the alcohol started doing it's job and killing those feelings the better. Chugging down the contents of her glass to speed up the process, she reached for the bottle of Bloodwine and picked it up before freezing.

"What the fuck are you doing? The smarter part of her brain said as she stared at the bottle. "You're a recovering alcoholic remember. The drinking, the partying, the almost getting kicked out of the Academy...all because of the drinking. You went to rehab, got sober and made a vow never to drink again, for Jonas. Any of this ringing any bells? Her inner monologue continued.

Remaining silent for god only knows how long, the pilot stared at the bottle. Her inner voice was right, she had had a problem and it had nearly got her kicked out and she did indeed didn't want to disappoint her brother. But her reason for drinking now was the same reason it had been then, the pain of losing someone she cared about. First her brother and now Leon and Logan, at least for now with the latter and that pain just like with Jonas was too much for her bare right now. With a shrug she poured herself another glass and chugged it down.

Ignoring the part of her brain telling her to stop drinking before she fell off the wagon even more than she already had, she smirked and looked at Rawley and Lillee "Well if that's what you meant by really cutting loose then I've got plenty of those. I was quite the party animal back in the day. Booze, parties you name it. There was one night I had that was so great I don't remember it to this day, just remember waking up in the morning tangled up in bed, naked with four guys, three girls and coated in dried cum. My first eight way, shame I don't remember much about it but given the state of my body and the fact it was a little hard to walk after I know it was really great time." She grinned. "That ought to qualify I'd say." She added as she gulped down a few sips of her Bloodwine and turned to look at Lillee.

"What about you Chica? We've spilled the beans, I'd say it's your turn now."

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lillee_t%27Jellaieu) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage, @Auctor Lucan, @Revan

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First Evelyn happily talked about her drunken tryst from two weeks past, and Lillee giggled in her belly as she took another deep swig of her...whatever it was. The weird bastard fusion of Earth vodka and Rihannsu canlo grape ale was surprisingly smooth, and Lillee enjoyed the sharp, aromatic drink with relish. Evelyn was a rough-and-ready sort, and as coarse and uncultured as the girl was, Lillee giggled all the same.

And then, as if to top her, Alessia talked about her own adventures in the distant past. Lillee stared at her fellow pilot in disbelief, her half-empty glass frozen halfway to her mouth. What kind of sexual insanity did this human engage in!? It was impressive in a way, but still...wow! A part of Lillee recoiled at the barbaric rutting, but after so many drinks, she didn't care.

And then the question was flipped, and Lillee grinned as she finished yet another glass of amber ale-vodka. "I don't know if I can match you two!" she joked. "I have had little time for such ridiculousness since my children were born. When I was with the Navy, though...the Romulan Star Navy, you understand. Oh, we partied, girls!"

As if to emphasise her point, Lillee started to fill her glass again and then immediately took a sip, smiling at the taste. "On warbirds...well, most warbirds, not all, there's always some fool commander with his brain in his ass...there are facilities, yes? Recreational facilities, bars, large baths, much like this ship. But we Rihannsu have traditions as well. Before a battle, we celebrate. We spar, we drink, we release our tension. On this one night before we struck a band of Klingon pirates, we pilots and some engineers were in the gymnasium. We were all far too drunk, fighting and wrestling in the ring, sometimes two versus two, three versus three, shouting, drinking, singing...it was a wonderful night."

She paused, considering, then flashed an amused grin at Alessia. "I am no different to you, am I? I was with two people that night too, in the gym showers. My wingmate and I had been at each other's throats for weeks, so we fought it out in the ring that night to release our tension. Afterwards we were washing off and an engineer walked in...a beautiful dark-skinned Rihannsu, a wonderfully strong man, and he guided me into such glorious orgasms that night."

Grinning, this time at the pleasant memory, Lillee swept her blonde hair back behind her shoulder. "The ship surgeon treated us all the next morning, of course, with no questions asked. It is tradition. And we slaughtered those filthy pirates without a single casualty the next day. Those were good times."

[ Lieutenant JG Evelyn Rawley, callsign "Ghost" (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Evelyn_Rawley,_callsign_%22Ghost%22) | Below Decks | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: Lounge Visitors
[Show/Hide]Oh, it certainly seemed like the two other women at the bar counter knew how to cut loose. While Angel and Bloodwing recited their adventures, Rawley had been chuckling and laughing, enjoying herself thoroughly in imagining the two occasions respectively. Was she imagining it, or was it getting a bit hot Below Decks? She wasn't the kind to blush. She rather made rueful sounds at the base of her throat at certain parts of the adventures described.

When Lillee mentioned showers, Rawley couldn't help but give a knowing glance towards Garcia - their post-battle massage in the sonic waves on her mind. Since the woman had been a bit down upon arrival to the bar, Rawley thought she might have lost someone in the battle or something, so she bit her tongue to keep herself from saying something unwanted. Instead, she just turned her head to Lillee instead.

"Can't say I've had the privilege to make a full inspection, but damn, if I were a mother I'd kill for your figure," she said with a grin and realised that if the fair Romulan had kids, they might be young, and that meant they were back home somewhere - unaware of their mother's innocence. It was a bloody fucked up thing, what the Infested had put them through, and the way the Federation News Service made monsters of them all. She'd lost her own parents when she was young, and she could but imagined what it would be like to learn that they were traitors instead... Question was, was it a topic she wanted to subject Bloodwing to? No, better shift back to something lighter.

"I hope the squad can unwind tonight. We sure need it," she said, and turned back to Angel with a grin. "Can I have some of that Bloodwine? I'm fresh out of scotch."

She nudged her glass over to Garcia, and then found herself, looking at Lillee again, wondering what it might take to get a full inspection... Perhaps she might have looked a bit too long, because she felt like she had to say something more. "Never had a Romulan man before, shower or not. Nor a woman." She grinned to the woman. "Have I missed anything?"

[Lt.JG Alessia Garcia – “Angel” (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alessia_Garcia,_callsign_%22Angel%22)  | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Griff + Lounge Visitors
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Alessia had watched Lillee's reaction to her story and could help but smile as she told it and how her glass had frozen half way towards her lips and had stayed there throughout the whole tale. When the Romulan started regaling them with her own tale, Alessia listened intently and had to admit life on a Warbird was something Alessia could probably get used to, it kind of sounded like her kind of place from what her sister wolf had described. Fighting, singing, dancing all sounded like fun to her.

She watched as Lillee flashed her an amused grin and told her that she was no different to her and smiled, giving the woman a nod of agreement but remained silent to avoid interrupting the woman as she continued speaking. At the mention of showers, she couldn't help but glance over at Rawley, who had glanced over at her at the same time. The two women sharing a knowing glance considering their own encounter in showers earlier that day, the Spaniard giving her a sly grin before returning her attention to Lillee.

When she had finished speaking, the talk of the three women's....relaxations of the past had her mind drawing up some mental images she didn't exactly object too. Taking another few sips of her Bloodwine she chuckled. "Fun party, fun fucking, some glorious orgasms and winning the fight....sounds like a great time to me." Alessia said, raising her glass to her Romulan sister. "Also for the record that 8 way was the only time I've ever done anything like that, if I hadn't been so drunk I wouldn't have done it... she added before pausing for a moment and grinning. ...Probably."

The Latina went quiet again, listening as Rawley chimed in and had to nod in agreement at the woman's comment about Lillee's body. "I would have to agree. she said as she glanced over at Lillee "I hope that if I ever have kids one day, my figure holds up like that. Might have to call you and get your secret." she added with a grin.

At Rawley's comment that she hoped the squad could unwind she nodded "Here, here, that was a....rough one." she muttered, her eyes on her glass. When Rawley asked if she could have some Bloodwine she looked at the woman, then to the bottle and back again, returning her grin with one of her own "The bottle isn't empty yet." she said and reached for is as Rawley nudged her glass towards her.

Pouring her a glass, she filled it most of the way up figuring the shaved headed woman wouldn't have it any other way and slid the glass back and chuckled at the woman's comment about never having had a Romulan man or woman before and turned back to Lillee, an almost matching grin on her own face. "Me neither, although I have had a Vulcan once but I imagine there are some difference there too...at least I hope so." Garcia said with a smirk.

[ Ens. Krystal "Meony" Tancredi (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Krystal_Tancredi,_callsign_%22Meony%22) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan, @Steelphoenix, @Griff, @Stegro88, @Numen, @The Ostrich & @Revan
[Show/Hide]“Don't Ah know it...” said Meony dryly as she rubbed absent-mindedly at her throat, remembering the effort she had to put out to match the vocals truly needed to sing a Klingon Opera. She never appreciated the raw power in true Klingons until that day, especially when the term "everything's a battle" was found to be no lie where Klingons were concerned. Even their songs took effort and a struggle to successfully achieve. Maybe that was the whole point. It couldn't be because the songs sounded melodious to them. Maybe the whole point was to see who could tear their own voices apart without losing it to see who won?

She patted Khorin on the shoulder when he expressed a lack of desire to be subjected to any lab again, and she could sort of understand. It wasn't like she didn't get her share of being used as a lab rat by hostile beings in Hell Sector. Half of them seemed to have torture labs where they experimented and uncovered new and more brutal ways to inflict suffering. How could any society or culture thrive on such activity?

“Be nahs, Khor, we only got 'em for Lord knows 'ow long,” said Meony with a roll of her eyes at her friend's antics trying to find something he could enjoy. “we'll fahnd ya somethin' ya cain enjoah...”

And at his shout of success in Klingon, she looked at what he just drank, and swiped the concoction out of his hands. Just how strong did it have to b...? She took one sniff and exclaimed, “YEEAOW!”

Her eyes went crossed and she shook her head from the sheer sensation of diabetes. She thought he was bad before, but if it took this much sugar to suit his taste, she could go into anaphylactic shock just from being around him. But his elation still made her smile and she sat down near him, blending herself into the group, enjoying their company and the conversations that flowed around. This was as close to happiness as she could get, and she would take it.

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PS: Last post for me with Meony here, but this thread remains open for everyone else who wishes to continue. Thank you for writing here. Peace, and long life!

[Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Khorin_Douglas)| Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | In transit to Aldea]
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Att: @Triage @The Ostrich @Griff  @steelphoenix  @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88 @Revan

Khorin laughed loudly when, after stealing that shake that his taste buds somehow didn't hate, she yelled out in manifest displeasure. She deserved it. After all, whatever that was, it was the only sugary thing he had been able to taste since his Correction. By the Texan's expression, if he had his sense of taste as he should, he would have adored it. It must have been worthy of a Sugar Sunday, one of those days when he skipped his protein and sugar diet and simply took pleasure in consuming as much sugary food as he was able to manage. What it was... an impressive amount. More than once, those Sundays had ended with a sugar rush and a very angry Krystal trying to stop a Klingon running amok through the Academy corridors, unaware of any obstacles that stood in his way. Basically passing over or through whatever stood between him and his target.

This memory only made the Klingon laugh again and pass a thick arm over the tiny figure of his friend. "Well, Ginger, lemme tell you about this girl..." he began to say, in a conspiratorial tone.

The rest of the evening went by amid laughing, jokes and confidences. However, when Khorin finished the third round of whatever the felinoid had replicated for him, the pilot realized that his head was more in the plans of what he wanted to do, than at the present time. At the end of the day his move to Zephyr's quarters was half done and he still had a lot to prepare. And he really wanted to be alone with the betazoid. He was excted and afraid of the perspectiv, and how she would react to his proposition. Khorin was a social animal but, at that time, his heart longed for only one person. So, at a time when the attention of the pack was focused on another wolf, Khorin left the lounge discreetly. Or as discreetly as a Klingon of almost two meters could be.

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OOC: This is Khorin's last post in this thread, it has been a pleasure :D

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lillee_t%27Jellaieu) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage, @Auctor Lucan, @Revan

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Inebriated as she was, it took Lillee a few moments than it should have to catch on to how the other two women were looking at her. Her cheeks flushed green and she grinned again, amused (and more than a little flattered) at the attention. With a conspiratorial grin, she leaned in towards Alessia and Evelyn.

"Vulcans are fun," she explained quietly, "but they don't really have an off-switch. They're so passionate in bed but most of them are so clumsy too, and they can never just go slow. It always has to be hard and quick, direct to the finish and that can be good at times, but they just don't have any control." Lillee abruptly glanced around the threesome, checking that nobody was eavesdropping before returning to their impromptu huddle. "We Rihannsu, though, we learn to use our passions, not restrain them. It varies by who you are with, but when you find someone who really knows what they are doing...someone who knows all the right spots, who can really work the ears and hands...that, girls, is a divine experience. The Rihannsu have had two thousand years to perfect the art of sex, and we are fantastic at it! Far superior to any Vulcan!"

Lillee giggled at her own boast, now thoroughly tipsy. She merrily poured another glass, the amber liquid flowing noisily, then scowled as the bottle emptied. Taking another long, hearty drink, she sighed in appreciation before refocusing on her new friends with a content smile. Now, the blonde Romulan didn't say any more. She simply gazed at the two women; Alessia, passionate and fiery...Evelyn, coarse and rough. Good drinking partners. Good pilots. Good women.

[ Deacon | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage  @The Ostrich  @Numen @Auctor Lucan  @Stegro88 @Revan 

Deacon watched as the concoctions he'd proposed for the Klingon had been sampled, noting with a critical eye how each was received and how readily Taliesin proceeded to the next.  The third seemed to meet with some initial skepticism but ultimately what appeared to be success -- at least as far as the Klingon was concerned.  His human companion seemed less impressed, but it wasn't a puzzle for her.  She'd likely be able to tolerate the standard drink and that was of no particular challenge.

But he had seen the opportunity presented by the Savi tampering and he'd overcome it.  It was a small victory that no one in particular had placed before him, but it was one to which he was particularly suited and he had to admit, it was one that, under the circumstances, gave him an immense amount of pleasure to overcome. 

Looking down at his hands, wrapped as they were, he took a deep breath.  They may be monkey hands underneath, but at least the doctors had been able to restore his claws to a limited capacity.  Retract, they would not, but he would not be as virtually defenseless as he had felt in the Savi simulation.  He'd been taught to rely on his claws in combat when necessary, so if he could have nothing else, he had the weapons at his disposal to feel secure.  And K'Ren, despite her wounds, was back in the care of the pride-- people who seemed to care for her well being in a manner less as a matter of scientific curiosity and more of general well being.

Leaning forward, he took another sip from his glass, before slowly sliding it away and sliding down from his seat.  Accomplishment clashed with fatigue.  It had been a long day... a long several days... and he was fighting what his body was naturally inclined to do.  With a nod towards Xenia, he headed towards the path that had become most comfortable to him in his short time on ship.  "Turning in boss?"

The inquiry was met with a nod and a lazy wave over his shoulder.  In the morning, they said he could remove the bandages.  Frankly, he couldn't wait, but tonight, he couldn't be bothered to concern himself with whether he slept his is clothes or not.  Tonight, he just wanted to sleep.

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OOC: Deacon heads to his current quarters and retires to bed for the night.

[Lt.JG Alessia Garcia – “Angel” (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alessia_Garcia,_callsign_%22Angel%22)  | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Griff + Lounge Visitors
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Given the length of time it seemed to take Lillee to actually notice the fact that both her and Rawley were looking at her, Alessia was starting to feel a little like a pervert and that maybe she should break her eye contact, even if it was just briefly. Before she could actually make a decision on that however, the Romulan woman's face blushed green in what Alessia assumed was a blush and grinned at them both before leaning in with a conspiratorial grin which instinctually made Alessia lean forward slightly towards her as well, not that she probably needed too had the pilot given it any thought.

The first thing Alessia noted was that Lillee had been with a Vulcan before and couldn't help but wonder when that had happened and how. While Vulcan's and Romulans shared ancestry, it wasn't a secret that the two species didn't always see eye to eye, although thinking about it the same could said for Romulans and a lot of species in the quadrant too. The second thing Alessia noted was that she was nodding her head in agreement at everything her sister Wolf was saying about Vulcan sexual habits as that had been her experience as well.

 However before Alessia could say anything, Lillee glanced around their little trio as if to make sure nobody else was listening in before returning her attention to them and launching into a mini-speech about how Romulans use their passions in sex and how focussing on the hands and ears could really do something to them, something Alessia didn't know, having never been with a Romulan before, but filed away in her memory banks just in case. However that quickly ended when Lillee finished with a not so humble brag about how great Romulans were at sex.

Remaining silent, Alessia watched as Lillee giggled before pouring herself another glass, clearly tipsy now, possibly more so than either herself or Rawley but felt bad for the woman when she ran out of booze based on the scowl she gave the bottle, as if it was the bottle's fault, poor bottle. Then, like how Rawley and herself had stared at her, Lillee returned the gesture and ended up gazing back at them.

"Uh... Alessia muttered, glancing over at Rawley for a second before turning her attention back to Lillee "Well damn girl, now I'm going to have to find myself a Romulan one day and experience this fantastic sex based on that!." she exclaimed as she reached for her glass of Bloodwine and downed it.

"I do have to agree with you when it comes to the Vulcan's though, my experience was similar. she said with a nod before smirking "Then again they do only do it every seven years, so I guess I can't really blame them for being so...enthusiastic, especially the men, seven years of blue balls is quite the build up." she chuckled. 

[ Lieutenant JG Evelyn Rawley, callsign "Ghost" (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Evelyn_Rawley,_callsign_%22Ghost%22) | Below Decks | Deck 28 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Revan @Griff
[Show/Hide]While the two women in her company talked, Rawley had poured herself some Bloodwine from Angel's bottle. She grinned when Lille boasted about her people's shagging skills, which made Angel say she'd have to try it with a Romulan some day. That comment got Rawley thinking, and she smiled ruefully when she drank, looking towards Angel first, and then to the Romulan in their very midst.

"Well, I think you should put your money where your mouth is," she said and grinned towards Lillee, before he bit he lower lip a little, lazily toying with her glass of bloodwine on the bar counter. "Better yet, I would not mind celebrating this fine victory with having your mouth prove it's worth."

Of course, she'd let the Romulan off the hook if she wanted to, adding her comment in a mock-teasing tone while she shrugged. "Then again, the night is young, and I totally get if such a bold claim was just meant in jest... given the topic of conversation. Winds and words..." She looked over towards Angel, knowing she had been a bit down when the conversation began, but she didn't want to exclude the fine pilot if she was still in the mood to take things a bit further. Grinning she raised her eyebrows. "What? I mean, you heard her, right? She's said as much, and I just felt like if she was being earnest and not just tempting us, why not take the chance when we have real fine Romulan right here? I'm game, are you?"

She put her hand on Alessia's thigh and leaned in speaking into her ear just loudly enough for her to hear. "I totally get if don't feel up for it. Whatever happened, you know best how to deal with it," she said, her lips close to her ear. Then she leaned back again, turning to Lillee, and grinned, raising an eyebrow at her. "So, what say you? Keep drinking, or should we get the hell out of here?"

What better way to get to know the new squad than really getting to know them?

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lillee_t%27Jellaieu) | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Triage, @Auctor Lucan, @Revan

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Under other circumstances, Lillee's answer would've been regretful but firm. She was older now, her carefree days long gone, those nights of hopping from bed to bed left only to nostalgia. Her scant romantic experiences since the war had tended to be memorable, passionate and impactful, fit around her flying and her children whenever Lillee could manage it. They were, however, anything but casual. She just wasn't interested in such senseless sex any more, having had far more than her fill in days past.

And yet the way that Evelyn challenged her couldn't be denied. The look in the strange human's eyes, a mix of boldness and naked attraction, stirred Lillee's blood in response. Her skin tingled, her heart pumping slightly harder. Very, very slowly, her lips slipped into a devious smirk as she contemplated the two humans. Even quite drunk and wearing sweats, the blonde was like a bird of prey arrogantly surveying her food before she devoured them.

The challenge had been made. It had to be answered.

"Lead on," she said back to Angel in a silky tone, her other hand subtly moving to Alessia's other high as her attention focused on the Spaniard. "To your quarters, Angel? We'll need the space..."

[Lt.JG Alessia Garcia – “Angel” (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alessia_Garcia,_callsign_%22Angel%22)  | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Griff + Lounge Visitors
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Alessia downed another glass of Bloodwine as she listened to Rawley and Lillee go back and forth, definitely feeling the buzz now and gave a nod of approval to the bottle of Bloodwine. Glancing between the two women on either side of her as Rawley issued the blonde haired Romulan the challenge about putting her money where her mouth is and grinned, glancing back at Lillee only to snort when the woman behind her followed the statement up with that mouth proving it's worth comment and shook her head. From their encounter in the showers to now the woman was clearly insatiable it seemed.

She caught Rawley looking at her out of the corner of her eye and turned her head back to face the woman and listened as she explained herself, smirking Alessia gave a nod and a shrug "Can't argue with that logic." she said. While she hadn't exactly been in the best of moods, the company and the Bloodwine had helped a bit, not to mention her massage with Rawley earlier in the showers had left her more than a little aroused...plus it would technically count as team bonding....

While Alessia had been lost in her thoughts, she was pulled out of them when she felt a hand on her thigh and looked down at it, following the hand and arm up to it's source, already knowing it was Rawley's considering the side the hand was coming from, only to see the woman leaning in towards her. Alessia gave her a smile and an appreciative nod "Thanks" she whispered back.

With Rawley glancing back over at the woman behind her, Alessia glanced over too just in time to see Lillee looking at both of them like they were food she was about to eat. The next thing she knew the blonde had accepted the challenge and had placed her hand on Alessia's other thigh and smirked, wondering why she was the one getting all the attention currently, not that she minded.

Evidently it was Alessia's quarters that were volunteered to be the staging ground for their threesome. Reaching out, Alessia downed the last of her Bloodwine and glanced between the two women, grinning at them both. "My quarters it is..."

- FIN