Star Trek: Theurgy

Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

June 02, 2020, 05:25:03 AM

Of Cocktails and Social Obligations
STARDATE: 57635.1
APRIL 10, 2381 (DAY 31)
2000 hrs

[Lt. Cmdr. Natalie Stark | Wardroom | Deck 16| Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Top Hat @Swift @stardust @BZ @Fife @Argyros @trevorvw @Nolan @fiendfall @TWilkins @Kinvarus 
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Natalie knew this day had been coming. For the better part of two weeks, she had waited, with something less than eager anticipation. Dread might have been a more fitting word. It wasn't as if she hadn't been given plenty of warning. In truth, it was not as if she had not helped to make it a reality. After all, she had been the one to expand upon the initial proposal (threat) and list off venue ideas, and give some background on what sort of thing might have happened in the past. This was as much her fault as the First Officers. The chickens had come home to roost. She would reap what she had sewn.

"Do you have any other cliche's you want to tell yourself, or are you going to put your big girl leggings on and get it over with?" She asked her reflection, which scowled back at her. Nat had come off shift a few hours prior, and had taken the time to indulge in a bath. If she were going to go to the damned thing, she was going to do her best to get relaxed first, and at least look passable. She had the time, and thus she'd taken it. Now she stood in a comfortable, open collared dress that was synced at the waist, and flared out a bit past her hips. It was speckled, and faded from back to white. Black leggings with a faint fleur de lis pattern followed under the skirt, and went down to tasteful, if comfortable flats. She had a few small pieces of jewelry, which was not at all  Nice enough while still being casual, and not uniform. It was an informal get together after all, and uniforms were not a requirement.

In the past month and a half, the Senior Staff of the Theurgy had been shaken up and expanded in more ways than Natalie cared to keep track of. The end result of that was a lot of people, in charge of the ships departments, that barely knew each other. Some had come off the Endeavour and had a working relationship, but just as many came from a combination of other ships, such as the Resolve and Bellerophon, not to mention the newest arrivals, that had been sent by Admiral Anderson by way of Klingon Defense Force cruisers. Commander Ducote had suggested getting the senior staff together on a regular basis to help turn the disparate mix of department heads into, if not friends exactly, than a more close-knit, functional team of colleagues.

With the final arrival of Lt. Commanders Fisher and Rutherford, filling out the open positions of Chief's of Intelligence and Diplomacy, respectively, the time had seemed right. And thus Natalie, and the others, had received the invitation to a sort of social mixer and pot luck. The Wardroom on Deck 16 had been reserved and set aside for the occasion. Smaller than the Spearhead Lounge or Below Decks, or even the Observation Lounge up on Deck 10, and thus much easier to reserve without inconveniencing the rest of the crew, the small functional space seemed ideal for setting up a buffet table. Ordained with comfortable chairs scattered about, and a recessed seating area right in front of floor to ceiling windowed bulkheads, the view combined with the cozy feel made for a perfect location for a small gathering.

Drinks would be provided from the nearby lounges, set up already on a small table next to the long buffet.  It was here that the various members of the senior staff would lay out their offerings, be it something that was prepared in advance, or simply replicated on-site from personal recipes. Nat was not exactly a great cook. In a pinch she could make a decent batch of cookies. Thankfully, she was great at programming replicators, and had borrowed a copy of her fathers personal cooking journal when she shipped out to the Academy. Over the years, she'd managed to create a decent set of programs to, well, replicate her fathers meals. They weren't quite as good as his home cooking - a replicator could only do so much, and couldn't, for example, capture the specific flavor that came from tortilla's made from Martian grown grains. Close, but not quite exact.

Still, Natalie figured this was good enough for tonight. Turning back to her replicator, she called up her father's recipe for tamales, and ran the program a few times, making minor adjustments to the filling, netting a collection of beef, pork, chicken, and lastly, black bean. Having no clue about what any of the officers dietary preference, she had decided to cover most of her bases. She drew the line at seafood tamales however. Shrimp and fish were all well and good in tacos, but not tamales. Along with an assortment of dipping sauces, Natalie packed the corn husk wrapped corn dough bundles into a warming bag, and gave her reflection one more nod, before scampering off to the transporter room.

A few minutes later, she was strolling down the corridors of Deck 16 at a brisk pace, heading for the wardroom doors. There was a small LCARS placard next to the door that displayed the rooms reserved status for the next few hours. Taking a deep breath to calm the butterflies currently floating about in her stomach, she pushed the control to open the door. It slid aside with a quiet hiss, and she stepped through, her head turning this way and that, catching sight of the long buffet table that had been provisioned, along one of the walls of the raised portion of the wardroom, as well as the figures already present in the room.

"And here I was thinking I'd be early," Natalie said by way of greeting, pleased that her voice didn't hitch at all. Being off duty but interacting with her fellow department heads was new to her. Doing so in an informal setting where she was out of uniform was...uncomfortable. But here she was all the same.

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OOC: Who beat Nat to the party? LOL.

The following are photos of the Officers Lounge of the refit USS Enterprise, based off of the scenes from The Motion Picture (which came up in a search for wardrooms that wasn't just the long table in DS9). I imagined the Wardroom looking something like that, but updated to fit the rest of the ships decor theme. Its not quite as big as the Observation Lounge or the Spearhead Lounge. And since it was in the deck listing, and, as far as I know, hasn't ever been used, this seemed like a good opportunity to set a scene here.

And I suppose it was an excuse to include a 1970s style sunken lounge pit. Shame those went out of style.

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Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #1 – June 03, 2020, 12:00:58 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Auctor Lucan @Top Hat @Swift @Brutus @BZ @Fife @Argyros @trevorvw @Nolan @fiendfall @TWilkins @Kinvarus
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Samantha understood and valued the benefits of a uniform in seeming more official, more guarded, more impressive. And it certainly helped against the notion of overt individuality in their daily duties. They were representing Starfleet and not themselves. So whenever the occasion arose that she could done civilian clothing that was when the blonde was confronted with the task of reevaluating who she was as a private person. Certainly she was far easier to define and explain as a diplomat than she was as a woman – a part of her that had been subdued and practically non-existent since her husband’s death.

Thus, the officer subconsciously went for a look tonight that very closely resembled a uniform, or at the very least something an ambassador would wear to an official function. The beige blouse and black pencil-skirt combo wasn’t overly whimsical or saying anything about her, really. Which was the entire issue. Making her make-up more pronounced and contrasting than when she was on duty, however, the woman’s hair was just as well kept and slightly messy as it was on duty too … due to the fact that she had just come from there. In all honesty she had spent a lot more time preparing the bruschetta she was bringing than she had on getting ready – though some may still argue she didn’t look low maintenance.

The diplomat had actually gone down to the hydroponics bay to fetch some tomatoes, basil and onions from the Lieutenant there. She had proclaimed it to be for official business but that was only half true. Replicating a sliced baguette Samantha had then fried it a nice golden hue on a plasma hob she kept among her personal belongings as the little hobby-chef she was. Mixing the diced vegetables with a mixture of genuine oil, salt and vinegar she had in stock as well, the homemade bruschetta was thus placed neatly onto a plate before she had actually even started to get ready.

Now, exiting the turbolift on Deck 16, the woman made her way down the hallway, plate gracefully balancing on her hand as she passed many other officers turning to smell the air this time, not only to get a posterior impression of the Commander. Heels quiet against the carpet floor they weren’t exactly all that common anymore in the 21st century and Samantha’s feet were thankful for that. But now and then, for special private occasions, it was a tool to elevate oneself not only physically. Moving into the wardroom finally the diplomat had to notice she was the first one there.

Go figure, she would’ve actually had time for eyeshadow. Smiling at the aids with a pleasant nod she let them finish setting up the opulent buffet before stealing a flute of sparkly from the side table and moving down into the ‘pit’. Posting herself in front of the large windows the blonde rested the elbow of the arm she was holding her drink with on top of the other arm crossed over just below her bosom. Bringing the cold glass to the side of her face she watched the planet slowly turn beneath them. That was until the doors opened with another swoosh and the 2 XO, Lieutenant Cmdr. Natalie Stark came in.

“Welcome to the party.” Samantha smiled, raising her glass ever so lightly, turning and leaning back against the lower edge of one of the windows. “Beautiful blouse.” She added, once more using the glass in her delicate hand for pointers.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #2 – June 04, 2020, 10:28:20 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Top Hat @Brutus @BZ @Fife @Argyros @trevorvw @Nolan @fiendfall @TWilkins @Kinvarus @stardust

Most of the time, the life of a spy was anything but luxurious. Ancient Earth fiction had often painted his profession in the manner of tuxedos, cocktails, and high-stakes gambling in gilded casinos. But in actuality, the job was far grittier. Fisher had spent far more time than not, living in run-down apartments or even on the street; eating in hovels and wearing rags to fit in with the local populace. In his experience, the best covert identifications were the ones that kept you alive the longest, and for the most part entailed the roughest living conditions. As such, he’d grown accustomed to having little if any personal belongings.

It just didn’t make sense to keep souvenirs or extensive wardrobes, when at any time he could be forced to abandon it without any advanced warning.

So, like many other field operatives, he’d resorted to keeping an isolinear catalogue of replicator patterns for anything personal that he might have wanted or needed from time to time. For Fisher, that had included some comfortable non-uniform clothing, close approximations of food his Mother served at the family restaurant in Boston, and a few other creature comforts. When things grew darkest and he needed a pick-me-up, he’d punch up one of those approximations in the replimat and try to find a sense of peace in memories of home and better times. The practice would often work wonders, restoring a stronger sense of what it was he fought to preserve. It was easily one of the better practices he’d picked up from other more veteran Intelligence Officers.

As he scrolled the list of options, he stopped to focus on one he’d not had in quite some time.

Braised beef & beer stew.

A bittersweet smile slowly crossed his face as memories of his older brother came to the forefront.

It’d always been Benny’s favorite, and truth be told he probably would have claimed it as his favorite too. But it’d been one he’d been deliberately avoiding in light of the painful memory associated with it. As that memory began to play out in vivid recollection, he shook his head to try and dismiss it, clenching shut his tired eyes and bracing a hand against the wall in his personal quarters as he struggled to contain the surge of emotional anger boiling up to the surface.

A moment later he exhaled deeply, having adequately repressed the memory enough to relax his mounting tension.

Tossing aside the PADD he’d used to access his isolinear catalogue, he approached the wall mounted replicator.

“Fisher. Personal Menu Number One-oh-two. Catered quantity please.”

After the computer chirped to acknowledge his request, he left it to work its magic and went to take a shower. A few minutes later he emerged from the shower, and as he dried himself off with a towel he caught the unmistakable scent of the food item he’d selected, filling his personal quarters as though he’d been right back where they originated. With a somewhat sly smile now, he slipped into a pair of semi-worn grey jeans, a tight fitting simple black t-shirt and black casual sneakers that he’d replicated a day or so earlier. He pressed his combadge against the fabric of his t-shirt where it would normally lay atop a duty coat, then put on a semi-formal black jacket that concealed said badge enough that it wasn’t overly noticeable.

This was an informal affair, but he knew it sometimes paid off having your combadge with you regardless.

Picking up the hot-to-the-touch aluminum covered tray from the replicator shelf, he smirked wryly imagining the varied reactions of those who’d never tried this particular Earth delicacy.

A few minutes later he stepped in through the doorway of the Wardroom, seemingly a minute or so after Commander Stark had herself arrived. With a simple nod as a way of immediate greeting, he approached the table that had been set out for their potluck food contributions and placed the aluminum tray down, pulling away the corners of it’s lid to let the food contained within a chance to breathe a little. From his interior jacket pocket, he pulled a small PADD, punched up the food’s profile, and laid it down next to the tray for anyone who didn’t recognize it.

[FENWAY FRANKS] it read simply; a little background and ingredient info scrolled out underneath in more fine print.

“Apologies if I’m late. I had a little trouble deciding on a food to bring. Wound up settling on a couple dozen of these.” He explained as he stepped away from the food table and approached the beverages set out on the smaller table, choosing a bottle of Rigellian Pale Ale.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #3 – June 04, 2020, 05:12:26 PM

[Lt. Cmdr. Natalie Stark | Wardroom | Deck 16| Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]Attn: @stardust @Swift 
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Natalie had seen the chief diplomat a few times around the ship by this point; there had been a briefing, but she had not had any real contact with the blonde woman until this point. That the Diplomat had arrived first, seemed somehow fitting to Nat. Though she would privately admit that she had half expected it to be the First Officer that had beat everyone to the meeting. Then again, he had a wife to wrangle, so that could be a reason. In any event the thought teased a smirk onto her face. 

In any event, Samantha was the one that was there, greeting her, and Natalie could at least be polite. As she headed toward the buffet table to lay out her own offering - smelling the recently baked contribution from the diplomat - Natalie returned the compliment and tried to keep any heat out of her cheeks. Just because she wasn't used to compliments in any event was not good cause to blush, or so she tried to tell herself. "Thank you very much. I'll admit I'm not used to dressing down...or is it up?  I'm not used to being on the ship and out of uniform, unless it's in exercise attire for the gym. And that doesn't really count. But you've managed quite nicely, I see."

Having just declared that, she stood up a bit straighter, dusted her hands off, and padded her way over to the drink table, biting her lip and debating what, exactly, she should drink. It would help if she recognized any of it (not being much of a drinker), and thus, with no better thoughts, Natalie mimicked the other woman and picked up the pale bubbling drink in the long glass.  She curled her hands around it, took a sip and felt the bubbles nearly got up her nose. Taking a few steps toward the sunken area near the windows, Natalie scrunched up her whole face and tried not to sneeze. However, she only got about as far as the steps down before the Ops Chief turned, hearing the doors open behind her.

Lieutenant Commander Fisher, Natalie reminded herself of the bearded man's name and rank. Another new officer added to the Theurgy since their arrival at Aldea. Another new officer older than her, with years more experience. And just like the blonde down in the pit, nominally her subordinate. As Second Officer she was as much responsible for seeing after the needs of the other department heads and their staff as her own. Perhaps to a lesser extent than Commander Ducote, but all the same, she had relationships to build with these people. So she'd read more of their files than she might have otherwise bothered with had she been just the Chief of Operations, or still the Assistant Chief and mere Lieutenant she'd been at the start of the ships latest (self-appointed) mission. 

What did Counselor Hathev call it? Impostor Syndrome? That sounded about right to Natalie. 

Be that as it may, she remained poised to descend and join Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford in the pit. Not quite taking that first step, she flashed the new comer what she hoped as a comfortable smile. He certainly managed to look comfortable, if tactful, in his jeans and shirt with the jacket thrown over it. That was almost something she might wear herself, back home - just not enough flannel for her go-to comfort clothes. "Actually, I think we're all technically early." She waved her finger around between the three of them, flicking it back and forth. "I faced a bit of the same conundrum myself, figuring out what to bring. I honestly have no idea if anyone will like these, except maybe Commander Ducote, since I know for a fact it's similar to something he grew up eating." 

With a smile, she turned and descended, moving over to lean against the seats by the window, similar to how the Diplomat had. She managed to position herself to see both of the new crew in the room, without having to turn her head much, as well as the door. Pleased with herself, she asked, "While we wait for the others... how are you two settling in?" This was how one small talked and socialized, right?

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #4 – June 04, 2020, 11:25:53 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Auctor Lucan @Top Hat @Swift  @Brutus  @BZ @Fife @Argyros @trevorvw @Nolan @fiendfall @TWilkins @Kinvarus
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Turning her attention towards the second officer, five years younger than her according to her file, Samantha watched her over the rim of her champagne flute as she took a slow sip. Letting the bubbles tickle her palate, she enjoyed the accompanying, dry flavor with pleasure. It wasn’t everyone’s thing, certainly, but it was still regarded as one of the corner stones of polite, upscale gatherings. Especially in a diplomatic setting. So, getting used to it and quite familiar with the different vintages and grapes, was yet again probably more of an occupational hazard, seeping into day to day life.

“Hmmm …” the blonde mused, swallowing her sip of bubbly before continuing. “… it all depends on which you are more comfortable in, I guess. I find a uniform comforting, lends a reassuring sense of authority, maybe that’s why I am almost wearing one.” the officer chuckled self-ironically with a shrug. “And thank you.” Nodding gently, a wave of her side-parted hair falling forward, the blonde shook all distractions back with a dipped pate. “To good fortune.” she cheered, in Vulcan tradition, raising her glass in Natalie’s direction for a moment, even though they couldn't quite reach each other yet.

It was right in that moment of raised glasses, that the door zipped open once more and Andrew Fisher, their Chief of Intelligence, strolled in, wearing what looked like a box of some kind of irregular metallic alloy. Like a beaten-up informant-suitcase. Following his confident, yet subdued stride over towards the buffet, Samantha was always impressed with how subtle the man managed to conduct himself. He wasn’t one to be noticed if not for his kind eyes, confident brows and handsome beard. By his own accord, seemingly. Presuming that for an intelligence officer it was probably not desirable to leave an imprint that could be turned into a composite sketch.

“Yes, Drew, you’re late, everyone but us has already left.” Samantha quipped, taking the liberty to break the ice with random nicknames and good-hearted mockery. “And the captain was furious ... now what did you two bring?” the diplomat interjected, after Natalie spoke of her dish and the first officer, detaching herself from the windowsill with a small push. With a confident stride of long legs and steady heels, the blonde ascended the few steps back up with graceful ease, before settling next to Andrew by the buffet. Snaking her hand around the glass to her chest, she let her eyes trail over Natalie’s dish first.

“I love tamales!” the diplomat enthused, turning her attention to the pretty brunette. “What did you put in?” she asked, beckoning the ops chief to join them, before turning her attention to Fisher’s document case. They were way too spread out for three people in this large room anyways, she found. Blue eyes trailing over the franks with condiments in sliced buns, they ultimately settled on the PADD. Leaning forward slightly to read the fine print, Samantha was amused over the idea of a pointer coming with the dish. Erecting back up straight she looked at Andrew by her side with curious brows. “Like Fenway Park?” she enquired. Her broad range of superficial topics helped her in pulling up some more obscure references from earth’s various leisure activities, including some kind of ballgame being performed in stadiums, of which Fenway Park was apparently one of the more notorious ones – or had been. It made sense that this was some kind of delicacy that went with the festivities.

“I think we have a baseball fan in our midst.” The blonde chuckled towards Nat, before quickly turning back to Fisher for approval. “It’s baseball, right?”

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #5 – June 07, 2020, 05:44:45 PM

[ Captain Ives | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]
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After Martok had arrived to Aldea, Jien had hoped that the High Chancellor would be more available for discussions about the next step in the mission, in which they would work together to deal with the threat posed by the Infested.

As it were, however, Martok was hard pressed by development in the Klingon Empire, not just in defending the choice to aid the Theurgy, but to ensure that the High Council hadn't been compromised by the enemy as well. Without revealing too much of the scientific progress made, at the risk of the enemy finding a way to counter the method, Martok had begun to implement the anyonic emissions the Theurgy was using. This, clearly to make sure there were no Infested among the higher ranking officers in the KDF. Ives had also learned that the High Chancellor was working with trusted officers on the Klingon homeworld to secretly expose the chancellors to the emissions. While good for the Empire, it also led to delays in the talks about the joint venture ahead.

This, Jien pushed from his mind as he stepped into the bathroom in his quarters. With his morphogenic matrix, the Chameloid shifted so that his form no longer held a uniform, and stepped into the sonic shower. His thoughts were leaden and heavy as the vapour rose like mist from his mimicked skin, yet he did not linger in the stall, for then he'd run late to the evening's event. He towelled off the residual dampness left by the cleansing sequence, and then stepped up to the mirror. He had little use of a wardrobe, instead shifting his form once more so that his bare body wore a black shirt and trousers, along with regular black shoes and a belt with a silver buckle.

Now, what to bring? he thought with a faint smile, and decided as he walked over to the replicator.

"Dorayaki with anko, seven helpings," he said and adjusted the sleeves of his shirt by the replicator, ordering the traditional Japanese pancakes with mashed azuki beans that he had enjoyed growing up on Earth, "Add ten small bowls with karinto as well."

With the additional deep-fried sweets that dated back to the Edo-era, characteristic with their burnt appearance, added to the tray, Jien picked it up with one hand and balanced it on his way down from Deck 10 to 16, where the event was to be held. He'd met a couple of crewmen on the way there, to which he'd inclined his head and smiled faintly when they greeted him. When he was nearly there, he came to think of something.

"Thea, will you be joining us in the Wardroom as well?" he asked with a glance towards the deck head.

[I thought the invitation only extended to the Senior Staff, Captain?]

"If you want to come, I am sure everyone present will understand how you have every right to be there as well. After all, we all serve aboard you, and none of us would get anywhere on this mission without you," he said as the sliding doors parted, and after a couple of moments, Thea's reply came.

[Thank you, Captain. I will just slip into something appropriate.]

"I'll see you soon," said Jien and put the food he'd brought on an appropriate table, thinking that he'd heard the rumour that Thea had adopted the practise of wearing real clothes on top of her projection, filling that empty wardrobe in the quarters she seldom used, and it would be interesting to see what an A.I. opted to wear for an evening like the one ahead.

"Hello," he said simply as he approached the ones that already made it to the wardroom. He noticed Stark, Rutherford and Fisher, along with a couple more further off in the area. With a quiet smile, he looked around for one of the tall glasses the others had found. "Looks like we are still missing a few. Thea will be joining us soon as well, unless you already heard her when I arrived."

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #6 – June 09, 2020, 04:13:37 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus @stardust @Swift @Auctor Lucan @Fife @Top Hat @BZ @TWilkins @Nolan @trevorvw @Argyros @Kinvarus

The gathering had not been of Hathev's suggestion, yet she would have commended whomever the idea had originated with. Had she not been concerned regarding the disparate nature of the ship's various crews since her very acceptance of her current position aboard? And was not that fractured disposition reflected in the senior staff, subsections of which each hailed from a different vessel? She herself had been focused on the cohesion of the crew as a whole, but in doing so now realised she had neglected the senior staff; that the First and Second officers of the ship now aimed to rectify this oversight she was pleased.

Nevertheless, despite all of this, Hathev still found herself approaching the gathering with some trepidation. She had always endeavoured to keep her professional and personal lives distinctly separate, and the prospect of engaging with her colleagues in a purely social manner was therefore somewhat daunting.

Yet of course, she had already failed in her efforts to keep such areas of her life discrete from one another. The living proof would no doubt be in attendance this very evening.

She herself arrived precisely at the prearranged time, stepping smoothly through the doors to the wardroom at 2000 hours sharp. She had selected an appropriate assemblage of attire, her customary black pencil skirt complemented by a deep sea green blouse in a modestly Vulcan style: high-necked and stiff-shouldered, with ample flowing material cast in the sleeve and the slightest hint of silvered embroidery around the cuff. It was considerably more decorative than she would normally have contemplated, yet the adherence to her professional colour scheme mollified her somewhat.

The concept of a 'potluck' was distressingly uncoordinated; it seemed a strikingly chaotic approach to catering. Thus Hathev had put no small amount of thought into what offering she might bring to the table. A dish from her own culture might be most appropriate, and yet such a thing would presumably only serve to confuse the palate of the diners, being so different from what the rest of the Human-majority senior staff members might provide. Cross, despite his Vulcan heritage, would no doubt also bring a Human dish; Rutherford she lacked the data points to triangulate her most likely offering yet it did not seem unreasonable to consider a Human dish amongst the choices; of the non-Humans on the staff, only Veradin seemed, in Hathev's estimation, probable to being a non-Human offering.

Thus she had eventually settled on a dish that, while Vulcan in origin, remained similar enough to Human cuisine that it should not prove truly disorientating. C'torr were bitesize pastries dusted with Vulcan-safe sugar and filled with gespar fruit and sweet t'mirak rice, and served with the forati dipping sauce, somewhat similar in viscocity to Earth's honey yet with a subdued blueish hue and marginal hint of spice in flavour.

Upon her arrival she discovered several other attendees already within; she offered a preliminary greeting and placed her offering with the others -- and indeed her predictions for culinary provenance were proved correct thus far -- before selecting a glass of sweet rosé and making her way to the small gathering.

'My thanks for arranging this event, Commander,' she said with a nod to Stark. She had yet to see anything that would shake her initial and continuing high estimation of the woman; Hathev respected her and appreciated her efforts in this matter. 'Captain,' she acknowledged Ives, before turning to include the other two in their midst -- the two newest additions to the staff. They had met briefly before, of course, yet that had only been in passing; this would prove their first opportunity to properly speak. 'Counsellor Hathev,' she clarified, aware that the lack of uniform may have a discombobulating effect. She extended her hand for the customary Human shake, preparing for the contact. 'I trust you are both settling in well?'

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #7 – June 10, 2020, 05:25:11 PM

[ LT JG Derik Veradin | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus @stardust @Swift @Auctor Lucan @Fife @Top Hat @BZ @TWilkins @Nolan @trevorvw @Kinvarus @fiendfall
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“Come to a Pot luck” They said. “It’ll be fun!” They said. The Trill huffed as he made his way down the corridor. Ironically, he wasn’t running late for once in his life. He’d opted for attire that was about as formal as his uniform. Nice shirt, dress pants,  belt, etc.

Derik stepped in to the wardroom alone, surveying the already filling room. It wasn’t as if he wars afraid of large groups or anything, but he seemed somewhat apprehensive today. He was still one of the youngest officers on the senior staff. Yet while the conference room held a sort of equality between department head, this…. this was slightly different. Meet and greets often devolved into large groups splitting off to talk to people they knew, leaving awkward socialites like the helmsman with few conversations. Part of him didn’t mind. A bigger part did. With so many new faces, he hoped he might find some meaningful interaction to pass the time. He gave a few good nods and hello’s of greetings as he passed by.

Per the invitation, Derik had brought a plate of Lida fruit from his homeworld in his left hand a bowl of yellow-leaf Grazkizh salad tucked in his right arm. He’s managed to secure an entire crate of plump fruit from the trade markets on Aldea while the salad was replicated. A little taste of home and all that. It didn’t hurt either to provide something on the healthier side given the amount of sweets or greases that were no doubt going to show up. Plus the sweet taste and juice of the LIda could be infused into drinks for a refreshing twist.

He made his way to the buffet table, setting the platter down in the spot closest to the drink table and the salad right next to it. Satified that he’d done his part, he walked over to the drink table for a refreshment.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #8 – June 10, 2020, 08:29:13 PM

[ Cmdr Ranaan Ducote | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Argyros @Auctor Lucan @Brutus @BZ @fiendfall @Fife @Kinvarus @Nolan @stardust @Swift @trevorvw @TWilkins

The XO took a moment to compose himself in the corridor outside the wardroom that had been selected for this first (hopefully of many) social between the senior staff. He had planned to be here a little early to make sure that everything was in order and so he could be ready to greet the others. Unfortunately, he'd gotten stuck dealing with a personnel dispute in the bowels of the ship, and unsticking the problem had taken him overtime somewhat. As a result, he was still in uniform and empty-handed, though there was at least a replicator in the room for him to add his own dish to the spread.

Ducote pushed a hand through his hair and straightened his tunic, reflecting that he had at least shaved that morning. As far as 'getting ready for the social', it would have to do. He didn't want to be any more late than he was already.

And he at least had Blue's overt opinion that he looked good in uniform...

Walking in at last, the gestalt in the room washed over his empathy in full now that it wasn't attenuated by the intervening bulkhead. He smiled and greeted the present staff, which looked to be most of everyone. He wasn't sure if everyone was going to make it, but he'd made sure that it was clear that this wasn't a formal event, no mandatory attendance. If people were busy (and, looking around, Security, Tactical and Medical were the ones yet to arrive so it wasn't exactly out of the realm of possibility) then there was no penalty whatsoever. And given that the ex-Endeavour cadre were old-hat in this particular habit, there shouldn't be any problem of FOMO either.

He was grateful that there was a replicator here, and he could produce some hasperat for the table. He had originally considered bringing some coxinhas, but given the number of Human dishes he could already see, he was happy for a little interstellar variety. That and the Bajoran spices appealed to his palate. The hybrid filled a plate with a little of everyone else's offerings (ignoring the quiet rumble his stomach made; the collective smells were wonderful) and looked around.

"Mister Veradin," he said, with exaggerated formality as his course took him to the end of the buffet table nearest the drinks, before he smiled a greeting. "Glad to see you here, away from auxiliary craft inventory for a change." The Conn officer had been almost reduced to an administrator while the ship was laid up. "What are those?" he indicated the fruit the Trill had brought, unfamiliar as they were to him.

There was a gaggle of people including the captain and a couple of others, and from appearances it seemed that their new Chief Diplomat was well-suited to her work. He didn't have a good handle on her, yet. Her mind-tone didn't quite match her outward projection, and it wasn't until he caught the faint point to one of her ear lobes that he remembered the note from her file denoting the fact she was a quarter Vulcan.

While he chatted to Derik, a very-familiar mental impression pressed itself into his perception. Ducote glanced over and waved Blue over. ~Hey, Trouble,~ he greeted her in his usual private fashion, sliding his free arm around her waist in a quick hug. "Sorry I was late," he said aloud. "Had a couple of brushfires to put out at the end of my shift. Things humming along nicely in the Pit, I hope?"

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #9 – June 10, 2020, 10:08:20 PM

[Lt. Cmdr. Natalie Stark | Wardroom | Deck 16| Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]Attn:
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CDO Rutherford made a lot of sense, Natalie decided, when it came to discussions about attire. Nodding in an almost sly fashion, Natalie agreed aloud, "Yes, I think that's a large part of it. I'm sure wearing the darn thing day in and day out since the Academy has something to do with it all as well. There is something to be said for familiarity breeding comfort, if not contempt." She raised her glass in matching fashion, but that was as far as she got in returning the toast. She and the blonde seemed to step over each other in their response, though the 2XO noted that the newer members of the senior staff seemed to already be on a first name basis. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought to herself, wondering if they'd known each other from prior service, or if as could often be the case, the two new kids just hit it off.

Still, Natalie had to admit that she was impressed with the way Lt. Commander Rutherford - Samantha, she chided herself, they were all off duty right then - was handling some of that awkward 'small talk' stuff that Natalie felt she so often tripped over. She shook her head softly, and crossed her arms over her bust, taking another sip of the bubbly wine. The enthusiasm from the other woman over the tamales was a welcome sign to Nat. At least one person here will like them, thank god for that. Aloud, she answered, "I tried to cover a wide variety of options. We've got beef, pork, chicken, and then black beans for the folks that don't eat meats. I know Commander Ducote grew up in Brazil, and the food that I grew up with was similar so I figured I'd have at least one interested party. Glad to see its more than just that." She assumed that Lt. Commander Hathev, being Vulcan, would appreciate the vegetarian option, but she knew vegetarian, and the even more restrictive vegan dietary regimes were not exclusive to Vulcan's.

"Oh, I've heard of baseball. That's the game they play out on Cestus III, right? There was this junior tactical officer on the Mjolnir that was a fan - he wouldn't shut up about it.  Said it was big out on Deep Space Nine too, but I never made it out to the station during the War." Natalie hadn't realized until years later that the junior officer had been flirting with her most of the time, and genuinely thought she liked the game to boot. Hearing the door open again, and the sound of Thea over the comm, Natalie turned and saw Captain Ives stride in. In his male form, he looked rather collected and at ease all at once, dressed in black from head to toe. His smile though...

To her credit, she didn't shiver. She answered his smile with one of her own. She had been working on that, and liked to believe she was making progress. Just one more bit of trauma, she thought, as she chewed on the bottom of her lip for a moment. "I'm sure Thea will enjoy herself quite a bit, Captain. It'll be nice to see her stretch her social legs, so that I'm not the only one trying that here." She'd read somewhere that self-deprecating humor worked well in social situations, so that should go over wonderfully, or so she thought. Didn't hurt that it was true. She was glad that the tables had been set up so close to the stairs descending into the recessed seating pit so that she didn't have to move from the window she'd just posted up by, to be heard.

Speaking of working on things, Natalie thought, as the hour struck and sure enough, Counselor Hathev walked in, precisely on time. She had noticed that about the Vulcan, how Hathev maintained an appreciation for punctuality that was frankly impressive to the Martian woman. Since the first meeting the two had shared, Natalie held the woman in high regard. High enough, in fact, to make good on her intentions to show up for therapy. She wouldn't - couldn't call the sessions fun, but necessary they were, especially given her position in the crew. Natalie felt she had a duty to set an example to the members of her department, and the crew at large, that might be...reluctant to seek counseling. And if you're honest with yourself, you've needed it for a long, long time. Even since before Niga.

"I can hardly take all the credit, Counselor. The lion's share should go to Commander Ducote. Apparently they used to do this all the time on the Endeavour, and he brought it up during one of our review meetings. Seemed reasonable. I just helped sort out the venue." And was listed as one of the organizers on the invite. Thanks for that, Ducote, she thought to herself. Still, it was a good idea, she agreed silently, as she watched the man that usually sat next to her when the ship was actually moving come in, followed rapidly by said first officer who swept right in to engage Derik in a quick chat, as the commander's wife saddled up to him. Feeling no direct need to say anything else for the moment, she just raised her glass in welcome, and settled back, sipping and allowing herself the pleasure of listening to all the conversation start to develop.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #10 – June 12, 2020, 04:06:50 PM

[ Lieutenant Elro Kobol | Wardroom | Deck 16| Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] @Top Hat @BZ @Argyros @fiendfall @Brutus @Fife @trevorvw @Kinvarus @Swift @stardust @Nolan

Elro was hardly unfamiliar with the more ‘social aspects’ of being a member of the senior staff. Commander Ducote had roped him into social gatherings within his first few days assigned to the Endeavour, and it hadn’t been quite as traumatising as he would have assumed… Though it was close. Socialisation wasn’t exactly in his nature as a Betazoid, but he’d learned to approach it within the confines of his role as a medical professional. Approaching it in regards to fraternisation and ‘fun’ was less within his comfort zone.

Though the invitation had come from Commander Stark, he knew that it had come from Commander Ducote somewhere along the line. After all, bringing their own dishes to the venue was hardly convenient for anyone involved, yet it was a tradition unimpeachable aboard the Endeavour, and no doubt the same would continue aboard their new vessel.

So the Betazoid did his usual, at least in the sense that he had a container of deserts as opposed to savouries when he left his quarters. Usually he’d visit the same file in his replicator to produce a swathe of cream-cakes and pastries reminiscent of those from the delicatessen not so far from his home back on earth, to better cater to his own sweet-tooth. It also served to ensure that those people not from Earth would not fall under the impression that ‘twinkies’ were the pinnacle of Earthly deserts, as Commander Tiran would have them believe.

This time, being a new ship and a new collection of individuals, it gave him an opportunity to do something mildly more creative. His mother had never been especially fond of deserts, and whilst she had always been fond of cooking Betazoid cuisine, her sweet tooth was non-existent. If she were to prepare a dessert, they were reserved for birthdays and dinner parties, both of which usually involved Earth food to appear ‘excotic’ to visiting relations. He figured that a social gathering was as good a time as any to dust off the culinary database as any.

Alas he’d found plenty of recipes that fit the bill. Sweet parcels filled with delectably sweet uttaberry jam, sadi tartlets that were acidic enough to counteract the sugary pastry, something akin to profiteroles filled to bursting with a subtle jacarine cream that left a wonderfully syrupy sensation in the mouth… He also made a point of ensuring that all foods were fructose free so as to not leave Commander Cross neglected, nor Commander Hathev of course.

And thus, the Betazoid arrived when things were in a relatively decent flow, people mingling and discussing things lightly, drinks in hand and food displayed across tables. There was something unsavory about placing a sweet dessert dish next to salads and meats, but Elro stilled his sensitive culinary dispositions and placed down the platter he had been baring before moving to the replicator for a beverage.

It was somewhat obvious that people were choosing to consume alcohol, so Elro allowed himself one beverage as a buffer to aid in his ‘socialisation’. He doubted that it would affect him enough to make him feel comfortable in the environment, but he would certainly look out of place with a sparkling water. Besides, his sweet-tooth naturally didn’t despise some of the fruiter cocktails of Earth’s culinary database, despite the fact that most of them were labelled with sexual labels that hardly apt to describe a beverage. How an earthling several hundred years ago decided that a beverage containing three fruit juices and ethanol could be appropriately branded ‘sex on the beech’ he would never understand.

Using his fingers as opposed to vocal commands, naturally, the Betazoid replicated a pornstar martini, as lewd as it was, in a sensible glass with minimal umbrellas. He wished his palette could contend better with the sharpness of more sophisticated cocktails, but alas, he would survive. He softly walked towards Commanders Ducote and Tiran, as well as Lieutenant Veridan, and prepared himself for greetings, praying that he wouldn't be intercepted for conversation en-route, sipping politely at the murky-golden liquid in his sensible glass, and wondering if Nurse Jones would call him for a medical emergency if he sent her a covert command. 

Alas, what a pleasant month it had been for the Doctor, deftly avoiding such circumstances as he found himself within…

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #11 – June 13, 2020, 08:20:20 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @TWilkins @Top Hat @BZ @Argyros @fiendfall @Brutus @Fife @trevorvw @Kinvarus @stardust @Nolan

Fisher had nodded in a simple yet amused acknowledgement of Stark’s explanation of apt timing, having moved from the tables with his Rigellian Pale Ale in hand. He’d been about to answer her follow-up inquiry, when his attention had been stolen away by the sultry voice of another departmental counterpart, the new Chief Diplomatic Officer, Lieutenant Commander Samantha Rutherford. There’d been a jovial nature to her tone as she’d poked a little fun, and Fisher had wondered if she’d ever used that same tone to disarm a guarded rival when opening negotiations. He’d known she was a cunning diplomat, given what he’d seen of her personnel dossier, and would’ve been willing to bet she had a number of tricks hidden away behind those strikingly baby-blue eyes of hers.

“Well, I guess that’s the end of my Starfleet career. It’s on to barber college now.” He playfully retorted, having shot her a little wry smile.

He’d then shifted his stance ever so slightly, having moved just beside the much shorter Chief Operations Officer, as Rutherford had gone over to appraise their contributions to the pot-luck. Indeed, a good tamale was something he’d not had in quite some time, and he’d made a mental note to not forget one of them later. Stark had seemingly put in some forethought as to bring a variety of them, with options for those who chosen to stick to a vegetarian diet. Fisher had also in fact considered bringing a vegetarian approximation of his beloved ballpark food, but had thought better of it, having figured that they were already a bit of an affront to anyone with more sensitive or sensible dietary restrictions.

It’d be adding insult to injury at that point.

“Yep. Just like from Fenway. Well, back when Fenway was still a thing.” He’d explained, his voice full of disappointment over the fact that the old jewel of a Baseball Stadium had long since been abandoned, demolished, and subsequently forgotten to the annals of history. The decline of interest in competitive athletic sports like Baseball during the late 21st century was something he’d never quite fully understood. In recency though, there’d been an attempt by many to reconnect with that old pass time, and Fisher was definitely to be counted among them. He’d collected and helped coordinate the recreation of many holodeck programs, based on those old historical sports cathedrals.

It was one of the only hobbies he’d managed to maintain from his early childhood into the present.

“Yeah, Baseball. I’m surprised you know of it, Sam.” He’d mentioned in genuine surprise that someone else was at least passively aware of the finer details of the history of the game he loved so much. His informal use of her given name had been a reciprocation of her own practice a moment earlier, having figured it made sense to help keep things light. His sense of surprise intensified when Stark mentioned her own awareness of the game, even bringing up the small but growing amateur league on Cestus-III. He’d of course been keenly aware of and followed the Cestus Baseball League since it’s very inception a few years earlier, but he’d always been an exception to the rule of ignorance regarding the old game.

At least, he had been.

“To be fair...” he’d begun to explain that like that Junior Lieutenant, he too might have harbored an obsession with Baseball, but had stopped when the door to the wardroom opened for the Captain. Fisher had offered his new CO a courtesy nod, having already been impressed by the limited interactions he’d had with him. There was a mutual trust between Ives and his senior staff, and that trust had even been extended to the new people, like Fisher. It had spoken volumes about the kind of people that led the various departments aboard Theurgy, each of them now arriving one after the other for this little informal get together that Stark and their XO, Ducote had arranged.

Beyond what he’d read in their personal dossiers, he’d barely known any of them but felt a sense of confidence they were the best of the best, whom he could and would count on when faced with staggering odds against.

With a smile he turned back to face Rutherford and Stark and shook his head in amusement.

“...actually, you don’t really need to hear me try and defend an obsession with the complexities of advanced analytical statistics like wins above replacement, or why I indulge in silly arguments like whether Williams was better than Ruth or not.” giving it a moment.

“He was, by the way.” He added playfully as he took a sip of his beer.

“So, what is it that you two like to do when you’re not actively trying to stave off the genocide of all sentient life in the Universe?” He added an air of light-hearted sardonic tone to his posed question, so as to add a sense of lightness to the rather dark nature of their overall situation.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #12 – June 14, 2020, 10:53:41 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Auctor Lucan @Top Hat @Swift @Brutus @BZ @Fife @Argyros @trevorvw @Nolan @fiendfall @TWilkins @Kinvarus
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Standing by the buffet table, with the homemade creations of the senior staff members that had arrived until now, Samantha couldn’t help but get somewhat sidetracked by the delicious scents and the large black hole in the pit of her stomach, that felt like it was developing its own gravitation. Still, she remained vividly engaged in the conversation with the two officers that had arrived shortly after her. The fact that some of it revolved around food, still not aiding the overall sentiment of not having eaten since breakfast. “Now that’s very considerate of you … don’t mind if I solicit your services for the next diplomatic banquette.” the blonde mused kindly, pursing her lips into a sly grin. It said a lot about the dark-haired woman, really, that she took other people's dietary and cultural believes into account. Something she herself was very attuned to. Which was why she had opted for something admittedly as generic as bruschetta. Because if someone didn’t like tomatoes they could frankly just saunter off.

The topic of baseball, taking reference from Andrew’s charitable contribution to the buffet and her query towards his personal athletic preferences, was a far more distracting one to her current biological urgencies. “I had this friend at the academy, Brutus, who was a huge Washington Nationals fan. He would sleep in class and endlessly talk about baseball in his dreams. So I felt compelled to look some of the more obscure references up.” The officer smiled, biting her lip in fond remembrance. But it was also nice and curious to see that Natalie herself had a good bit of knowledge towards the subject as well. Potentially more so in depth than the diplomat’s own. First strike, and they had already found a common ground. Sometimes things just lined up like that for the trained conversation-starter. However, upon the mention of DS 9 the blonde had to distract herself for a moment by popping a grape from the buffet’s garnish and into her mouth. It would subdue both the physical and the emotional dilemma, for a moment. “I reckon it wasn’t that big during the war.” she interjected. Partly trying to ease the Lieutenant's regrets, but mostly out of the sole need to say something and not seem distracted. As a result, it had come out a smidge colder than she’d wanted to admit.

The doors opened again and a momentary distraction proved fortunate to disperse the slight tension. “Captain.” The diplomat replied with a kind smile and a quick raise of her glass, watching the man stroll over to get a drink of his own. Letting the information about the ship’s AI sink in, the blonde was caught in a temporary thought process, while the conversation around her commenced. Blue eyes following the captain’s moves. So, Thea was joining them … curious. Wasn’t she kind of already here? The topic of artificial intelligence in all its technical and sociological intricacies wasn’t one she was deeply involved in. So far no one had asked her to negotiate with an artificial life form more advanced than a temperamental Cardassian replicator. And for her, it came down to whether one would’ve wanted to give control to a machine that was conscious and self-aware. If she was to be regarded as an individually sentient being than that meant she was bound to make mistakes like one. Well, if so, she’d fit right in with Starfleet. But as for herself, Samantha rather would not have an argument with a machine in a critical moment. 

“Oh wow, easy there …” Samantha laughed, as she trailed back into Andrew’s elaborations and subsequent, timed, conclusion. Letting the hand, that was holding the crook of her ‘champagne arm’, fall onto the other officer’s forearm for a second. “If you were aiming to explain your fascination in a readily comprehensible fashion … you at least tried.” she quipped, giving Natalie another look to see whether the other woman had understood anything. Maybe she knew who Williams and Ruth were. Surely, Brutus would’ve known … where was he posted right now again? Shaking her faint blonde curls back again, the woman settled into a more neutral orientation within their small group again. The following question made the officer chuckle once more. Andrew had a nice, engaging sense of humor. She could see how he would lure people into a false sense of security before gently squeezing every bit of information from them, like a handsome intel boa-constrictor. It was always intriguing to see officers matched so perfectly to their profession. Just like how Natalie seemed so organized and calm, befitting of a Chief of Operation and third in command. After all she had thrown this whole thing together from nothing. And the diplomat knew what a successful banquet looked like. Or the captain, who sometimes talked like a Herman Melville character, with all his classic dignity, wisdom and courage. A born leader.

“Well, it’s a fulltime job after all …” she responded with a theatrical sigh that made her slender shoulders heave. “… but I do enjoy a good swim and a nice meditation or a good history book.” Samantha concluded with a sip from her bubbly before adding: “What about you? Did you bring some baseball holodeck programs?” Genuine interest on her inclined pate, the blond took another sip in anticipation. Also to hear what Natalie would do when off duty. Something tranquil, she imagined. As the doors opened again blue eyes moved towards the happenings once more. In strolled their Chief Counselor. It was hard not to recognize the only fellow female Vulcan senior officer – and a beautiful, elegant woman at that. She greeted the Captain and then joined their little group by the buffet as they’d just concluded their ‘hobbies’ conversation. “Dif-tor heh smusma, counselor.” she smiled, extending her free hand to assert the other ¾^th of her genetics in the traditional human greeting as well.

“It hasn’t been difficult - A decent workload and welcoming colleagues can ease the transition tremendously.” the ¼^th Vulcan asserted. “But I can only speak for myself.” She added, motioning towards Andrew. And while he added his two cents the blonde once more noticed the door opening, their Chief Navigator entering with what seemed like an entire meal, tucked under his arms. Following his strides over to the buffet table, right behind their little group, she gave the man a little nod and smile, if they happened to catch his curiously focused attention for a moment. “That looks delicious.” the woman instigated good-manneredly, behind the backs of Natalie and Hathev, towards the Trill male. An encouraging nod towards his healthy looking assortment was supposed to convey the gratitude even better and potentially make him feel more welcome in a room that was already grouped up, more or less.

Hearing the counselor thank Natalie for the organization of this event and the Ops officers subsequent, slightly bashful reply, Samantha couldn’t help but grin to herself and let the sentiment be known to Andrew just the same. Even though the reasoning was probably lost in translation. “I think it’s cute that you are so supportive of your husband. With the food and the planning, he is really glad to have you.” she concluded with all the confidence of a seasoned diplomat. It was, after all, the logical conclusion with all the information available. She knew Ducote was married, that didn’t need a personnel file for reassurance, and she’d heard somewhere of a raven-haired senior officer, having caught his everlasting devotion. The neon blue strands must’ve been swept under the table as a unique identifier. And it was only as the momentary quiet set in, that the woman noticed a new presence. But not only behind her but within her too, if that made sense.

Turning again to where Derik had been putting his food on display, Samantha noticed Ducote, their first officer, standing next to the Trill. Eyes and thoughts on her. But at this point, it felt like not only his. It was then that he waved Commander Tiran over, their Chief Engineer. And somehow it felt as if something was off right then. There was a bubble in the air waiting to burst. “Commander.” the diplomat greeted courtly … and slightly hoarse. Nothing another big sip couldn’t cure, right?

Erm, no.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #13 – June 16, 2020, 12:48:08 PM

[ USS Theurgy "Thea" NX-79854 | In her Wardroom | Her 16^th Deck | Her Vector 03 Hull ]
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With the Captain extending the invitation to her as well via her intercom, Thea's projection had excused herself from the conversation she'd had with a crewman on one of her holodecks. He'd asked for her help in realising his story, and while she had indulged him as much as she could, it was evident that they had some creative differences. Either that, or it was merely the crewman who wanted to feature her in some extravagant way in his story, and didn't have the nerve to make his request for her direct participation. Either way, she couldn't linger, and had told him that she would love to see how it progressed next time he had time to work on it.

She'd made a site-to-site transport of her mobile emitter to her quarters, and she'd set a brisk pace to her wardrobe, which she'd filled with marvellous creations during the month her three hulls had spent in the shipyards. Her immediate predicament was that she had no idea what she wanted to wear for a social gathering of the Senior Staff. What was she even supposed to replicate when it came to food? She had quite limited data on what she enjoyed when it came to edible items from her replicators. Since she had no need for nutrition, and the sense of taste of her rather new sensory mapping wasn't even her own - belonging to the late Ensign Carver - she would just have to pick something that wasn't a horrible choice. Yet despite the immediate concerns she faced, she felt elated over being invited, and she would certainly not pass up on the chance to wear something besides her chameleon body suit.

Her selection process had a multitude of parameters, silly and pragmatic, and it took her ten seconds to pick out a dress. For an organic, that was virtually no time at all, but for her, it was a lot of time, and she quickly sequenced away her body suit so that she might don the underwear she picked right on top of her bare projection. The dress was a thick silk underlayer with glimmering shards sewn to it, which must have taken the maker a lot of time to do unless the thing was replicated, of course. She'd purchased it in the city centre of Aldea Prime together with Lieutenant Petterson and Crewman Samala, and she was really pleased that she'd been given the opportunity to wear it. She believed the dress was Alpha Centauri in origin, but either way, she loved it when she had the holo emitter in her quarters cast her mirror image in front of her. Her feed from her emotion chip made her feel giddy over how beautiful the garment made her look.

Before she headed for the replicator, Thea had taken a step closer to the holo-mirror projection and looked at her face. She considered adding some extravagant make-up to complement her dress, but decided on just dusting on a gold eye-shadow and some light mascara, not wanting to get overboard with it. It merely took a moment to apply the edit to her projection, the area around her eyes resequencing with a flicker of light, and then, it was off to pick some food.

When she materialised in the middle of her Wardroom, Thea was holding a tray stacked with chocolates of different varieties - it being what she liked the most. "Hello!" she said to those present and waved with her free hand, her smile so wide it creased the corners of her eyes. She looked around, since her internal sensors only told her so much, and located the refreshments. She took up a glass and toasted those gathered. "This was a great idea, and thank you for the invitation, Captain."

"Not at all, Thea, glad you could make it here in person," said Jien, standing there in his male form, raising his glass in turn.

"Chocolates for everyone!" she announced in her British accent with a giggle, and then headed off to put her tray next to the other food, knowing she'd likely have to dispose some of it from her projection later that night.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #14 – June 25, 2020, 11:00:39 PM

[Lt. Cmdr. Natalie Stark | Wardroom | Deck 16| Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]
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"That's certainly kind of you, Samantha," Natalie replied from across the room, down in the sunken pit where she had made her new perch. "Back on Mars we used to get together with the rest of our neighborhood every other week or so on the weekends, and we got into the habit of making a lot of food in one go. Only seemed natural to keep everyone's dietary restrictions in mind, so that you don't accidentally poison one of the neighbors; I just fell back on old habits." All the same she was pleased by the compliment implied by the Diplomat, even if Nat did not consider herself very diplomatic. After all, her most recent foray into the diplomatic sphere had ended with her 'bodyguard' getting stabbed, likely by his brother.

With Andrew, however,  as she lacked any idea who Williams or Ruth were - her memory of conversations in the lounge of the Mjolnir from long ago were dim at best, given that baseball was her colleagues obsession and not her own, Natalie could only just shrug at the CIO's insight. It seemed that their new diplomat shared a similar experience to Natalie, though for her it was someone they'd known at the Academy; baseball by proxy, in essence. "It's all Romulan to me," she said, then frowned. "Gorn might be a better analogy. I actually understand a decent amount of Romulan. Baseball, not so much." Still, it was good to know the tidbit about the Intelligence officer. It made him more than a name and a face, or a position; it revealed the person under the title, so to speak.  She shared a look with Samantha, that showed just how lost she was on the subject, even if the two were making an effort all the same for Andrew's sake.

Quirking an eyebrow up at Lt. Cmdr. Fisher, the Ops chief shrugged, still holding the wine glass by the stem, and stole a sip of it to give herself a moment to frame her response, listening to the diplomat in turn. There were a couple of ways she could answer the question, and she had to measure just how much of herself she was content to let out. Answering with something like 'sitting in my quarters reading bodice ripper novels' would certainly not be something she were willing to admit to in the present company. Especially not since her former Academy roommate liked to crash in her quarters from time to time, and had teased her over that past time recently.

"Mostly drink an unhealthy amount of coffee these days, and loiter around the Arboretum." Natalie confessed. Feeling that didn't quite hold the same kind of personal touch that Fisher's revelations about his love of the ancient sport of Baseball did, she added, "I have recently started taking a sketch book along. Dusting off old skills. First time since leaving the Sol system back at the end of last year that I've actually had the time for it. As you said, saving the Universe and all, doesn't leave much free time on hand."

The conversation moved on, with more bodies filling the room. It was getting hard to keep track of it all for Natalie, so she did what she always did in these kinds of functions - she fell back into her own little corner, responded with whomever had bothered to seek her out and enter her sphere of influence,and nod, or smile, occasionally when someone new came in, sometimes calling out an answer if something was directed at her. She got so caught up in fact that it took her a moment to realize that Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford was talking to her when the blonde made a comment about being supportive of a husband. So much that Nat nearly choked on the wine she'd sipped, eyes going wide - from Samantha, to Cmdr. Ducote and Lt. Cmdr Tiran. She half expected the latter to break the glass held in her hand and charge down after Nat for the shear implication, never mind that the Ops Chief had given no such indications herself. Oh Chirst above, you have got to be shitting me, she thought in very un-Natalie like fashion as a moment of naked terror crossed over her face and her skin paled a shade or three.

"I beg your pardon? My what?" She managed to choke out, as Thea chose that moment to breeze right into the room in a dress that dazzled and declare chocolates were available. The incredulity of the moment teased a fit of giggles out of Nat, breaking the tension, though, thankfully that bubble only really seemed to exist in that one little corner of the room, surrounding Samantha, Natalie, and the Ducote's. "Oh dear, you thought that I..and...well." She was red-faced now, and shook her head. "No, I'm afraid Lt. Commander Tiran is the one you're thinking of," she carefully nodded toward the 'blue menace' while twirling some of her own dark locks of hair around one of her fingers and trying to chart a safe path out of the Wardroom in a hurry if needed.

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #15 – June 28, 2020, 07:38:53 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Top Hat @stardust @Brutus @BZ @Argyros @trevorvw @Nolan @fiendfall @TWilkins

Absently sipping at his beer, the new CIO had listened as the blonde CDO expanded on where her knowledge of some finer baseball factoids had originated, having offered a nod in understanding and apparent approval of this person she’d referenced.

“Sounds like this Brutus guy is a decent fellah.”

His focus then shifted for a moment to take an appraisal of some of the other arrivals, though his attention had not so completely been diverted from their conversation. In the back of his mind he’d felt a sense of relief as he’d looked to each of them, as he had at least in a cursory fashion gone over the ship’s senior staff manifest in advance of this event. The practice had certainly helped to put names to their respective faces, especially considering that most of them hadn’t worn their Starfleet uniform or rank insignia for this little informal engagement. Sure, it would have probably even been excusable for someone new like him or even his Diplomatic counterpart to have taken a little while to get used to recognizing them, but in his past experiences it had always been better to put forward an air of advanced knowledge.

Afterall, it was his job to know the unknowable.

His gaze then snapped back from where it had strayed, his eyebrows raised in surprise as Rutherford rather amusingly slammed on the proverbial brakes of his foregone conclusion. He’d even half expected a retort on the finer points of the pro-Ruth argument, as in the past his attempt to foist over his summary conclusion on others had at times received a surprising amount of push back. It was of course an unrealistic expectation now, and she’d instead taken the opportunity to playfully point out the silliness of his endeavors to explain away his obsession. With a delicate hand she’d brushed off his jacketed forearm as kind of amused consolation, and he’d offered in turn a broad grin at having been called out. His eyes having coyly wandered to the deck-flooring for the briefest of moments as in a charming display he’d shrugged his shoulders in acquiescence.

“I do what I can.” He’d acknowledged, offering a sly wink to the two female Chief Officers he’d been bantering with.

As Stark had then explained away her own relative ignorance of the game of Baseball, having referred to it all as ‘Romulan’ to her, a strange thought crossed his imagination; that of a Baseball team fielded entirely by Romulans. Admittedly amusing as it was, it was still an objectively silly thing to imagine, and so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

‘Though, I imagine even the ’17-‘19 Astros would’ve even struggled to steal signs off of an all Romulan team.’ He mused to himself.

He’d then presented his follow-up inquiry into whatever personal activities they’d each liked to engage in, and as he’d listened for their responses a sense of normalcy that he’d not experienced in years had begun to crop up in the recesses of his mind. This was nice, he’d thought. It had felt like they weren’t in the midst of another terrifying reality filled with war, tragedy, and loss. Commander Stark had stated that the intent of this informal gathering had been to give the senior staff a better chance to be acquainted with one another, but clearly there had been the added benefit of bringing some semblance of peace to all of the chaos in their respective lives. A peace he’d wanted to revel in, but as always there had been a still nagging aura of guilt associated with it in Fisher’s conscience, as he’d questioned whether or not he’d earned the right to. His internal struggles over the failures of Intelligence services to have seen the conspiracy as it had befallen the Federation had weighed heavily on him, and that had been in spite of how often he’d told himself that he wasn’t explicitly to blame.

However, as he’d always done before, he’d still refused to be overcome by that assumed guilt.

“Swimming?” he’d nodded as Rutherford had expressed an interest in the activity, himself then adding a personal anecdote “An old buddy of mine used to recommend it as a way to de-stress the back.” He’d remembered being prescribed the activity as a form of physical therapy by the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Discovery some fifteen or so years earlier. That had been back when he was still relatively unaccustomed to the permanent level of discomfort that had been rendered unto him by a harrowing shuttle crash. Having heeded that advice for a while at least, he’d swam from time to time as prescribed, but had since abandoned it as a habitual practice, having opted instead to just live with a certain level of omnipresent pain. Though he’d wondered in the moment if he should reconsider all these years later, especially given the impressive aquatic facilities afforded to him aboard Theurgy. He really couldn’t continue to use the arid nature of previous assignments, or lack of access to a pool as an excuse. Besides, he’d figured, it couldn’t hurt to give it a try.

“I might have brought one or two with me.” He’d admitted, though in reality there were far more than two holodeck re-creations of famous Ballparks that he’d collected.

His attention had shifted back to Stark as she opined on her own preferred pass time, having confessed an interest in spending time in the ship’s Arboretum, a place that he himself had discovered a day earlier, where he’d in fact run into an old friend from the past. It was an impressive facility for sure, and he’d immediately understood why someone who had expressed an interest in sketch work would seek it out as a place to practice and hone their skill.

“Commander Hathev.” He’d greeted the Vulcan Chief Counselor, a combination of words he’d not generally put together before having arrived aboard Theurgy, for as far as he’d known, it hadn’t exactly been all that common for a species which prided itself on having subdued their emotions, to then offer emotional analysis and support. He understood that there were more than a few added benefits of being able to approach difficult situations from a more logical standpoint, though he’d wondered how they could properly empathize with another if they couldn’t understand what that other was feeling. The idea of opening oneself up to the often times cold logic of a Vulcan seemed like a rather aggravating prospect to him, and he’d doubted that he’d be seeking her out for help with his own demons. However, he’d then realized that he’d just judged the woman without offering due process and decided instead that she’d deserved the respect of him keeping an open mind.

“I’m settling in fine. Thank you.” An ounce of genuine honesty in his voice as he’d replied to her inspective question of the newest senior staffers.

Of course, as much of an oddity as it was to be among a Vulcan Chief Counselor, it paled in comparison to the mental loops one might jump through in an attempt to make sense of the personification of the ship themselves materializing out of thin air to appear in their midst. He’d only just started to get used to the idea of a ship’s computer having self-actualized, and the next thing he knew it was standing amongst them in a strikingly beautiful dress, extending a warm greeting as it’d made an offering of chocolates. ‘She’ he’d reminded himself, as Thea had identified as a woman, and as she had indeed been considered sentient, he’d known she deserved that modest modicum of respect from him. And so, he’d nodded another greeting to the holo-projection in keeping with his desire to be polite and respectful.

“Good evening, Thea.”

Now, exhaling as he continued to feel as though he and his fellow newbie, Commander Rutherford, were fitting in nicely, he took another sip from his beer while she offered an appreciation of the gathering to Commander Stark and whom she assumed to be her husband, Commander Ducote. Unable to contain himself, he nearly spat out the beer from his lips as he amusingly understood the awkwardness of the situation that had just been introduced. Thankfully, his studiousness had paid off, as he’d seen noted in his Executive Officer’s personal file, that he’d actually been married to the Chief Engineer, Blue Tiran. Otherwise it might have been him making that very mistake, though that didn’t take away from the enjoyment he found in the looks exchanged between two of the three female Chief Officers he’d been engaging in conversation with.

As a moment of silence lingered between them after Stark had tried to diffuse the awkward misunderstanding, Fisher couldn’t help but poke a little fun, and tease the Diplomatic Officer on her minor faux pas.

“Swing and a miss.”

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #16 – June 29, 2020, 10:06:33 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Auctor Lucan @Top Hat @Swift @Brutus @BZ @Fife @Argyros @trevorvw @Nolan @fiendfall @TWilkins
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Samantha grinned back at Natalie with a sweet smile, that was bordering a cute little sneeze, with her petite bunny nose scrunching up ever so nicely. A close-knit neighborhood that supported and celebrated one another was not a chapter in her own history. A history that was dominated by the stark contrast of the Federation refugee camps she grew up in originally and then the secluded, guarded little bubble of earthly utopia in Paris. In both instances she didn’t even know who her neighbors had been. Which, however, meant she could indulge in the narrations like in a romanticized construct of fiction. Filling the facts presented with mental images of her own, that did the momentary sentiment more justice, than the reality of the Commander’s own memory. But everything considered, her offer still stood and had only so increased in potential. One could be a diplomat in many different ways, being considerate of other’s needs and desires just one of them.

It was at least a topic she could be considered a professional in. Baseball on the other hand, not so much. And while Andrew was born a couple centuries too late to have been a professional player (of aforementioned sport at least) he certainly seemed to harbor an educated recreational interest. So, it was only natural that he would be inclined to base a sense of fondness on anyone sharing in the sentiment. Inadvertently being spot on in his judgment. Nodding once before taking a sip of champagne the blonde swallowed the bubbly barely before replying: “Oh he was … cute too.” she chuckled, subsequently. Not that she had any frame of reference to assume he wasn’t still. They hadn’t met again in person since the academy. Now she was wondering whether maybe she’d try to get in contact with him again when things slowed down a bit … though much like what prevented her from doing so in the past, it didn’t seem a realistic possibility.

Listening to Natalie chiming in on judging the CIO’s baseball terms, white teeth flashed from Samantha’s smile as she turned her attention back over to the man just in time to witness his cutely bashful reaction to their ignorance. Which in a way had shifted as a faux pas on him somehow – and it hadn’t even been intentional. Or maybe just a little. His reaction, however, priceless. There was a boyish nature to him that the diplomat hadn’t previously seen. And if she hadn’t already adulated the Chief Ops Officer endlessly on the social potential of the event, she should’ve done so now, as it brought out a more hidden and comfortable side of everyone, it seemed. “Well, the Gorn DO like good bludgeon play.” She added in dry humor, validating her shift in paradigms. And to continue on the tangent of personal interests, the two women had thus proclaimed a good portion of their own.

Swimming was something that the officer knew a thing or two about. It had been a childhood fascination of hers which had even brought her to the swim team at the academy. It was quite possibly her baseball, so to speak. Granted, she didn’t know much about the professional world of said sport and its key players. Certainly not from centuries past. But it was her athletic passion. Placing her free arm horizontally across her stomach she supported the elbow of the one holding her glass on the wrist of the other, as the flute slightly tipped in deference. “Oh, it can do that, if you do the crawl … and if you do it right. The breaststroke, however, is not quite as good for the back as one might think.” Granted, she was not a doctor, but she had been trained by someone with such a background. And considering someone with Drew’s medical history, maybe such a precaution was warranted. Men tended to consider pain as a badge of honor, meant to be worn proudly rather than cured. But pain was never good, no matter the self-imposed machoism. “I have a few good holo training programs I can send you if you want to do your old buddy proud.”

Maybe there could be some ‘intercultural’ exchange between their respective athletic pleasures to be organized. Shifting her attention back over to the brunette woman, at the other corner of their conversation triangle, Samantha raised her brows with a manner of awe, at the revelation of an artistic streak. She herself didn’t really have that fiber in her body. Not in the classical sense at least. “I wish I could do that … but my proportions are way off.” she commented off-handedly, not intending a dig at some of her own, more prominent, features. Artistry was something the blonde had always admired because in her opinion it was not something that could be thought or studied. Sure, it was a craft you could hone and refine, but you still needed that considerable base of talent to be truly good at it. And she would take an untrained virtuoso over a studied lack of talent every time of the day. Actually, Brody had considered himself sort of an artist and she had never had the callousness to tell him, nor did she every get the chance to. One of the few things not marred by regret in retrospective.

Yet one could potentially consider diplomacy, or the art of getting people to realize the officer’s intentions as their own, could be considered a talent. Something the blonde had been born with, or at the very least grown accustomed to at a very young age, which was subsequently honed by both her grandfather and later Starfleet into a proper craft. But since that craft entailed a good amount of background work and information gathering, she still had to realize now and then that exactly that area was where she could occasionally fail. As a moment of silence befell the more immediate surroundings Samantha noticed how Andrew was barely able to contain the drink within his handsome scruff just as well as Natalie dipping into a fascinating hue of red as she coughed out a clarification. Raising her brows at the brunette the diplomat did not at first realize her error, but the mere mix of tension and amusement filling the moment. A more precise explanation followed, and the pink hue migrated over to the other woman like a spreading ailment. Oh, oops.

Blue eyes flicking past Natalie, over to where the Chief Engineer had popped up beside her actual husband, the blonde forced a surprisingly convincing smile onto her plump lips. It wasn’t exactly a situation she could make much better without putting either of the two women down a little bit. “Well, you both look so pretty tonight.” she replied kindly, barely managing to get the words through her forcefully grinning teeth. It didn’t make any sense, but doubtfully anything would, at this point. She heard Andrew’s unsolicited judgment from the side and dismissed it with an off-handed wave that almost hit his face. “Not another baseball reference!” she hissed at him sideways through her gritted teeth. Straightening out her shoulders lightly to regain composure the officer drowned the self-doubt with another sip of bubbly. “More of a bunt than a miss.” she added, drawing what little knowledge that remained on the subject. Because if she recollected right, the former was an intentional act and considered more honorable, than an actually miss. Not that it was the truth. But she also wasn’t really in the business of truth. Well, maybe in the sense of an agreement … oh just, shut up!

Re: Day 31 [2000 hrs.] Of Cocktails and Social Obligations

Reply #17 – July 08, 2020, 10:52:37 AM

[ Captain Ives | Wardroom | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ]
[Show/Hide]

Biding his time with small talk, conversing with Commanders Cross and Akoni until the whole Senior Staff was gathered, Captain Ives eventually tapped his glass to summon attention.

"I would like to begin with thanking you for this initiative," he said with a faint smile and glanced towards Ducote and Stark, before he addressed all those gathered. Thea could be seen nibbling chocolate already, taking her time by the different foods so that she could scent them all. Ives was reminded that Thea could in fact smell all the different aromas around the table, with her olfactory sensor suite having been installed just before they came to Aldea.

"Considering the bleak prospects we have faced in our mission up until now," he continued, referring to the odds they'd faced as a single ship hunted by their own fleet, "I sometimes have to remind myself how we've now ended up in a far more advantageous situation. With Starfleet Command and Admiral Sankolov oblivious about our whereabouts, and with Chancellor Martok a strong ally, Thea's well-needed repairs is not the only development in our favour."

Briefly gesturing towards Fisher and Rutherford with his glass, Ives continued. "Director Anderson is another ally on Earth, whom after decrypting the real Simulcast from Starbase 84 hasn't just reinstated our access to the Federation database, but recruited loyal officers to aid in our mission. With our ranks having been somewhat replenished, now that the IKS Vor'nak has reached Aldea, we now stand before quite another voyage than which led us here. This, not just in the sense that we're no longer alone - backed as we are by Martok and Covert Ops - but because of another ally. The Voice, and the rebel Antecedents."

An ally which might take quite some time to trust, more so for some than others.

"Regardless how trustworthy the Savi prove to be, they have helped upgrade Thea's propulsion systems with a quantum slipstream drive, so when I say our voyage will be different, I mean it literally. We might yet learn how far we can travel in one burst, using our three warp cores, but having witnessed first-hand how the Versant could take us to the heart of the Azure Nebula in mere minutes, I am confident that we'll stand a greater chance outrunning Sankolov's task force, should we chance upon them again."

Pausing, Ives raised his glass. "So, I propose a toast," he said, his faint smile remaining as he looked between the faces of those gathered. "To allies, different as they might be, and to no longer being alone. The Infested will not be able to suppress the truth for much longer, since more voices have been added to ours. Thank you, for your persistence, and putting the fate of the Federation above your own repute. There is hope yet that the lies about us will fade in the light of our merits."

"Cheers," said Thea with a grin and raised her glass, looking around those gathered as she took a sip. When the sounds from the Senior Staff died out, she spoke anew. "Is... it customary to eat now?"

Chuckling, Ives gestured for her to go ahead, and the mingling resumed.

- FIN