Post 9 - Any Old Watering Hole

Posted on Sat Feb 6th, 2021 @ 8:04pm by Commander Kora Lenek & Lieutenant Commander Emni t'Nai

Mission: The Waiting Game
Location: A small cafe just outside of Starfleet Medical's buildings on the lunar surface
Timeline: Shortly after Post 8

The cafe Emni had picked was only a minute's walk outside of the Starfleet Medical buildings, giving them enough time to stretch their legs, but not enough to have to really exert themselves after a 7 hour surgery. The Romulan physician and the elderly doctor had settled themselves into a booth near the front of the space, taking in what rays of light could be caught from that vantage.

Emni swirled the neon blue liquid of her drink around her rocks glass, appreciating the chill of the liquid along with it's authenticity. It had been some time since she had authentic Romulan ale and she was savoring the beverage as she drank.

"You must have quite a bit of experience with the Vidiians to have so quickly diagnosed what needed doing for Commander Lenek," she commented before bringing the glass to her lips and letting the cool blue fire burn down her throat.

"Unfortunately..." the old man growled as he seized the tumbler filled with whiskey and knocked it back with no regard for decorum or manners. When it was completely drained, the glass clacked against the table rather forcefully. The alcohol, while pleasing to the palette, had done nothing to improve his mood.

"I can remember when I was just starting out, the Vidiians were already a species marked for avoidance. You've got to be pretty damn horrible if even my people want to avoid you at all costs. Vultures, the lot of them. Bastards don't even have the common courtesy to just die off quietly and leave people out of their own problems. Gotta go harvesting parts from others... like they are above reproach..." the elderly Captain said with a disapproving snort, "Not even the Q are that full of themselves, and that's saying something."

Emni tipped her glass in the other man's direction acknowledging his point with her drink before throwing the rest back. She waved to a server pointing to their empty glasses, a clear gesture for a refill. "If you don't mind the question, who are your people sir? I can tell you're not human, but I'm afraid beyond that it's unclear to me."

"El-Aurian... full blooded... made it off El-Aur right before the Borg stopped by. Though, several of my friends would say I integrated a little too well into human culture. But for as bad as I am, my father was worse. He got in so deep with a civilization near the blurry border between the Gamma and Delta Quadrant that he was never the same again. Happens to us sometimes... Hazards of wanting to invest in the people we 'listen' to," the old man answered, accepting the fresh drink when the waiter brought it by.

"What about you? How the hell did your family manage to cram that many different races into one body? Let me guess, your human ancestors just couldn't keep it in their pants," Cowell said with a snort as he took a rather generous sip of whiskey.

"I believe there's fault to go around on all sides there," she replied with a chuckle. "My mother was a Romulan sleeper agent on Betazed. My father was already half human. It was a bit of a whirlwind affair that ended when my mother was recalled, only to find herself pregnant. I've had little contact with my father's family beyond them knowing I exist. I suppose a Romulan mutt isn't exactly their idea of a good addition to the family tree."

The Romulan sipped her fresh ale thoughtfully. "I was raised on Romulus, but my..." she hesitated while she considered the best descriptor, "Betazoid genetics have come in handy as a medical practitioner."

"I reckon so. Hard to get a good read on Romulans as it is, so any little edge helps. Personally, I prefer to keep people out of my head. Plenty of things in there that would scar you for a few lifetimes..." the elderly man chuckled in an almost self-deprecating manner.

"So, how do you like the Federation? Bit different from the Romulan Empire... or whatever the hell they're calling themselves these days. Can't imagine it was an easy transition from despotism to something bordering on a democracy. Wasn't personally too thrilled with the way things started off... but that was a few hundred years ago, and I wasn't exactly in a position to change anything back then. Now that I could probably push things one way or another, I find myself not caring as much. Sure, the Federation's got it's flaws... what government doesn't? But it's not horrible. Just... different..." the old man rambled.

Emni smirked into her glass, the sip of ale that slid down her throat at that moment reminding her a bit too much of home. She suddenly wasn't sure she wanted that particular drink, but one does not waste Romulan ale and so she tipped the glass back, downing the rest quickly.

"It was a shocking change in the beginning," she mused, thinking back to a rocky first year as a cadet in which she struggled with the much less rigid and more... open... structure of Starfleet's many other cultures. "But I've grown to appreciate it. It's not as though the Romulan Free State, as much as the Romulan government can truly be considered a governing body at this point, hasn't also attempted to take on some of the Federation's ideals in the last 10 or so years."

"I know a few people who would say it's too little too late..." Cowell shrugged, "But then again those self same people aren't even a hundred years old yet, so you take it with a grain of salt."

After a short lull in the conversation, the old man turned to look at his drinking companion, "You've been dancing around something. If you've got something you want to talk about, just do it. You aren't the first person to invite me to drink with ulterior motives... I know the look well enough. Who or what has you bothered so badly that you figured old Doc Cowell could help you work through it?"

The Romulan woman held her hands in the air as if caught in the act of thievery. "Ok, you've got me there. But I am enjoying the company as well," she remarked.

She paused for only a moment to consider how best to formulate her request before diving in now that she had been invited to do so. "Commander Lenek, myself, and five other crew members were among those captured by the the Vidiian's. Lenek's encounter was the most severe of those who made it home. Two other crew members were lost and three of us were fortunate enough never to make it to one of their medical rooms. The Vidiian's did isolate our ship's counselor for extensive evaluation and testing. I haven't been able to get him to speak much to what they've done to him specifically, but physically speaking he is mostly recovered. Mentally, though..." she paused as she considered how much of Karim's tentative hold on his cool, Vulcan, control to describe.

She paused to change tact then, "Karim is, mostly, Vulcan, and young at that. I've had to relieve him of duty and, at this stage, diagnose him with acute post traumatic stress. Vulcan's aren't exactly the most forthcoming when they've lost their emotional control. I've tried a few things, but he's largely resistant to just about anything I suggest. I was hoping, I suppose, that you might have some suggestions, or even a direction to point me in. If I can't get him moving in a positive direction I'm concerned that Starfleet may sideline him in a much more serious way than my simple pause on his active duties."

"Pretty bad when your counselor needs counseling..." Cowell couldn't help but snicker, "And since you called him 'mostly' Vulcan... that means he's a half-blood at the very least. Whatever the other half is, it's emotionally receptive and that means he's fighting a war on two fronts in that head of his. Nasty business... That's why avoid psychology with a passion."

The old man leaned back in the seat he occupied, stretching out a bit before continuing, "That being said, the best thing you can do from a medical standpoint is to help him find a place where he can not only accept what has happened to him, but to accept that he's going to have feelings about it. Back in the day, we used to get guys drunk, get them laid, and usually they'd come around after a few rounds. Tell you a good place where that could actually work... Risa. Even if he isn't planning to shag his way across the planet in a drunken fog, there's bound to be some form of relaxation those customer service-minded pleasure zombies have cooked up for the stuffiest of Vulcans. It can't hurt to try at the very least. Better than sitting in a room all day thinking about things he doesn't want to think about."

Emni waved the server down again, turning over the idea in her head as she did. It made sense that Karim needed to be drawn out of his own head, but his withdrawal had become so severe that she wasn't quite sure where to start. A young woman appeared, the smile of someone who works in a cafe and engages with more faces than she can remember plastered across her face.

"I'll take another of these," she pointed to the drained ale, "and a basket of french fries if you have them." Turning to Cowell she gestured at his own drink. "Another?"

"Won't say no," the old man remarked casually.

The server went on her way, empty glasses in tow. Emni propped her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her. "Our crew, or at least some of us, have been sent off to Risa for shore leave. Karim is on the list for that, so I'll have to consider what activities are recommended for Vulcans there. It's a bit of a hike, though. Short of sedating him how would you go about keeping him out of his own head until we arrive?"

"Holodecks were built to keep people entertained. That could work as a way to keep him occupied. Another way would be to load him down with some sort of work, something he would normally pursue himself, and just double the quantity. Most people lose themselves in something they enjoy, even when there's a massive load looming over them. You could always sedate him, sure, but that's the easy way out of it. Might be just as easy to have someone mind meld with him, swap around mental stability for a while. On that same vein, you could always find someone who can exert pressure on him telepathically, force his mind to comply through blunt force. Messy, but could work. Beyond that... find yourself an Iconian portal and cut out the travel time..." the old man smirked.

Emni nodded, thoughtful. "Thank you Doctor. That gives me a lot to consider."

Two drinks materialized in front of them followed promptly by a basket of warm greasy fried potatoes. Emni inhaled, letting the aroma fill her nostrils, before situating the basket between the two of them. "I haven't got a clue when you last ate, but help yourself. I'm starving and the ale," she gestured to the air in general with the glass she had scooped up, "will sit better with a bit of food.

"I don't mix food and alcohol... ruins the buzz," the elderly physician mused, draining yet another glass almost as soon as his hand was around it. Once it found its way back to the table, Cowell let out a long sigh, "Besides, the wife will get mad at me if I don't get back soon. She has a knack for knowing where I've been, even when I cover my tracks..."

The Romulan raised an eyebrow unable to picture a person who could give Cowell more grief than he seemed capable of dishing out. "Well thank you for taking the time," Emni said her expression a genuine reflection of her appreciation. "It has been a pleasure both to work with you and," she raised her glass again, "to drink with you. Perhaps we'll get a chance to do this again before I'm sent on my way."

"Maybe," the man shrugged before sliding out of the chair and heading out into the wide world with a casual wave in farewell.

A post at a random hole in the wall joint by

Captain Nathan Cowell, MD
Curmudgeonly Doctor at Large

and

Lieutenant Emni t'Nai
Chief Medical Officer
USS Adelphi