An Officer and a Gentleman

Posted on Sat Jun 24th, 2023 @ 8:46pm by Captain Björn Kodak & Lieutenant Jennifer Bracco, M.D. & Lieutenant JG Sheldon Parsons & Ensign Brian Davies & Debbie Gless & Lieutenant Commander Emni t'Nai & Lieutenant Charles Bridgeport & Lieutenant Margarar & Lieutenant Xex Wang & Lieutenant JG Gwenwyn Marwol & Ensign Mei Ratthi & Ensign Noah Balsam & Andrew Munro & David Mccolugh & Lieutenant Timmoz & Lieutenant Arianna Durand & Lieutenant Irynya & Lieutenant JG Kestrel & Ensign Jyl-eel Tor

Mission: On the Road Again
Location: The King's Shilling Pub
Timeline: Mission Day 3 at 1900

[The King's Shilling Pub]
[USS Sojourner]
[MD 3: 1900 Hours]

After a couple hours of closure to prepare, the Sojo's dedicated pub had opened its doors for the party David Mccolugh and Debbie Gless had been tasked to plan for the crew. With the difficult mission to Shaddam IVa a few days prior and the funeral for Crewman Booth just a few hours earlier, the party was meant to both provide stress-relieving revelry as well remembrance. A picture of the departed security officer stood on an easel in a corner, sprays of flowers crowning and flowing down the edges. It was a place to share a memory or two and say goodbye.

The party wasn't just part wake, part steam-blow off, however. While Cadet Balsam didn't know it, there would also be a celebration of his graduation and elevation to his new rank. A picture of the former-cadet was hidden behind the bar, waiting to be pulled out and placed above a stool to demarcate it as Noah's place of honor. The Captain would be officiating a little ceremony to commemorate the event after most folks -- including the guest of honor himself -- arrived at the party.

A roaring holographic fireplace mixed with the din of upbeat music and conversation as folks began to file in. Debbie, for her part, was at the buffet table at the end of the pub, making last second, mother-hen adjustments to the spread on offer there. The menu was extensive with a variety of things on offer, from pizza and cheese sticks to fish and chips to fancy little canapés and large slices of chocolate cake. There was literally something for everyone to nosh on and Deb stood by to replenish any emptied trays as needed. That, and warmly greet people as they entered the pub, playing hostess even if the bar wasn't her own space.

One thing he hated about his long life, was too many memorials, too many funerals, too many friends, colleagues etc, gone, but he learned to move on., and to remember them. Now he was acting as host and he greeted people, some of whom he had seen before, those he remembered he greeted by name.

Jyl-eel Tor sat elegantly at the edge of the fireplace, chatting with Counselor Bracco. Though the topics were myriad and often small talk types, she'd broached the topic of Booth's death with a touch of survivor's guilt. Jyl-eel hadn't known Booth. They were very different people and moved in different circles. But the classic question- the classic perspective- of a guilty survivor was why him, and not one of us? The Valt stayed cheery on the outside, eyeing the strange tube of food that her friend in Engineering seemed so fond of: the Cheesestick.

Personally, Jyl-eel found them revolting.

They weren't in session and, given the very public setting, Jennifer kept conversation light while still acknowledging the Valt's feelings. "It's very senseless sometimes," she nodded to the woman, then drank from the cocktail she'd procured. It was a "Cape Codder," as her grandfather had been fond of calling the cranberry juice and vodka mixture. "Booth did what he did best: keeping his team safe by giving them time to escape," she underscored. "That's a proud death, one worth commemorating. I'm glad we're doing this," Bracco nodded.

Was there such thing as a proud death? Valt considered a proud death one surrounded by their wealth, their success, their families and retainers. But Booth had been in security... so... perhaps that was a proud one for him? Yet it seemed meaningless to the Valt, and she struggled to smile despite Bracco's expert skill at keeping things light. Tor sipped her drink with a blink.

The glories of the viscous amber liquor that was Saurian Brandy was sidestepped by Timmoz, who had Orion tastes. He may have met Counselor Karim over such a glass- until he'd been able to program a decent Kanar into the system. This too Timmoz bypassed- and went straight for Debbie. "Kaheedi," he purred smokily. His smile was sly, wolfish. He slunk toward her, receptive, coquettishly boy-like fashion. He leaned against the bar, "I want to believe that you and Mcclough here have been holding out on me. And you have some Meridor hiding behind you." His eyebrows rose, "Hmmm?"

"I surely don't know what you're talking about, Lieutenant," Debbie smirked back, looking at the Orion with an unabashed grin. "It couldn't possibly be this, could it?" she asked, producing a bottle from behind the floor-length skirt bordering the buffet table. What else was she hiding in there?! "It's good to see you, baby," the matron said with great affection as she passed the bottle to Timmoz. It was from her own stock rather than David's, so she hoped the bartender wouldn't mind her plying their guests with her supply, too. "How're you doing?" she asked then, a concerned gleam in her eye.

With little fanfare, the rangy Orion smiled with a pleased wolf and snaked his fingers around Debbie's fingers- and the neck of the bottle. "I always knew you were my favorite," he purred. "I'm well, Kaheedi. But ask me again after a glass of that, and I will tell you good things." He smiled again.

Debbie beamed back at The Verdant One, eyes lit up at the compliment. "Going to hold you too that, mister," she winked, patting the lanky man on his shoulder.

David moved smoothly around the crown taking orders, it was a good day, he would stop and make small talk with crewmembers sharing some stories and just making sure everyone's glass was full, and the group was getting along.

Having submitted his after action report, Bridgeport headed down to the location where they were going to let off some steam. This is just what the doctor ordered. He thought as he entered to room.

Like iron to a lodestone, Xex had been irresistibly drawn to the groaning table piled high with comestibles the moment he entered the room on the security chief's heels. With deft twists of his hips, and companionable touches to shoulders, the Sojourner's CMO had moved through the crowd with practiced ease until he fetched up at the table just behind Timmoz. A jostle from behind him forced him to sidestep the Orion or otherwise barge him into the table, and he did so with a cautionary hand on the man's midback to inform him of the doctor's presence. "Sorry boss," Xex said with a grin that was mostly amused, tempered with a tiny sprinkling of apologetic, "Quite the turnout no? And I can see why," he added, eyes drawn to the table. He stared at the offerings with wonder, like he'd never seen such a spread before. Perhaps he hadn't.

Timmoz smiled at the unusual silver man that was their ship's relatively new Doctor. "Yes," Timmoz agreed. His eyebrow spiked, bemused. "The kind that liquor is the best lubricant for. Speaking of, what is your choice of drink, Doctor?"

“That depends,” Xex said, sounding a little distracted until he tore his eyes from the buffet to find himself pinned by a bemused Orion smile. All at once, his tone coalesced into interest as he asked, “What are you drinking?”

"Meridor," Timmoz replied, "Thanks to this glowing wonderment of grace," Timmoz gestured at Debbie. "Have you had it before? It's quite rare in the Federation."

Timmoz's gesture drew Xex's gaze to the wonderment of grace herself, as he soundlessly mouthed 'meridor,' as though tasting the word before the beverage. With Debbie's attention on making last-minute adjustments to her impressive spread of comestibles, he firmly returned his attention to Timmoz. "I can't say that I have," the doctor admitted, sounding truly regretful. A restless shift to his stance betrayed an eagerness to try the drink-- yet another novelty aboard this ship of novelties-- that he tried to smother. He was only partially successful, and his tone was equal parts yearning and polite regret, "but I wouldn't want to consume any of a precious stash."

"Kaheedi," Timmoz addressed Debbie, "The Doctor has not tried Meridor." He said with a lift of eyebrows. "It's a fascinating flavor. There's nothing quite like it. But," Timmoz smiled wolfishly again, "What would we expect from the Gorn. It's certainly not a plant-based liquor. A rarity."

Xex's eyebrows made for his hairline at the provenance of the liquor-- he maybe shouldn't have been surprised at a non-plant-based-liquor, but should and were didn't always align. The interest on his face had migrated into a taught posture, weight forward on the balls of his feet, as though he would lunge for the beverage. If Timmoz had wanted to put the doctor off trying the hard-to-acquire liquor, it didn't appear to be working.

Deb had heard mention of the Meridor virginity but had been elbows-deep in restocking crab puffs, which seemed to have immediately been decimated by the incoming crowd. But rangoon restocked, she came over with an extra glass and passed it to the good doctor. "For popping your cherry," she smirked.

Xex accepted the glass, staring unabashedly at the flamboyantly-dressed woman who had handed it to him. While marveling at the sheer breadth of style the woman displayed, he finally concluded she must be the architect of all that was before him. "May I surmise this is your handiwork....?" he asked, trailing off at the end of the question to allow her to introduce herself.

"Well, it was a team effort," Debbie smiled back. "Mel's my short order cook but he helps with the catering when needed," she explained. "Debbie Gless and you are?" the matron asked, extending a hand in greeting. She, of course, already knew of the Doctor but this was their first actual meeting, so she played it coy.

Xex had started to glance around for Mel, but Debbie's hand extending toward him narrowed his focus back to the gaudy woman. Her introduction narrowed his focus even more intensely upon her, genuine pleasure lighting his features as he took her hand and shook it warmly, a contrast to his cooler skin. "Xex Wang," he introduced himself, "But please, just call me Xex. I'm the new CMO, and unless Gless is a much more common name than I'm aware, you must be the proprietor of the Sojourner's most popular eatery, no? I've heard so much about you around sickbay, and I can only apologize for not getting out to socialize earlier. What an absolute pleasure it is to meet you!"

"The pleasure is mine, sweety," Debbie shined back at the silvery Doctor. "And hopefully none of those folks have come into Sickbay complaining of food poisoning," she smirked. "So...you gonna try the Meridor or what?" the matron grinned, gesturing at the bottle and the empty glass she'd handed to Xex a few moments prior.

"Perish the thought," Xex laughed, though in fact, it might have been a nice change to treat something so prosaic as food poisoning. He glanced down at his glass with surprise-- clearly, he had forgotten it was in his hand. "If it's not too much trouble," he said, in a small, hopeful voice while extending the glass in Timmoz's direction and giving the Orion his best puppydog eyes. He pulled them off quite well; they suited his boundless eagerness perfectly.

The Orion's relaxed ennui tilted a bemused smile and Timmoz poured a sampling sized inch into Xex's glass. "Enjoy," Timmoz suggested with a single lift of an almost patrician eyebrow. His smile widened, akin to an Incubus sealing a deal. "And you Kaheedi?" Timmoz turned enough to present the still pourably angled bottle at the Human. "Life can't be all root beer."

"Hmm," the matron replied, stroking a chin that, despite wearing disguising make up, was still doubled. "I suppose a little won't hurt," Deb conceded, holding her own glass out towards Timmoz. "I do have to stay sober, though. Otherwise I'll get to talking and the buffet will run dry," she chuckled, watching the liquid as it was poured into her glass. "Thank you, honey," the matron nodded back, a Cheshire grin pulling at the corners of her wrinkle-lined mouth. While the others might sip their portion of Meridor, Debbie raised her glass in a salut and then threw her head back, downing it all in one gulp. "Fuu...dge," she course corrected her language as the alcohol fired in her belly like a punch to the gut.

The Orion again tilted the unqiue looking decanter of the drink toward a glass for Debbie. "One day, Kaheedi, we'll see you at your loosest." Timmoz raised his own glass and then angled it toward the unusual alien Chief Medical Officer.

Taking Debbie's cue, Xex lifted his own glass in a toast and downed it. His eyes bulged, and the liquid slid visibly down this throat. He breathed the, "Fuck," Debbie had course corrected, and then almost immediately, his face broke into a grin. "Remarkable!" he enthused, turning to Timmoz. "However did you develop a taste for such a thing?" Almost absently, he reached out to pat Debbie on the back of her upper arm, a silent moment of camaraderie for the Meridor's... unique sensations.

Timmoz chuckled, "I've been drinking Meridor since I was ten seasons old." His bemused, sly fox grin angled again, "The Gorn hate Orions for reasons... who knows. I'm sure they are myriad," Timmoz flourished his fingers in a wave of dismissal, "Maybe that just makes us want it more. Maybe it's the taste of a rare delicacy. Maybe its the fact that it enhances pheromones. I believe," Timmoz narrowed an eye, gesturing with his meridor-hand, "Gorn females use it to entice their males to mate." Timmoz grinned, "Personally, I like the synesthesia of it. You might be tasting the taste as a color right now? What do you two see?" Timmoz raised his hand and enjoyed the lovely warm wash of gold that teased the edges of his vision.

"I wouldn't have thought your pheromones needed enhancing, lieutenant," Xex said with a smirk, his gaze flicking haphazardly across Timmoz, then Debbie, then the table of delectable treats, then snapped back to Timmoz. "Lucky Gorn males," he added, and tipped his head on the side, then back up again. "It appears-- no tastes-- no appears--" Xex cut himself off with a self-mocking laugh. "Remarkable!" he repeated, breaking off his earlier attempts to explain and simply exclaiming with delight, "I did not know prismatic color spectrums could have taste-- or rather that taste could be a prismatic color spectrum."

Debbie, meanwhile, had been looking down at her customary red apron and its bedecking of many vibrantly colored pins. "So it's supposed to taste...yellow?" she asked, licking her lips in a testing fashion. "No, green maybe?" the matron wondered, clearly curious about what was happening in her brain and taste buds. "I think I need a little more to be sure," the grinned then, flashing a mouthful of pearly teeth, very obviously delighted as she held her glass out for more.

"Oh indeed," Xex agreed sunnily, making sure his glass ended up as close to Debbie's as possible, so as not to be forgotten, "Such a small sample size is hardly going to produce conclusive results without repetition," he said, attempting-- and failing-- to keep a straight face. His gray eyes danced, his smile lighting his silvery features as he appealed to Timmoz for the refill.

Timmoz, enjoying a soft and warm umami buzz of copper, brandished the bottle once again and tilted it toward Debbie and Xex's glasses. "Welcome to Meridor." He said with his wolfish smile.

Back at the entrance to the pub the doors once again swished apart, this time revealing the tan complexion and curvy figure of Irynya, one arm looped through the skinny arm of her stick-bug roommate. The Risian wore a long tunic-like dress that brushed her ankles as she moved. A slit ran up each side to her knees, showing off the musculature of her calves and slim ankles that disappeared in to black ankle boots. Her hair was, as always, caught up in a ponytail offset to the side and trailing down her front.

Since Noah was unaware he was a guest of honor he had, of course, gotten caught up in other things and Irynya had taken it upon herself to find him, dragging him away from whatever work had engulfed his attention in favor of the party. She'd hooked her arm through his for good measure, as if there was some possibility that he might run away. A part of her, admittedly, was also still feeling a need to put her hands on him and confirm he was all in one piece. Seeing Noah with blood streaming down his face, breaks and bruises covering him and shaken her, though the processing of that discomfort had been delayed until after they'd gone their separate ways upon return to the ship.

"I-I really don't feel like being that social tonight, Iry," Noah had meekly protested. And such was her skill and legerdemain at getting him moving, that Noah had still not unstrapped the headband of ocular HUD pieces and other holo-engineering accoutrements. He was dressed simply- a SOJO t-shirt, long sleeved. One of the HUD piece covered his right eye, making it yellow and simultaneously streaming the words, "CONNECTION LOST, CONNECTION LOST," in red.

With his untrapped arm, he reached across himself and flipped the HUD up. It nestled into his dark hair.

"You're going to be here a minute," Iry murmured so that only Noah could hear, leaning into him slightly as she did. "Why don't you take that off? I'm sure Debbie would let you tuck it behind her table so nothing happens to it." With less quiet she pulled back to the position she'd been in and began to withdraw her arm. "I'm going to get a drink. What would you like?"

"Wow it's peopley," Noah said in an exasperated whisper. His eyes narrowed and he dug into his reserves for forced social mirth. "Um..." He hesitated. His eyes glanced around at person after person after person- some of whom looked directly at him. He assumed it was because of his appearance. With the sme hand that crossed his body to push up his HUD, he pulled the band off. It hung, its loop shape rested on two fingers curled. "Uhh, I-I-I'll have a..." Blank. His brain went blank. "Wuh-whatever you're having."

The Risian paused foe a moment as if debating something, her eyes searched her friend's distracted and slightly dismayed expression. She looked as if she might say something, but then a warm smile, one that might be considered her "Risian" smile and turned to head to the bar.

The curvy figure of the Risian appeared again a few moments later, hips swaying to weave between the folks standing in small groups and a drink held high in each hand.

"Try this," she said, holding out a highball glass filled with something orange, an actual wedge of the fruit affixed to the rim next to a straw.

It certainly looked nonthreatening. Noah held it between long fingers and a thumb. It looked... well, the best word was nonthreatening. But when alcohol was involved that was more a detriment. "Um. Okay. Well, its very orange," he sort of complimented. "It's not that weird stuff Lieutenant Timmoz drinks, dyed orange, right?" Noah sniffed it. It had little discernible scent except oranges. His eyebrows popped. He sipped it. The harshness of vodka was at most in the background. He mostly tasted a tangy cream-like taste, a lot of orange- both natural and what he guessed was artificial. It was sweet.

He had whipped cream as a mustache while he pulled away. "That's different.. wuh-wuhat's it called?"

Several thoughts crowded Irynya's head at once, at least two distinctly Risian in nature in a way that made her tuck her lip between her teeth. "You have," she said softly, gesturing at his lip and then brushing softly across her own to demonstrate. She took a sip of her own drink, careful to only get a small line of cream on her own lip and following it promptly with her tongue. "It's called an orange dreamsicle."

Noah, silently, knew and he bobbed his head as he thumb swiped away the creamy stache. "Oh. Uhhh. I think I've heard of them. How did you... you find out about them? Are they Risian?"

The warmth of the Risian's answering chuckle was unmistakably that of someone perfectly enjoying a moment. "No," she said by way of answer. "Unlike pizza, I did plenty of experimenting in alcoholic options at the Academy. This one is a uniquely human concoction. Something to do with a childhood dessert?"

"I-I guess I don't know it. The closest I can think of is orange sherbet pie." Noah admitted. "Maybe its an Earth thing?" He looked down at it, "It's good though. I like it."

In answer to the cadet's proclamation that it was good Iryna's face lit with a broad smile. "Good," was the only response she gave before lifting her own drink back to her lips for a sip.

Mei had slipped in relatively unnoticed and looked around wide-eyed at the scene, especially at the fireplace. It was such a cozy touch that she couldn't resist going over to it and holding her hands over it though it wasn't putting out any heat she could detect. It was homey, though, and helped lift her spirits, which had been low of late. She'd come to this little gathering hoping it would provide a distraction from her oft-spiraling thoughts. Sure, she'd had an appointment with Dr. Bracco, but a single session wasn't going to solve everything. That would take time and more than a few appointments. At least she was feeling hungry again; food hadn't been appetizing to her since they'd come back, but she thought the spread they'd laid out might tempt a rock. She went over to investigate the offerings.

The door had snicked open and shut several times, crew members entering the space in small groups or singles a few times before Kestrel finally willed herself down the corridor and into the pub. She was slow moving, her legs stiff and muscles tight as if the fear and pain had wound their way into her very being and was refusing to let go. Dr. Wang had told her this was normal--that her body had experienced some extreme shock and that while they had treated it time would be required to let it regulate again.

For the first time in a very long time she found herself thinking of her parents and their insistence that work... specifically the work she did... on a starship went against every Argelian ethos. Her injury hadn't been in a violent situation, though. No weapons were discharged. Just a bad storm and a falling tree. That could just as easily have happened on Argelus. she reminder herself for what seemed like the millionth time.

Once inside the door she stepped to the side, clearing the way for others while she surveyed the room. A black stabilizing boot was affixed around her ankle, giving the appendage support after its reconstruction. Kestrel felt bulky and in the way and for a moment debated returning to her quarters. At least there she could minimize the number of people looking at her pityingly as if she needed another reminder of what had happened.

"What are you drinking?" The smooth voice next to the younger Argelian emanated from the tall Romulan woman that had stepped up next to her.

Kestrel had lit up like a beacon before Emni had even entered the room. Discomfort, an innate intense desire to hide, and a series of emotional conflicts, like mini skirmishes, were impossible for the empath to miss. She'd instinctively drawn her barriers close and then, recognizing a person who might just need a nudge when she felt one, she had made a line for the Argelian tactical officer.

"What?" Kestrel asked back before turning her head and flushing an embarrassed shade of red as she realized she'd just addressed the XO in a less than formal slightly annoyed sort of tone.

"Drinking," Emni repeated coolly. "What are you having to drink? We're all due a bit of something pleasant today. Even those with medical impediments. I'm headed to the bar. What do you want? I'll grab it."

The statement was delivered as though the XO getting a drink for a junior officer was a foregone conclusion and not something a bit more unusual. And for a moment Kestrel gaped at the older woman. "Uhh..." she began, debating whether to protest.

"I'd prefer not to order you to let me, but I will..." Emni added, a small twitch of her lips giving away her amusement at this. She felt a slight unknotting in Kestrel and was pleased when the other woman added.

"Umm... Rum... and Coke?"

"Rum and coke," Emni repeated and then was off to obtain the beverage without another word.

Dawning in black jeans and a shirt with blue running shoes, desaturated by the dark brown dirt of Earth, Gwenwyn was mourning Booth but respectful of his family, entering behind Kestrel. He followed her but kept a distance along the travel from their shared quarters, he was a physician after all and wanted to assist her if something happened along the way. Slipping past Kestrel, Gwenwyn found an empty table at the back and sat himself down, not wanting attention but instead ponder his own future demise.

"Is this seat taken?" asked a polite voice from the side. Doctor Bracco had apparently excused herself from the ambiance of the fireplace upon spying Marwol enter, moving to join the surgeon at his table. They'd, of course, interacted at medical staff meetings but this was the first time she'd approached the man socially.

Slightly shaking his head, only, "Nope" uttered from Gwenwyn's lips in a crestfallen tone. He'd produced himself a drink of synthesized Stelltown Welsh vodka, although not at all like the real deal it kept his thirst quenched with his finger orbiting the rim of the glass.

"Thank you," Jennifer smiled as she lowered herself into a seat. While she sometimes envied t'Nai's ability to read emotions, the psychiatrist didn't need empathic abilities to tell that Gwenwyn was in a funk. "Good to see you here, Doctor," she said, cradling her Cape Codder in her left hand. Sweat on the glass' surface made it slightly slippery but the cool sensation against her skin felt nice. "How're you doing?" the woman asked, using her right hand to push her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.

Months at Starfleet Medical were enough to know when a shrink was after something. Playing it cool and natural Gwenwyn said. "I'm getting used to being in deep space... I'm not really affected by Booth's death, didn't know him very well." Leaning backwards into the leather seat that lined the walls

"It's definitely an adjustment," Jennifer nodded. "It's been an adjustment for me, too," she conceded before taking a stalling sip from her drink. Marwol seemed to be proactively stonewalling her: not exactly a surprise given Xex's description of what the surgeon was going through. That, and everything she'd read in Gwenwyn's psychological profile and history led the woman to believe the surgeon would be difficult to approach. Things were playing out pretty much as expected so far.

"I didn't really know him, either," Jennifer admitted. "Ran into him once in the halls. Seemed nice enough. And clearly," she took another sip, "he was committed to his duty. Had you met him before the mission?" she wondered.

He took a sip of his drink before answering as if he was giving himself enough time to think of a plan. "Probably in sickbay." He stated "But mostly I remember him in the Waverider going down to the surface, talking to people. We probably made small talk about the weather on the moon."

"Dust storms and aridity..." Jennifer replied after a sip of her cocktail, "not exactly the most riveting of conversation topics. But I'm sure it was affable enough," she nodded, growing silent for a moment, her eyes taking in the surgeon. He seemed tired, perhaps. Withdrawn, certainly. And she sensed that making all this small talk wasn't warming Marwol to her, so decided to change tactics. "Listen, I understand you've been having some...reservations recently," she began to cut through the fat of their conversation. "It's a small ship," she held up a stalling hand, "and word gets around. I'd very much like to talk to you about them in private if we can."

"Then I am afraid you must pull protocol or rank Doctor," Gwenwyn forwardly put it making eye contact with her, then his eyes darted beyond her, staring towards the bar, scanning for his socialite commanding officer to look at him like a cat that is planning the murder of its owner or galactic conquest. "I have um..." He scratched his head as if he was forcing his brain to make up an excuse as to why he couldn't attend "I have a 23-year-old Female Boilan Ensign with Grave's disease and a complication has um... happed resulting in hospitalization. So either I've miss diagnosed her or there's something else."

"Graves?" the psychiatrist asked, concern infusing her voice as she cast her thoughts back to her medical training. If Jennifer remembered correctly, the disease involved an overproduction of thyroid hormones, which could lead to a variety of symptomatic maladies, including anxiety, diarrhea, and a swollen thyroid gland -- none of which would be enough to call the surgeon away from the party. As Marwol seemed to poise himself to leave, she had a hunch and followed it.

Reaching up, she non-nonchalantly tapped the right fore-temple of her glasses. To the outside observer, there was no change in the lenses but, on the sides facing her eyes, an augmented reality interface had appeared -- handy for accessing patient files during her sessions when needed. Tracking her eye subtle movements, the glasses quickly allowed her to access Sickbay's patient logs and, after a brief search, her hunch had been altogether confirmed. She'd have to pull rank indeed.

"Funny," Jennifer said drolly, "I don't see anyone with Graves disease logged into Sickbay, Doctor. And the fact that you're fibbing about patients," she underscored the direness of such a thing, "tells me a lot. I want you in my office tomorrow at 1000 hours," she said formally. "Don't worry about missing part of your shift. I'll clear that with Doctor Wang. And in case there's any question to the matter, this is Doctor's orders."

A puff of air left Gwenwyn's mouth, a sigh. "Yes sir." He unenthusiastically said, "Well... Do I at least get points for trying to leg it?" He asked, months in a ward at Starfleet Medical on Earth taught him you should always start off on a good page with mind doctors... They leave you alone quicker.

Jennifer considered this for a few moments before allowing the left corner of her mouth to tug upward in a smirk. "Two points for style," she said, holding up the same number of fingers. There was an edge of humor in her voice. "Minus one point for lying," the psychiatrist's smirk deepened, lowering one of the fingers. "All in all, you've come out ahead. Don't push it though, hmm?" And with that, she downed the last remains of her cocktail and looked towards the bar. "Think it's time for a refill. Enjoy the party, Doctor," Jennifer said in parting, making eye contact one last time before rising and meandering off in search of her second Cape Codder of the evening.

The doors parted again, this time admitting the Captain and his partner of several months. The Chameloid of the pair wore a simple black leather vest over a tight, white t-shirt stretched across his barrel chest and arms. Emblazoned on the shirt was a brown, stylized bear paw logo wreathed in a circle of silvery barbed wire. Jeans in standard blue denim adorned Kodak's legs and terminated in shiny, black tactical boots on his feet. All in all, it was a pretty standard get-up for going out to a pub, though those used to seeing the Captain in a Starfleet uniform might mistake him for just an average joe in attendance.

"Quite a crowd already," Björn rasped to Andrew at his side, smiling brightly at those gathered.

"Aye, it is," Andrew agreed. He tugged at the collar of the blue plaid shirt that he had chosen for the night as he scanned the faces in the room checking for people he should say hello to. The ones he recognised hadn't noticed his arrival yet so there was no obligation to do it right away. "I'm gonna get a drink from the bar, do you want me to get you anything?"

"I'd love that, handsome," Björn smiled warmly, nodding. "I'll have a bourbon. Whatever he's got back there," he said, eschewing pickiness. "Want me to make you a plate?" he asked then, pointing to the buffet table. Since coming to the Delta Quadrant and living together full time, the two of them had fallen into a comfortable dynamic, operating like a well-oiled machine. "Debbie promised chocolate mousse," the Chameloid said, his gold eyes glinting with excitement.

"Sure, pile it high!" Andrew joked with his usual cheeky grin before turning to make his way to the bar. Weaving between the small groups of chatting people, the atmosphere called up memories from his student days when most of his socializing took place in a few ancient pubs dotted around the city. It put him in the mood for a pint of eighty-shilling, something he hadn't had in all the years since.

Margarar cautiously walked into the room. Crowds were not something that she personally liked. The universe outside Antica was rather unfamiliar and the sites and sounds could get overwhelming. Plus, there was always the chance that she would run into her roommates and that was always awkward. So far, only Timmoz and her had a semblance of a relationship and so, this party was not something that she particularly desired. But to miss it would be a serious faux pax. So, she found herself a quieter corner of the room and tried to remain unnoticed.

[About 30 minutes into the party...]

Kodak smiled at Andrew, grasping the big bear of a man's hand affectionately. "I suppose it's time for my little announcement, hmm?" he asked with a smirk, pulling something from the pocket of his jeans. It was a small box furnished in black velvet. Andrew, of course, knew what was about to happen and what was in said box, which the Chameloid had quickly palmed out of sight. "I'll be back shortly," he promised with a rasp.

Standing, the Captain focused his thoughts and energy on his body, initiating a change. Leather and denim rippled and flowed, giving way to the emergence of crisp fabric in black and Command red. Now clad in his customary Starfleet uniform, Kodak moved to the bar and nodded to David -- a pre-arranged signal to kill the music and play a soft but attention-getting tone that repeated a few times before fading into silence.

"If we could have your attention, please," the Captain smiled warmly, addressing the crowd. As voices quieted and faces turned to him, Kodak firmed up his shoulders and stood tall. "Today we gather to celebrate the life of Crewman Jayden Booth, who gave his life so that others might live. He was a true gentleman in every sense of the word. To Jayden," he said, raising his half-filled glass of brandy in a toast.

"To Booth." Andrew raised a small glass containing a little golden liquid that was a decent approximation of a nice Speyside whisky. It felt like a more appropriate drink for toasting than the heavy beer he'd had earlier. His eyes left Björn and wandered around the faces of those assembled, their expessions of solemn respect not giving away whether they knew their departed colleague any better than he did.

"To Booth," Timmoz had said unevenly with the others. He sipped his Meridor and eyed his Risian compatriot with the stalky Cadet who was also raising his glass- albeit in the classically wallflower pose. All he needed was a plant to hide behind. Unfortunately for him, David hasn't seen to the addition of plants in his pub.

The weight of a glance tickled Iry's neck hair and she turned, offering a warm smile that spoke of the bond she felt with the Orion as she met his gaze and then, sipping her drink, turned her attention back to the Captain.

Beside Timmoz, Xex lifted his refilled glass, abruptly sobered by the toast. "To Booth," he murmured, dropping his eyes briefly and mouthing something inaudible. He then lifted his eyes, searching out Marwol, as much concerned for his second's mental health as out of a physician's desire to share a crewmate's passing with another physician.

Gwenwyn was still glaring at the back of Xex, imagining all the "creative" things he could do to Xex for going behind his back to Dr Bracco. But he stepped out of his murders glaze and returned a smile and raised his quarter-empty glass of a liquid that distorted Gwenwyn... If you looked through it of course.

"Thank you, everyone," the Captain nodded, taking a sip from his own glass to finish the toast. When drinks had been taken, Kodak's face cracked into a craggy smirk. "We also gather to celebrate another occasion. One that has been a long time coming. Cadet Noah Balsam," the Chameloid's golden eyes fixed on the midshipman, "front and center, if you please." He gestured Noah to stand beside him, in front of the stool that bore a "Reserved" sign.

Noah's eyes rounded. His mouth dropped open at Iry, then his brow scrunched in bedeviled epiphany that Irynya had clearly known about this. Now the pieces fit- why else would she have dragged him away so vehemently. "Um." Noah vocalized. He blushed with eyes on him. He stalked over to the nearest table to put down his only half-consumed drink. Then he obeyed, tugging at the hem of his SOJO long tee. He came up front and center to the burly, gold-eyed Captain and rolled his shoulders back at attention.

"Yes sir?" He cleared his throat as it came out more raspy pubescent than he'd have preferred. "Yes sir." He said more clearly.

A well placed hand muffled the small laugh that escaped Iry's lips at the look Noah had given her before making his way forward. Her eyes, though, danced with the enthusiasm and joy of someone watching a dear friend receiving recognition that was beyond deserved.

"Cadet," Kodak began, his serious expression giving way to something more affable, "you've worked very hard these past few years. Especially since joining us on the Sojo," he nodded, looking around at the happy faces of onlookers who might accurately guess what he was about to say. "I've received word from Earth that you've successfully completed all of your coursework and have officially graduated with honors from Starfleet Academy."

"It's my privilege as your Captain," he said, revealing and opening the black velvet box in his hand, "to promote you to the rank of Ensign, with all the rights and responsibilities that come with said rank. You've more than proved yourself worthy of this honor and we look forward to your continued service aboard this vessel. Congratulations, Ensign Balsam," he grinned, handing the box -- a silver, solid pip sitting inside -- to Noah and then outstretching his hand for the shaking.

As the Captain spoke, Noah's eyes slowly rounded. And the increase of blood to his face assured a blush. The stalky Cadet sort of... vibrated. his hands showing his anxiety and excitement. He could feel the pressure in his chest and the back of his head, afraid of the spotlight but wanting to crow that he'd finally graduated.

The coltish new-Ensign dropped his gaze down to the large, muscled paw of the Captain. His face, rosey, split into a guffawing grin and he shielded the wrinkle of his face between the sticks of his left hand. "th-th-Thank you, sir," he said as his own skinny hand reached out for the Captain's to shake it. He grasped it, making the mental note to make it a strong handshake.

"You're very welcome, Ensign," Kodak stressed Noah's new title. "I do believe you have a cheering section on hand tonight, mister," he smirked at the stick-bug, releasing his hand and gesturing him to the crowd.

From somewhere in the crowd some of the specialists in the computer core cheered and one of them shouted, "I'm not calling you sir, Balsam! It'd be too weird!" To which Noah turned around and with giggle he again shielded his face and then flipped the speaker the bird.

Xex raised his glass again, this time with more extroverted enthusiasm, careful not to spill the precious liquid. He made a loud, warbling whistle with his mouth, cutting through some of the cheering and clapping. "Congratulations!" he called, adding to the general cacophony as he clapped his free hand against his thigh.

Several loud whoops erupted from the space where Noah had been standing moments before, his Risian companion's face beaming with pride at her friend's accomplishment as she yelped her appreciation for this important milestone. Her eyes sparkled and she found herself looking around for someone else to share the excitement with, wondering absently after Sheldon whom she didn't see in the crowd.

Sheldon was there, he was just tucked away in a corner, watching from afar with Sheila Mulhern as his companion for the evening. They both cheered for Noah as well, genuinely happy for their friend, until David the Bartender waved to get everyones' attention.

"As you know, Jayden Booth, will be crossing over the hills and far away, but he does not leave here tonight. In my lifetime I have seen many comrades fall, many battles, too many one might say. But after each time we who survived, to remember our friends, our comrades, we leave a chair empty with their favorite drink so they can have one last round with their comrades." He paused for a bit then recited an old bit of an old poem

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."

"To our comrades wherever they may be."

Half-heartedly, Margarar raised a cup in a silent toast. She was sure that someone would say something. She did not know Booth but it was sad to see anyone from one's pack gone, known or not.

The freshly minted Ensign with his single silver pip stuck to the hem of his t-shirt, raised what was left of his orange creamsicle drink. He'd not known Booth well. They'd talked once or twice when Noah was taking a morning jog near the Enlisted Dorms. But suddenly their already small ship in a big, vast empty 50,000 light-years from any core Federation world... it felt a a lot smaller.

Timmoz looked on, customarily as Humans did, raising his glass of Meridor to the fallen. Space was unnatural and it was cruel. Nothing in an Orion soul and it's collective sense of cultural, genetic ennui understood the appeal of space. To an Orion, these sojourns into nothingness were a fool's errand with little gain. And another had been lost to it.

Well. At least he was with Bunjeezu now. And Bunjeezu knew pleasures. Right now, if it was all true, Booth would have a fat roll of snakeroot between his lips and the Beautiful Dead ushering him into his Next. And he'd know the ecstasy of birth from Sumeme.

Timmoz stayed silent with these thoughts. Meanwhile a teary-eyed Jyl-eel, with Doctor Bracco nearby, raised her glass with a wake-ish smile of sadness.

The dissonance of sadness against the elation she felt for Noah's accomplishment made Irynya uncomfortable. She, too, sipped her drink, but quietly slid forward until she was standing next to Noah again, taking comfort in the familiarity of her friend while she let the emotional dichotomy work its way through her. After what felt like an appropriately long and sober moment she leaned up so that her mouth was close enough to Noah's ear that she wouldn't disrupt those around her. "That pip looks good on you," she whispered. "Congratulations Noah."

Flushed and still smiling ear to ear like a fresh schoolboy, Noah blinked. "Th-thanks Iry. I mean Lieutenant." He looked back at the side of her face, and smiled again.

And with the business done, the party continued for any who wanted to stay. The alcohol -- and the stories -- continued to flow until deep into the night, when both the buffet and the limited stock of true spirits on offer had been depleted. It'd been the perfect celebration for Noah and a meaningful send off for Booth, both of whom had made more of an impact on the Sojo crew than they knew.

=/\= A joint post by... =/\=

Pretty much everyone ever!