Fancy a drink?

Posted on Wed Jul 29th, 2026 @ 10:51am by Evelyn Reynolds & Kaelen & Chief Engineer Michael Burnstein

Mission: Veils
Location: Lounge, SS Mary Rose
Timeline: day after the procession
3512 words - 7 OF Standard Post Measure

If the corridors of the S.S. Mary Rose felt like a worn but reliable coat, the ship’s lounge was the faded, comfortable armchair you refused to throw away.

Stepping through the threshold, Kaelen felt an immediate wash of nostalgic warmth. The space was a preserved slice of yesteryear, built during an era when Starfleet designers still favored bold, blocky geometry and a color palette heavily dominated by muted beige panels and striking crimson-red trim. Under civilian ownership, the original military sterility had been thoroughly scrubbed away, replaced by the gentle scuffs of civilian boots, the lingering aroma of toasted grains, and a distinctly cozy, lived-in patina.

Because of the ongoing shore leave on Allhallow Prime, the lounge appeared basically deserted, despite the dozen or so other patrons finding comfort at her tables and counters. An old, slightly flickering digital menu board hung near the entrance, its text scrolling through a bizarre assortment of galactic delicacies. Standard offerings like Spiced Vulcan Plomeek Soup, Toasted Sem'hal Bread, Boiled Rigelian Hornet's Nest and Aldebaran pot pie rolled by in a steady, comforting loop.

Kaelen guided the procession toward the far wall with a sweeping gesture. "A far superior venue for conversing, wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

He ushered the group toward one of the large, circular red-leatherette booths lining the perimeter. It was situated perfectly adjacent to a small, dark wooden stage—complete with a single retro stand microphone—that had clearly seen its fair share of open mic nights and spirited bouts of karaoke.

As they slid into the booth, a small, circular replicator terminal hummed to life in the center of the table, its interface waiting for an input. But like most veteran spacefarers, Kaelen knew that relying on a tabletop replicator in a ship’s lounge was a tragic waste of the social experience.

"Now then," Kaelen said, remaining standing with a beaming, hospitable grin. "While our charming little replicator is perfectly capable of materializing a biochemically precise approximations of beverages, I am a firm believer that true flavor requires a personal touch. I shall gladly secure our first round from the bar. What are we having, my friends? And please, do not hesitate to test the limits of the bartender's repertoire."

Much to the chagrin of the handful of people who had tried to rectify the situation, Evelyn had barely set foot inside the bar since joining the crew. Though her reserved nature made for a worthy smokescreen since it lead many to assume she just didn't enjoy socialising in groups, the truth was she had only found a way to function aboard the Mary Rose by creating a very tight, constricted space within walls she could control. Only Jake held a perspective that would have challenged the notion that Evelyn didn't know how to let her hair down, having a slew of anecdotes from years back to refute her attempts to appear too sensible for shenanigans. These days, it was the discomfort of relaxed boundaries that drove her away; raucous revelry was too difficult to keep track of, at least with enough diligence to calm her nervous system's tendency to blow a fuse.

She had no desire to have a panic attack in the middle of a crewmember's solo performance.

Now, having made very sure to perch herself closest to the door, Evie was eyeing the stage with the veiled suspicion of one who had seen enough to recognise a red flag when it was wedged purposefully into a corner. "I think I'll stick to juice," she murmured as if to herself before blinking and turning her attention to their self-appointed host. "I am technically still on duty, after all."

As a cadet, Gunnar had visited the old Connie kept on for history and training. He didn't especially recall the lounge, but he unlike engineering and the medbay that had been substantially upfit, this space seemed to retain a lot of its original character, albeit with some more modern civilian elements added. It occurred to him as he looked around that his brother would just about kill to be here. One of his favorite academic themes was how ancient customs and forms leaked into and influenced modernity, and while Mary Rose was certainly not ancient compared to first millennium earth, Thorgil would still have a field day with this.

He ran a hand absently over the faux leather, hardly registering whatever the diplomat was enthusing over, until T'Ango nudged him and he realized others were giving drink orders. He heard the doctor's order of juice, and noted her tight posture and positioning. He didn't need to glance back at T'Ango to know he'd see a look in her eyes that said 'That was you once. You should talk with her.' But as yet he wasn't sure, particularly with respect to whether it was the social setting or something about himself that had triggered her. More importantly, he knew all too well the feeling of trying to hold it together and profoundly wanting to NOT elicit sympathy or intervention.

"A porter for me," he ordered with a polite smile. "Preferably a coffee porter if they have it."

"Can't skip coffee even for a drink," Burnie teased with a friendly grin. Being quite used to the lounge, he'd plopped down in a seat and ordered a whiskey sour. And being a less-than-socially-aware engineer had not picked up on tension other than whatever irritation existed between a seeming introvert like Evelyn and the extremely extroverted Kaelan.

"Sometimes I think I'll never compete with his true love, caffeine!" T'Ango mock pouted, putting on comically big kitty eyes. Getting a laugh from nearly everyone, her tail swished and she broke into a grin. "So I will console myself with a Pink Squirrel, heavy on the cream," she added, smacking her lips.

"An absolutely magnificen array of choices! I shall fetch them post haste!" Kaelen declared, clapping his hands together as if he were the host to an impromtu social event, which, in fairness, he kind of was. He swept a warm, reassuring gaze over the group, lingering for a fractional second on Evelyn’s guarded posture closest to the exit before offering her a gentle nod.

With a theatrical, lighthearted bow, Kaelen turned on his heel and strolled toward the bar.

The bar counter was a beautiful stretch of dark, synthetic mahogany that caught the warm, low-frequency glow of the overhead retro fixtures. Standing behind the taps was the ship’s resident bartender, Mykaia.

Kaelen approached the counter, resting his forearms against the polished wood with an easy, affable grace. "Good evening, Mykaia," he greeted, his baritone voice warm and conversational. "A quiet night on the Mary Rose, but a wonderful opportunity for a bit of liquid craftsmanship. I have quite a diverse collection of palates to satisfy at our booth."

He ticked the orders off on his fingers. "First, a fruit juice for Doctor Reynolds—dealer's choice on the blend, but perhaps something with a crisp, refreshing bite to help ease a long shift. Second, a dark coffee porter. Third, a classic whiskey sour for Burnie. And fourth, a very cream forward Pink Squirrel."

He smiled, his wide, friendly eyes sparkling. "And finally, for myself, I believe I shall indulge in a White Cardassian, if you have the ingredients handy. To accompany this rather spirited assembly, could we also secure a selection of finger foods? Something hearty and easily shared family-style to keep our hands and jaws busy?"

Before she could begin preparing the order, Kaelen leaned in just a fraction of an inch, casting a highly amused, theatrical look up toward the digital menu board. "Oh, and purely as a matter of professional culinary curiosity... I simply must ask about the Boiled Rigelian Hornet's Nest. Does it come with a Queen?"

By most cultural standards, Kaia was young to be managing an entire establishment on her own. For a Risian, however, even one keen to thrash herself clear of obvious stereotypes, this was the kind of work one did whilst biding time for greater adventures. It certainly rarely constituted the main event, in any case, which was why the young bartender had grown somewhat resigned to going through the same motions day after day without any real deviation from people's regular order. The crew had an itinerate component but they were in the minority; most of the time, Kaia served the same people, the same things, at the same time..

Every. Single. Day.

She might have been somewhat excused, therefore, for appearing a little taken aback by Kaelan's requests. She had already met the Denobulan, of course, there wasn't a lot about the man's disposition that would have made it any surprise that he had taken it upon himself to make the acquaintence of most of the service crew on board. An amiable patron was generally easier to deal with than the gruff or misanthropic and so Kaia had been left with a decently favourable impression, but now her brow knitted in uninhibited baffled amusement as she paused in the middle of jotting down the specifics of his order and considered instead the logistics of his additional curiosity.

"It's been known to encourage people to act as if they are one," she replied helpfully, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Have you perhaps misread the word Brandied? That's the dessert menu you're looking at," Kaia added. "There's definitely honey involved, but I don't think Rianne would expect you to eat an actual nest."

Kaelen squinted back toward the digital sign, his brow ridges rippling in a wave of silent, self-deprecating amusement before he let out a rich, warm chuckle. "Ah! Brandied! My word, Mykaia, my eyes must indeed be losing accuracy. I may need to ask Dr. Reynolds for an exam there. But do let us proceed with it regardless! A brandied hive is still a hive, and frankly, a bit of temporary unity of wills—even a slightly flambed one—is not always the worst thing imaginable for our impromput gathering over there."

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial wink. "And as for the White Cardassian... I am entirely aware that securing fresh, whole Lajoum milk out here on the cold rim of the quadrant is a culinary miracle best left to fairy tales. If your cold storage lacks the genuine article, please do not fret. A generous splash of ordinary coffee creamer will do nicely—as indeed it usually must. One must be adaptable when sailing the deep black, no?"

Back at the table, T'Ango noted the way Gunnar was avoiding looking at the doctor directly. Whatever was going on with her, he'd clearly decided against probing even with casual or oblique inquiry. At least in the presence of others, which she could understand. But since they'd caught up a lot with Burnie during the rest of the ship tour, conversation was running low. She looked around, eyes lighting on the small stage. "Do you ever use that?"

Following her gaze, Burnie smiled. "Yeah. I mean, it's not like when Wallace and I used to do rock vs cowboy music," he put on a western twang for the last two words, "but I've brought up my holo-keyboard a few times. And we have karaoke nights ever now and then."

"Karaoke?" Her ears pricked up, as did the corners of her mouth. Eyes slid to Gunnar.

Upon catching her look, the man's expression grew slightly pained. "T'Ango..."

"PLeeease." Her eyes widened into the kind of Big Pleading Kitteh Eyes that would have put an amine kitten to shame.

Burnie swallowed a laugh - he could just about see his friend's resistance crumbling in real time. Not that he could blame him. If Nollel ever gave him a look like that, there was zero chance he could turn her down.

"Maybe after a drink." Or several much stiffer ones Gunnar said, latching on to Kaelan's approach with a tray the way a drowning man might grab at a thrown line.

If Evelyn had meant to be subtle about watching the procurement of drinks like a hawk, she may have been devastated to know she'd failed miserably. It was an improvement, perhaps, to staring at the table in an attempt to completely withdraw but created no less distance between herself and the easy banter from either side than if she'd got up and walked over the intercept Kaelan's deviousness directly. Not only did the Denobulan make a habit out of references that were a little too contextually apt not to appear contrived, she had clocked him on more than occasion leaning in to offer conspiratory amendments to the excessive chatter he clearly used as a distraction. The laser focus of her pointed gaze wasn't exactly friendly but it refocused the lens just enough to provide some reassurance that the bulk of her dissatisfaction wasn't aimed at the newcomers.

At least, not yet.

She remained coldly observant as the glass full of vibrant purple liquid arrived in front of her, and it was just about then that it occured to Evie that specifying her order probably would have been a better idea. An eyebrow hitched. "I guess I should have remembered Risians will juice just about anything."

T'Ango sniffed. An ear flipped thoughtfully. "Icoberry with... beetmellon ...maybe some eggfruit?"

Seeing the distaste on Reynold's face, Gunnar decided this was possibly an opportunity to offer an olive branch. "I have my medscanner. We can probably make a good guess from chemical composition."

"Yeah. He's pretty good at that," Burnie put in, adding with a laugh. "Remember that time we were forced into a Cardassian 'feast'?" Then for the benefit of those who hadn't been there, explained. "One of our Cait officers was allergic to something in kanar, so he sat next to her, scanning each course under the table and giving a nod if it was okay. She.." He stopped, suddenly realizing that T'Ango hadn't been around for that either. "...uh, really appreciated it."

"Bet she did," T'Ango snickered, both at the look on Burnie's face and the one on Gunnar's. "Whoever said 'nice guys finish last' never met this one," she bumped Gunnar playfully. "Besides, it's not like I didn't know. That time he was zorched on pain meds and kept wandering around, while we were trying to get him back into a bed, he mistook her intent and purrrr'd at her."

Burnie covered his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. "Was that why there's tht story about him being tied down to a biobed?"

"Not tied," T'Ango corrected primly. "They used pink fuzzy handcuffs."

Gunnar had dropped his head, lifting a hand to cover the pink he knew must coloring his cheeks. "The stories are just going to get worse until I agree to sing, aren't they?"

"Maybe..." T'Ango sing-songed, tail lashing. Then she hugged his arm. "But that one's a great story - worthy of a ballad." Looking at the other two, particularly Evelyn, she explained. "I'd only been there a week, but he knew a little about my people and tried to make me feel at home." She flashed a smile. "Which in that instance involved being too wasted to pronounce my language well, so what he was trying to say to me came out as calling me 'beautiful and brave'."

Gunnar peaked out from under his hand, giving her a fond smile. "In vino - or in that case bicaridine - veritas."

Kaelan, having elected to sit opposite of Evelyn, gave a sly grin. "I assure you, Doctor, the blend is entirely non-lethal. Out here on the fringe of so-called civilized space, supply lines fray and s culinary improvisation is not a hazard—it is an essential skill! Whether one is patching a warp manifold with scrap metal or substituting local flora into a classic beverage, resourcefulness is to be complimented."

He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes sparkling with cheerful banter. "Besides, Doctor, the human skepticism towards unconventional sources of nutrition strikes me as perpetually ironic. Take, for example, the process of making blue cheese—a deliberate process of taking bovine lactation, inoculating it with living mold spores, and storing it in damp subterranean caverns until it turns an alarming shade of cyan. Compared to the biochemical audacity of eating domesticated fungal rot, a harmless blend of beetmelon and eggfruit sounds positively pedestrian, wouldn’t you say?"

I assure you, Doctor...

Suddenly acutely aware that the liquid she was about to put into her body had been prepared entirely out of range of diligent scrutiny, Evelyn reached to move the glass closer and then relegated it to the realms of social prop by failing to take even a tentative sip. "I didn't realise my choice of afternoon snack would cause quite so much fixation." A cursory smile was offered around the table. "Kaelan was quite taken with some cheese my father sent me, so much so," she added, her pointed attention returning to settle on the Denobulan, "that he keeps bringing it up. It's not difficult to arrange for more to be delivered if you're that keen."

"Nollel has a regular delivery set up between us and my family in New York. Let us know and we can add it in. I guarantee if the food is available on earth, it is available in NYC," Burnie offered with a smile that held a certain pride in his home city. Then he raised brows at Kaelan. "But I'm sure we could replicate it, or anything else, here. We may be out on border worlds, but it isn't like we're in NX-class days where we have to worry about supply lines. This ship may be old, but she isn't a relic. I just had everything, including our replicators upfit on Hysperia." Realizing that that came out a bit more annoyed and insulted than intended, or at least more than was appropriate for a friendly gathering, he tried to soften it with a joke. "Granted, those replicators may favor feast hall dishes, but with a little tweaking they can do a decent lox and bagel spread."

Far from being flustered by Burnie's mild defensiveness or Dr. Reynolds’ sharp barbs, Kaelan simply let out a delighted chuckle, raising his hands in a gesture of conciliation.

"Far be it from me to impugn the fine craftsmanship of the Hysperian engineering corps—or your own considerable talents in fine-tuning our systems! A good replicator matrix is a marvel of modern physics. Yet, if I may offer a small philosophical counterpoint... there is something intrinsically sacred about artisanal craft. Replicators assemble matter into biochemically flawless copies, yes, but they cannot replicate time. They cannot replicate the subtle, unpredictable variances of micro-climates, or the patient, organic progression of aging in a subterranean vault. To copy the end result is efficient, but it bypasses the entire story of its creation. I actually have spend some interesting hours learning about artisinal Terran dairy creations in the wake of the sample I so graciously received by our dear doctor.."

His eyes turned back toward Evelyn with disarming warmth. "And since Dr. Reynolds has so generously offered to facilitate genuine, aged Earth dairy straight from the source, it would be positively uncouth of me to refuse! In fact, Doctor, I would accept with boundless gratitude. Once it arrives, though, I then simply must trouble you to forward a small, formal message of appreciation to your father on my behalf! I have begun drafting a brief correspondence on the comparative aging techniques of Earth versus Denobula, and I suspect a gentleman with a palate sophisticated enough to select that particular vintage would appreciate a proper academic discourse on the matter."

Without giving anyone time to build another defensive perimeter, Kaelan gracefully lifted his glass of White Cardassian, sweeping his wide smile swept across the booth. "Now then, before our beverages grow lukewarm and our conversation turns prematurely serious... a toast! To the Mary Rose, to culinary risk-taking and artisanal tradition, and to friends—both long-cherished and newly found."

"To old friends, and chance meetings that lead to new ones," T'Ango added, lifting her glass in response.

Burnie lifted his as well, and casting a glance at Gunnar. "Skál!"

The Icelander puffed a laughed and tipped his raised beer a bit toward the engineer. "L'Chaim!"

Both laughed at the old swap of their respective versions of 'cheers'. It may have come about as a sort of sign/counter-sign between them, but now it was one more echo of a friendship renewed.

Last to lift her drink, and even less inclined to actually partake of it now that she had been lumbered with the dubious honor of satiating Kaelan's seemingly unquenchable curiosity, Evelyn held her glass aloft with deliberate care and quirked an eyebrow as she added her own sentiments to the toast.

"To curiosity, and a sturdy constitution."

Blue eyes landed on Kaelan.

"And the good sense not to rely too heavily on either."