Posted by Captain Rende Asam (Captain) in Sustenance and Shenanigans (Attn All Crew! Everyone Welcome!)

Posted by Lieutenant Commander Kohr (Executive Officer) in Sustenance and Shenanigans (Attn All Crew! Everyone Welcome!)

Posted by Lieutenant Eldorin Asam (Chief Engineer) in Sustenance and Shenanigans (Attn All Crew! Everyone Welcome!)
Posted by… suppressed (1) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Rende and Eldorin had been on Viking long enough to be settled and to get a feel for things. They weren’t the only new additions to the crew, or even the senior staff. And Rende knew, from centuries of experience, that one did not create a team simply by passing in the corridors. And training simulations only went so far. So it was time to eat!

Rende sent out a memo inviting the senior staff, their guests, and anyone of the crew to come to the mess - off duty dress. Then Rende made her way to the mess to speak to the chef. She had a few personal recopies she wanted, in order to share a piece of herself with the crew. She strongly requested that the chef include favorites of the rest of the staff.

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Two days later Rende was tapping her foot, hiding a smirk, while Eldorin got ready. “Really, Eldorin, it should not take you longer to get ready than me.” Rende was dressed in a pair of navy slacks with a coral colored blouse and white pumps. Her hair down rather than pinned up, her ancient devotion helix attached to her right ear, the match cuffed to Eldorin’s left. The only other adornment was the Claddagh ring on her left hand.

Eldorin chuckled and wanted to argue but she was right. “My dear I found this wonderfully preserved 2150’s era dress uniform and I wanted to impress. That being said I’ll never understand what that generation’s obsession was with jumpsuits. Everything from the crewman to the admirals wore a bloody jumpsuit. And you and I both know I’m not as limber as I used to be…” Eldorin said as he finally managed to wiggle himself into the uniform and get it fastened. He poked at his wife and said, “Well?” As he then made sure his own helix was properly sitting on his ear.

Eldorin Asam, CE

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Entering the mess it smelled lovely, the chef had been busy and there were dishes from every species, drinks to satisfy any preference, and some surprises that the chef wouldn’t let Rende peek at. Rende got a sparkling ginger lemonade and then made her way over to sit placing a hurdy gurdy in her lap and began to play a few chords and warm up pieces.

Rende, CO

A few moments later the door hushed open and Kohr stepped into the room, taking a measured look over his surroundings. A wide array of trays and stands stretched along the long wall opposite him, bubbling or hissing to one another in culinary conversation beneath star-strewn windows. Drinks and appetizers littered smaller platters and simmered in pots to his left nearest the kitchen, staff bustling out to top off this or that before retreating. Tables and chairs had been pleasantly spaced in the interim space teasing intermingled conversation while allowing hushed collusion depending on one’s whim.

The captain had suggested dinner. What he’d found could have been considered a banquet.

The Klingon gripped his left wrist in his gloved right behind his back and drifted further into the room. I chose to gird myself well, he chuckled as he nodded to Rende and her husband, noting their dress. His own choice of dress was a bit less formal—a well-tailored cassock of deep burgundy piped in silver and cinched with a wide woven leather belt—but not entirely out-of-place. While he did not fully understand the intricacies of formal gatherings as these, Kohr was well-acquainted with crew morale. After retrieving a simple glass of water, the Klingon made his way before the El-Aurian pair.

“Reporting as—” a teasing smile curled the corner of his lips “—requested, Captain. Are we expecting a delegation?”
—Kohr, Executive Officer—

Rende grinned and shook her head. “No. I’m afraid the chef went a bit over board. I asked for a dinner with a variety of dishes to represent those attending. So that there would be something palettable for everyone. I told her it would be a small dinner. I think she is either trying to impress me, or she got carried away in her task. Either way she seems happy when she came out a moment ago. So a feast for a small group of 7. Either way it all smells wonderful.”

Rende, CO

“Indeed,” the Klingon nodded. “It will be quite challenging to the palate, and the stomach. But a warrior does not shy from challenge, no matter the suffering of his belt.”

Kohr’s face remained unreadable, placid, yet his deep voice held a playful purr to it. Humor was a difficult battle, he’d come to realize. Most were used to his hardened visage, a presence he imposed on his subordinates as executive officer. Klingon humor was just as harsh, even brash. There were those within the Federation not used to such direct tactics, and thus he attempted a more… diplomatic approach when he was off-duty. Rende, however, was not the average Starfleet officer and was of like mind in many ways.

A thought struck him, and he frowned. Not at the prospect of a more intimate gathering, just the physical effect of mental realization. “Seven. The senior staff, then. I shall consider my repast as we wait.”

Kohr inclined his head once more before turning and taking a seat not far from the captain. Another challenge faced him now, one he had struggled with for many years now: what to eat. An individual rarely considered what it was they desired to ingest. It was an instinct, often what other crewman coined a craving. The body hungered, and they ate what it told them to. It was almost a preternatural communion to most between the intestinal and the intellectual. In his experience in dealing with his fellows, a few would even call the act of dining spiritual, sublime. Euphoric, even.

For him it was a conflict of voices, a dissonance between instinct and intelligence. He had spent his formative years among his own kind, eating their meals and steeping in the rich culture that was all things Klingon. In recent memory lay the experiences of living and working alongside the Federation, encountering myriad cultures and their habits. Between those two disparate identities lay a dormancy—a dreamlike void of ephemeral recollection—where the Borg had taken him and stripped him of such simple desires, where Kohr had been a being of pure and blind purpose. Even after many long years he felt himself struggling to rediscover who he was at the core.

A steadying breath brought him back to the present, and Kohr distracted himself in the reflection of his glass. A vague and stout shape stared back from the shimmering surface. I would know you, he thought sternly. One day, you will reveal yourself to me.
—Kohr, Executive Officer—