Posted by Lieutenant Commander Peter Sigmundsson (Chief Intelligence Officer) in Sustenance and Shenanigans (Attn All Crew! Everyone Welcome!)
Posted by Lieutenant Commander Janusz Korczak (Counselor) in Sustenance and Shenanigans (Attn All Crew! Everyone Welcome!)
Posted by Captain Rende Asam (Captain) in Sustenance and Shenanigans (Attn All Crew! Everyone Welcome!)
Posted by… suppressed (12) by the Post Ghost! 👻
El-Aurians were a race of listeners and empathic. What many people didn’t realize it was in the listening that their empathy worked, the emotions carrying on the words, the sounds, uttered by those being listened to. And so there was nothing for Rende to pick up on, but she’d been in command often enough to know when people were contemplating deep concepts only relevant to themselves. The chef and her staff were putting out the finishing touches, which was a bit much, but Rende couldn’t fault the woman, the chef obviously loved what she did - feeding people.
Slowly Rende began to turn the handle and the sound of the bow on the strings began to sound, and then she started playing the keys and the gentle sound of the hammers against the strings added to the complexity of the sound. And then the captain’s voice:
(snipping out lyrics but the link is still below)
Rende (With special thanks to Patty Gurdy)
Peter had just entered the room in time to hear the Captains singing, he quietly stepped into a dark corner to watch and listen. He was wearing dark jeans and a collarless shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing thick and moderately hairy forearms. The shirt was a dark green, almost black that fitted loosely over his considerable bulk. After the Captain finished he brought two hands together to clap, he tried to do so softly but still made a loud sound.
Rende nodded to Sigmundsson as he entered while she continued to sing. She grinned and bowed her head slightly to the clapping. “Thank you. It’s only taken me a couple centuries to master this. Be glad you weren’t around when I started. Poor Eldorin had to live through it. I think he still has the specialized ear plugs he made. Get a drink and come join us Cmdr. The chef has gone a bit overboard, but I’m sure it’s all very good.”
Kohr inclined his head respectfully in Sigmundsson’s direction with a muted “Commander.” The intelligence officer was the only ranking member aboard the Viking that the Klingon was required to look up at, and the rare few he didn’t seem to outright intimidate. Upon his initial arrival to the ship, Rende had also been nonplussed by his stature; he simply assumed little existed left to surprise a being of such an extensive lifespan. It was a quality he could scarce imagine.
Taking a sip from his glass, Kohr watched the door distantly and considered his first assault on the buffet before them while waiting on the rest to arrive.
—Kohr, Executive Officer—
The aforementioned door hissed open as another figure entered. Steel gray eyes took in the room. Commander Sigmundsson was there as well as Captain Rende, Chief Rende, and Commander Kohr. He was dressed in a pair of black jeans, somewhat pointed boots, a button down blue western style shirt that was open at the collar a couple buttons revealing a black undershirt. A dark, corded bracelet wrapped around his left wrist, by way of both sleeves being neatly rolled up. They were almost folded more than rolled. The only thing that seemed missing was a Stetson cowboy hat, but he’d opted to leave that in his quarters.
Seeing the more formal attire others had opted for, he paused, then turned toward the door for a moment, considering, then began to roll his sleeves down and secure them. “Fashionably late, as always,” he muttered to himself.
Lt Woods, CSO
Rende looked over at the door, “Lt Woods, welcome. Come join us.” She was shook her head to herself with a slight smile watching Woods roll down his sleeves. She was wearing slacks and blouse. Nothing horribly fancy. Eldorin was wearing a formal uniform because that was what he felt most comfortable in, and she hoped the rest of the staff did the same. She had no desire to stand on formality here.
OOC: fixing split
Peter returned the Klingons gesture with a nod of his own “Sir” He then turned to the Captain after grabbing a nearby drink, merely holding it. He smiled slightly at her comment “I think this will do nicely” He said gesturing to the veritable feast “It will be good to see the crew gather again, especially to get the old and new crew to mingle and mix”
“I have found, in my old age, that good people paired with food is all that is needed.” She grinned and looked at Eldorin, “Or am I remembering wrong, again?” She and Eldorin had an easy banter after so many centuries together. And often is was that banter and ribbing that put those around them at ease. Being of a species so long lived often made others curious but also uneasy. They had learned long ago that others, not familiar with them often learned to relax when they saw the good natured picking between the two.
Korczak, the ship’s new Counselor took in the scene while he sipped a cocktail. When he came in was anyone’s guess, but the non-descript man smiled as he watched the gathering from the edge of the group, seemingly content to watch and listen.
Markus gave a nod to Korczak, then reached into a pocket, flashing the corner of something. The Chief of Neurosciences was close enough to see that it was a pack of playing cards. The cards disappeared back into his pocket as Markus made his way over to the CO as bidden about the time he finished buttoning his sleeves back. “Captain. Lieutenant,” he said by way of greeting with a nod. The scientist shuffled his weight from side to side and stuffed his hands into his pockets, not knowing what to do with them at the moment. Have I really gotten this awkward and rusty with dealing with people outside of being on duty? Maybe he was more shaken by the previous ship’s dark history, experiences, and time aboard than he’d thought. Idly he cleared his throat. “So what’s the occasion,” he asked.
Lt Woods, CSO
Rende noticed Korczak and grinned. She nudged Eldorin and nodded toward the counselor. “The man is a ghost…if he can shoot I want him to be my sniper,” Rende told him. She knew her ‘marine’ thinking would make Eldorin roll his eyes, and she had to mess with him a little. He was her husband after all. But the comment was genuinely a compliment. For whatever reason Korczak had come by that talent, she was impressed by it.
She turned to Woods, “Because we are here Mr Woods. We are alive, our ship is intact, and the chef has made quite the spread for what should have been a simple dinner.” About that time the chef waved from the kitchen, “Ah and everything is ready. Don’t stand on ceremony, and don’t wait for me. These old bones take awhile to get up from sitting.”
OOC: So the idea is that Rende asked for a sit down style dinner mixed with favorites for everyone, but instead the chef went over board and there is a buffet, so have fun! Make us hungry and want to try it…or not. LOL
Not needing much encouragement, Kohr stood and walked over to where he assumed the appetizers were. With this much food, it was hard to tell. In the back of his mind, he nearly envisioned a burnt-out replicator laying defunct in the kitchen, having been exhausted by the culinary preparations. Of course, knowing the chef she would have insisted putting everything together from scratch.
The Klingon set a plate in one hand and moved methodically along, taking a scoop of this and a slab of that, until it was a heavy breath from tumbling to the floor. It did not help that some of it moved. An artfully-struck fork settled the issue, and he deposited his plate at Rende’s elbow. After a moment of thought, Kohr stepped behind the captain and strode to the replicator alcove.
“Root beer,” he ordered flatly. Of the many Federation beverages he had tried during his many assignments, the cloying and bubbly drink somehow felt fitting for the occasion. “Chilled.”
Frosted mug in hand, Kohr deposited himself in his chair and waited for the rest of his fellow officers to return with their meals.
—Kohr, Executive Officer—
Mark followed along behind Kohr. Denevan cuisine was a hodgepodge of cultures. Fusion food was quite common, as were some hearty, stick-to-your-ribs classics that dated all the way back to the days of cowboy cooking. Before long, the chief science officer had gotten a wrap that was a mixture of what would have been a standard chicken wrap, with a slight Tex-Mex twist, but then crossed with Bajoran, creating a fiery but flavorful combination. Along with it went some classic pan fried potatoes, well seasoned. Along with it went some mixed steamed vegetables and he quickly grabbed a tall glass of sweet iced tea from the replicator. It wasn’t anything complex overall, but smelled great and looked just as good.
Mark sat in one of the empty chairs and took a sip of his tea, then nodded in approval. “That’ll do,” he murmured. There were so many options for food, but for now he wanted to make a good impression, and also not weigh himself down.
Lt Woods, CSO
Rende got up and made her way toward the food. The chief had really outdone herself. There was a beautiful dish of smoked salmon and Irish soda bread, which Rende was very happy to partake of, but she made it a point to take a selection. Over the centuries one of favorite ways to learn about others was their food. Some she liked and some was so awful the distant memories made her shudder, but Rende loved trying new food. She choose some kind of clear sparkling looking water drink, that was slightly bitter with a subtle floral after taste. She took seat at a long side of the table, off center, with Kohr on one side, she wasn’t the focus of this meal, and she wasn’t there to over see the ‘festivities’ but rather be a part of them. With a gleeful inner smile she dug into the food.
A soft turn of lip painted Kohr’s hardened features into the ghost of a smile—for the Klingon warrior, it was damn near an impish grin—and he hefted his fork over his plate as his eyes flickered between the two. It hove there for a heavy moment before slamming plateward to lance a tendril of gagh hard enough to make the glasses clink delicately in surprise. It lashed and writhed beneath the blow, curling plaintively around the tines of the fork before slackening in defeat. Kohr hefted his prize before his face to study it, as if waiting for it to give up the ruse and attack. Nodding in satisfaction, Kohr lifted it before them all and barked a dry laugh.
“Today is a good day,” he announced before shoving the gagh into his mouth. Between the languid grinding of his jaw, he added, “to dine.”
—Kohr, Executive Officer—
The hulking figure of the Intelligence chief sat down on the opposite side of the Klingon, he had prepared himself a simple chicken salad with a glass of water. He generally needed to consume copious amounts of food each day but he carefully regulated his diet so that he could eat with crewmates without gorging himself just to maintain mass. He raised an eyebrow at the Klingons… well joke was the best word for it “Indeed it is” He said in a quietly amused tone.
Rende chuckled heartily at Kohr. “Okay, if we are ever stranded planet side I claim Kohr. We will all eat well if he does the hunting, and we’ll let Sigmundsson do the cooking because that plate of his looks amazing. And Kohr you better hunt a lot because I might be old, but I can pack it away. What about you Woods? Who would you take if you were stranded?” Rende placed some of the smoked salmon on the soda bread, creating a make shift sandwich and took a bite.
Korczak took a seat at the table having retrieved a plate without anyone noticing. On it was an assortment of foodstuffs: the smoked salmon with a dab of sour cream, a dark bread with honey-butter spread across it, a Bajoran pâté made from one of their indigenous birds, a small bit of Deltan steak tartare, cold pickled vegetables, and some of the writhing gagh. As he sat down, he looked at the Klingon XO and smiled… and then simply picked up the wiggling thread with his fingers and lifted it to his mouth, biting down on the head with his back teeth while simultaneously draining the blood from the now-deceased worm and chewing it up and swallowing in the traditional Klingon fashion. He then lifted a glass of a dark purple juice and took a sip, nodding in approval of the dish.
Markus tried to ignore the small voice in the back of his head screaming about eating worms. Not that he had a problem with eating actual other creatures. Insects and the like didn’t really classify as ‘food’ in his mind. Though they were full of protein and nutrients. And they had to be at least some kind of good if, even with the advanced technology that Klingons and the Federation had, they chose to eat gagh. There were other prey animals, like targ, that he imagined had to be rather good eating. For gagh to beat it out? Or perhaps it was a matter of pride, and intestinal fortitude? Nobody actually liked it, but it kept them mentally and physically toughened, especially for survival situations where optimal food might not be available?
Who knew, both could be true. Instead, he focused on Kohr and Korczak’s emotional state and attitude about it. That was much more positive, and knocked off the edges. Reaching over, he raised a glass to the XO. “I’ll drink to that,” he said with a grin.
Peter looked at the Captain then at his salad, true he had prepared it using available materials from the buffet but it was hardly a great looking meal. He silently muted his more suspicious tendencies and quietly ate. He eyed the counsellor as he ate the gagh, Peter had never developed a taste for Klingon live cuisine although he had partaken on a number of occasions both within and outside the Empire itself, he often wondered if other Humans ate it simply because it was so unusual, relatively few human cultures ate living food.
Setting his glass back down after taking a long draught from it he leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t hard to see the gears turning in his head at a high rate of speed at Rende’s question. “Well, that’s situational. I’d like to think I’d do alright in most survival situations, if I have a few basics on me. Buuuuut, if I’m gonna be honest, Cap? I’d take you. Or your husband.” Expecting most to not follow his reasoning he pushed on. “You joke about your age. But with that age is experience. I’d bet dollars to pesos you’ve got more skills and experience than all of us in this room combined. Knowledge weighs nothing. Pretty sure you can hunt, shoot, build shelter, and put together a radio out of parts while keeping everybody entertained. Barring that, somebody solid from medical. I can handle myself all around, but I’m no wilderness E.M.T.”
He glanced around to the other seniors gathered there. “Anybody else?”
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