"I did, didn't I?" he said before casting a glance at her. He took another sip of his lemonade before setting the glass down, empty this time. "It was something that anyone would do though. I appreciate the thank you my love," he brought his hand over and squeezed hers as she held onto the glass of spice tea. "You have kept your promise to me as well. Thank you for that."
"Neither. Not good nor bad. It is what it is."
None of the V'Ket had been obligated to follow their commander. It was simply a reflex born of the fact they were strangers on this ship and therefore treading lightly – as lightly as people such as they possibly could.
They would not have minded to stay. Watch this interesting crew, take in all the new sensations and process them behind unmoved features. They had not minded to leave. Find peace and quiet, the solace of meditation among their own.
Kaiidth. What is, is.
As different as Brent was from her in many ways, there was a silent understanding in this one matter – the knowledge that if anyone could comprehend the state of mind that dictated living in the here and now, it was the marine sitting next to her.
Though perhaps he went about it in slightly more … enthusiastic ways. Ways she found most endearing despite occasional flares of irritation. Admitting that however was another matter.
And speaking of admitting – Sakarra had forgotten neither the mischief nor the pinch and quite pointedly refrained from reacting in any way to the hand squeezing hers. But for a second, there was once more the melodious sound of silver bells emanating from underneath heavy amaranth red robes covering the young Vulcan's long legs all the way to the floor.
A face like chiseled from finest marble looked up and met a deep blue gaze sparkling with more mischief. "Not anyone." Low and soft as the evening breeze, her voice was nearly drowned by the conversations around them. Nearly.
Whatever Sakarra might have said or confessed at this point – a huge ball of fur successfully derailed any further thought. Or conversation for that matter.
If there was one thing M'Riarr could not bear, it was people moping. If there were two allies the Caitian could count on to shake up the crew and make lemonade out of practically every citrus fruit, it was indomitable Lucia and her cheerful husband.
To a chorus of baffled laughter and some squeaks of protest, the lights in the mess hall were extinguished and waitresses with – oh dear, actual burning … things … came floating through the kitchen doors. A hand-painted banner – paw-painted actually if Sakarra was any judge - was unfurled from the railings. "Hooray We Are Still Alive Party. No RSVP Needed."
Fascinating.
"Brent …" a voice laced with undisguised bafflement floated through the velvety darkness before a candle was placed on their table – as well as the others which provided at least enough light to prevent any unfortunate accidents "… is it customary to set beverages and … a cake on fire?"
Brent brushed some of the fur that had managed to get on his arm off before he looked at the Caitian with an amused look. He shook his head before he saw what Sakarra had been pointing out. "Hmm. Well if they're burning I think that means that their alcohol content is well... High," he said with a smirk. "This party might get exciting here soon if these are what we have to drink," Brent said as he placed an arm around Sakarra in the darkness. "I don't think your assistant will let us leave until we enjoy some of the festivities. Shall we have a little cake and drink?"
They didn't have to wait long until some of the cake and the liquor was distributed to them. Brent sniffed one of the drinks after extinguishing its flame and blinked letting out a breath. "Nice and strong," he said with a grin. He then withdrew a bit of cake and offered it to Sakarra on a fork. "Here try it," he said.
Excellent night vision aside, Sakarra could have heard the smirk echoing in her Companion's deep baritone even over the roar of a happy Caitian. Having a highly sensitive nose in addition to that made this entire experience … interesting indeed.
For the second time this evening, the young Vulcan's nose wrinkled ever so briefly when the scent of something very cold and sweet and apparently drenched in hard alcohol was waved before her face. Ice. Icecream? Icecream cake? Burning icecream. Well, not any more, thank goodness. Astonishing.
Suppressing a small sneeze, Sakarra picked the offered food off the fork … and blinked. She would have to have another word with the flight deck crew. In the unofficial 'moonshine' competition between the Marines and the flight crews M'Riarr apparently had scored a decisive victory.
"I believe there will be two 'stills' in need of 'atomizing' shortly." From the scent of the beverages, those had been provided by another source. And the young Vulcan did not have to look at the Marine contingent elbowing each other to draw a logical conclusion.
That still did not explain the meaning of those umbrellas.
Once more out at the proverbial sea without a paddle, Sakarra would have been content to remain in her little corner, shielded from sprays of champagne and strange colorful strings of paper by the broad shouldered marine holding her close. But it was not to be.
With enthusiastic assistance from the crew and directed by Lucia herself a space was cleared in the center of the lounge while next to the stairs winding up to the bar an impromptu stage began to take shape. For once, Sakarra was not surprised when Mr Tisdale and his friends appeared to claim the haphazardly constructed planks.
"Musica é! Uno, due, tre, quattro!"
Led by a wildly waving Marcello – or perhaps despite his attempts to set a pace – the band settled for a Jazz intro that would have been rather agreeable if not for the saxophone fading out after a champagne cork had taken a wrong turn.
"Oh, dear." Two more cocktails shimmering in red and orange hues were placed before them by a wildly grinning M'Riarr. Each with a piece of fruit stuck to them and the apparently obligatory paper umbrella. And each giving off a scent that would have been sufficient to induce vertigo in a full grown Sehlat.
Brent sighed as he realized that this was in fact moonshine and not real booze. He could already feel his liver begin to complain in protest. He sighed before he reached over to the cake again, picking up a decent sized dallop of the cold icing and then he brought it over and placed it gently on the small aristocratic nose of Sakarra. "You know where humans come from giving your lover a bit of food on a fork like that is considered very romantic if the partner takes it and eats it," he said before he stuck his tongue out at Sakarra. "Now, finish your cake and we can begin the party," he said picking up the distilled liquor and handing the small glass to Sakarra before taking the other himself. Having been a fighter pilot Brent made the assumption that she knew how to take a shot, which really was the only way that the liquor of this constitution should be drank.
Brent knocked the drink back before letting out a breath in appreciation. "Damn. Do you think they use that to degrease engines and rifle coils," Brent said clearing his throat a little bit. He turned to see the status of Sakarra's drink hoping that she had taken the initiative.
"Then this would appear to be one instance in which Vulcan and human culture are similar." Though the significance of placing sweet and sticky food on one's companion's nose was a mystery. As was the question whether there was an action she was supposed to perform in return.
"Begin the party?" The slice of cake stood no chance – mostly due to the fact it contained considerable amounts of chocolate – and neither did the alcohol although the small glass was subjected to a thoughtful look before being drained in one swift movement.
Lots of sugar and strong booze.
Not good.
Any more of this, and Mr Tisdale as well as several others might get their wish and experience a Vulcan … having fun. Four Deities be thanked there were no marshmallows or Theocondts in the vicinity. Or Andorian Ale for that matter.
At least the mystery of the cleared space was solved when several couples converged, prompting the band to switch to a different style of music. Much to everyone's amusement M'Riarr had secured a young Ensign half her size and was teaching him the rudiments of a dance involving foxes while Miss Betty directed her troops to discreetly replace moonshine with beverages that smelled no less dangerous to the young Vulcan's nose.
=/\= To be continued =/\=
Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander
LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Chief Helm
Ensign M'Riarr
Assistant Helmscat
Lucia & Marcello
USS Charon
