Post by Rascal on Aug 30, 2018 15:07:42 GMT
Doubts - Part 1
Stardate 11807.27
.
"I don't feel like caring much for patron protocol tonight, T'lee. Mister Trevanion needs no tab and WILL have another drink now."
"But, ma'am, he's clearly had plenty enough. I mean, look at him! Passed out he is, that's what..."
On Marcus' left hand, attached to the arm his forehead was resting upon, the arm laying upon this nicely crafted darkwood table, in a small and quickly evaporating puddle of blue tinted shot alcohol, an index finger popped up and wiggled from side to side, definitely indicating the server had it wrong.
Two sets of eyes saw it. The pair belonging to the lady who sat next to the man who's finger had wiggled glinted with a confident shine, brought on by the gentle smile forming underneath them.
"Mister T'lee, what is this estalblishment called?"
"Huh? What th..."
"Humour me, please."
"S... Sandinion's, milady."
"And my name, kid?"
"..."
"..."
"M... Moria Sandinion, milady."
"..."
With a sigh, the young server's proverbial penny having finally dropped, he turned about and made his way to the counter in order to get Mister Marcus Trevanion his refill. On the house. Meanwhile, the wiggling index finger was replaced by a thumbs up.
"New kid, first stint off planet. Tired of ol' Terra, he says. Running from the draft, my thought of it... As if they're not gonna come get 'em here next, heh. Oh, do sit up, Marcus!"
T'lee returned and set down a brimful shot glass with a thud, spilling not more than a drop or two, three. With a nod at Moria and a glare at Trevanion, he huffed and walked off towards the stock room behind the stage, like the runaway kid he was.
"Mmwhmwhrwmmh..."
"Right."
The fifty five year old guy pushed his face away from the table surface, just far enough to let gravity take care of the remaining path between his back and the soft fabric on the bench's backrest, arriving there with a soft poofy sound.
"I vaid thankf... thanks, Moria. Iz what I said, honestly."
Two fingers - index and middle squeezed together - were raised, indicating the genuine sworn truth he was speaking. Behind them, Thumb and ringfinger expertly held on to his shot of Altarian brandy, which he downed instantly.
"Aagh! Brrr!"
Shaking of the head, jerkingly.
"Much better... Where were we exactly?"
"Barras."
"Where!? Lemme at 'im!"
Darting of the eyes around the rather empty room, followed by a sigh by this Luna born conversation partner, owner, priest... woman.
"He left three hours ago, Trev. Seriously..."
"Oh. Right. I remember now. Pity."
Behind the bar, T'lee reappeared, carrying two crates of various desirable liquids, which he set atop of the counter while eyeing the empty cooler shelves and scratching the back of his dark scalp. Lady Sandinion turned her head just a little, so she could see him at work.
"You just couldn't say no, eh. Then again, you never could."
"Zsure I can. Did many times, too!"
Moria smiled, remembering those 'many' times, which only happened if a better opportunity had presented itself, causing Marcus to abandon those previous promises of which he'd make plenty. Of course, those happened in the sixties, when the Borg hadn't yet popped up, there was no damn wormhole, exploration was paramount and joining the 'fleet still had a better-than-Terran survivability expectation.
That smile had faded away quickly, indeed.
"You're not gonna win, you know. He's the record holder. Three seconds faster than you ever were."
"So?"
"..."
"New floats, with better engines, improved aero, and that bump in corner seventeen looks suspiciously flatter than b... than back in my days, if you ask me. Eazy prey, that Barraz type. Watch my w... wu.. words."
"Finally!"
He had proper task focus alright, this T'lee fellow. Only when he turned around to grab the second crate from the counter, Moria was able to get his attention and indicate Marcus' need for another drop or two. Once he'd nodded at her in confirmation, she turned back to face the drunk man sitting, slouching... next to her.
She'd been one of the girls, if not THE only girl Trev hadn't attempted to seduce back then, the hot shot mister popular he was in his pre-academy years. Not for lack of trying on her part, though. Moria, only in her early twenties then, and particularily rebellious against her rich, popular-establishment-owning mom, never got out of the presumably nonexistent Trevanion Friend Zone. That time, he did actually say no. Chalk up one.
Looking at the guy as he sat here right now, deep deep down in his selfpity and in search of proof against the merits of friendship, and also considering how things had transpired since, she felt perfectly at peace with that.
THUD!
T'lee set down the bottle of blue liqour, brand new and freshly refilled by your servant himself, and proceeded to unwrap its cap.
"Ffanks, man. Relly."
"Leave him be, Marcus."
"Bud, iwazjuzt..."
"He's way into overtime, let 'im be."
Trevanion arched his brows, made as if to shut the nonexistent zipper between his lips and looked back down to stare at his empty glass instead.
Moria sighed and leaned her head on her palm, propped up underneath her sharp chin, stared at Marcus with a pensive expression.
T'lee unclipped the bottle cap.
A strained voice, stern yet pityful.
"Winning isn't gonna bring her back, you know."
"..."
"Neither will losing, if that's what you're after."
"..."
"Or boozing your ass into a coma..."
"I know, alright," he said equally softly without breaking his stare. "... just, lemme ignore that for a bit. Would you do that for me, Mor?"
"..."
"..."
"Another glass, T'lee. Leave the bottle."
.
Stardate 11807.27
.
"I don't feel like caring much for patron protocol tonight, T'lee. Mister Trevanion needs no tab and WILL have another drink now."
"But, ma'am, he's clearly had plenty enough. I mean, look at him! Passed out he is, that's what..."
On Marcus' left hand, attached to the arm his forehead was resting upon, the arm laying upon this nicely crafted darkwood table, in a small and quickly evaporating puddle of blue tinted shot alcohol, an index finger popped up and wiggled from side to side, definitely indicating the server had it wrong.
Two sets of eyes saw it. The pair belonging to the lady who sat next to the man who's finger had wiggled glinted with a confident shine, brought on by the gentle smile forming underneath them.
"Mister T'lee, what is this estalblishment called?"
"Huh? What th..."
"Humour me, please."
"S... Sandinion's, milady."
"And my name, kid?"
"..."
"..."
"M... Moria Sandinion, milady."
"..."
With a sigh, the young server's proverbial penny having finally dropped, he turned about and made his way to the counter in order to get Mister Marcus Trevanion his refill. On the house. Meanwhile, the wiggling index finger was replaced by a thumbs up.
"New kid, first stint off planet. Tired of ol' Terra, he says. Running from the draft, my thought of it... As if they're not gonna come get 'em here next, heh. Oh, do sit up, Marcus!"
T'lee returned and set down a brimful shot glass with a thud, spilling not more than a drop or two, three. With a nod at Moria and a glare at Trevanion, he huffed and walked off towards the stock room behind the stage, like the runaway kid he was.
"Mmwhmwhrwmmh..."
"Right."
The fifty five year old guy pushed his face away from the table surface, just far enough to let gravity take care of the remaining path between his back and the soft fabric on the bench's backrest, arriving there with a soft poofy sound.
"I vaid thankf... thanks, Moria. Iz what I said, honestly."
Two fingers - index and middle squeezed together - were raised, indicating the genuine sworn truth he was speaking. Behind them, Thumb and ringfinger expertly held on to his shot of Altarian brandy, which he downed instantly.
"Aagh! Brrr!"
Shaking of the head, jerkingly.
"Much better... Where were we exactly?"
"Barras."
"Where!? Lemme at 'im!"
Darting of the eyes around the rather empty room, followed by a sigh by this Luna born conversation partner, owner, priest... woman.
"He left three hours ago, Trev. Seriously..."
"Oh. Right. I remember now. Pity."
Behind the bar, T'lee reappeared, carrying two crates of various desirable liquids, which he set atop of the counter while eyeing the empty cooler shelves and scratching the back of his dark scalp. Lady Sandinion turned her head just a little, so she could see him at work.
"You just couldn't say no, eh. Then again, you never could."
"Zsure I can. Did many times, too!"
Moria smiled, remembering those 'many' times, which only happened if a better opportunity had presented itself, causing Marcus to abandon those previous promises of which he'd make plenty. Of course, those happened in the sixties, when the Borg hadn't yet popped up, there was no damn wormhole, exploration was paramount and joining the 'fleet still had a better-than-Terran survivability expectation.
That smile had faded away quickly, indeed.
"You're not gonna win, you know. He's the record holder. Three seconds faster than you ever were."
"So?"
"..."
"New floats, with better engines, improved aero, and that bump in corner seventeen looks suspiciously flatter than b... than back in my days, if you ask me. Eazy prey, that Barraz type. Watch my w... wu.. words."
"Finally!"
He had proper task focus alright, this T'lee fellow. Only when he turned around to grab the second crate from the counter, Moria was able to get his attention and indicate Marcus' need for another drop or two. Once he'd nodded at her in confirmation, she turned back to face the drunk man sitting, slouching... next to her.
She'd been one of the girls, if not THE only girl Trev hadn't attempted to seduce back then, the hot shot mister popular he was in his pre-academy years. Not for lack of trying on her part, though. Moria, only in her early twenties then, and particularily rebellious against her rich, popular-establishment-owning mom, never got out of the presumably nonexistent Trevanion Friend Zone. That time, he did actually say no. Chalk up one.
Looking at the guy as he sat here right now, deep deep down in his selfpity and in search of proof against the merits of friendship, and also considering how things had transpired since, she felt perfectly at peace with that.
THUD!
T'lee set down the bottle of blue liqour, brand new and freshly refilled by your servant himself, and proceeded to unwrap its cap.
"Ffanks, man. Relly."
"Leave him be, Marcus."
"Bud, iwazjuzt..."
"He's way into overtime, let 'im be."
Trevanion arched his brows, made as if to shut the nonexistent zipper between his lips and looked back down to stare at his empty glass instead.
Moria sighed and leaned her head on her palm, propped up underneath her sharp chin, stared at Marcus with a pensive expression.
T'lee unclipped the bottle cap.
A strained voice, stern yet pityful.
"Winning isn't gonna bring her back, you know."
"..."
"Neither will losing, if that's what you're after."
"..."
"Or boozing your ass into a coma..."
"I know, alright," he said equally softly without breaking his stare. "... just, lemme ignore that for a bit. Would you do that for me, Mor?"
"..."
"..."
"Another glass, T'lee. Leave the bottle."
.