Joint Personal Log - LtCmdr Waterhouse & Cmdr PontBrillant - "When the World Seems to Shine Like You've Had Too Much Wine"

Posted on Tue Sep 9th, 2014 @ 5:52am by Commander Amelia Waterhouse & Vlimar PontBrillant

3,129 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Are You Touched?

Amelia stood in the lobby, pacing. Vlimar wasn't late, and she didn't have any reason to think he would be. She was just early, as she always was. She'd managed to slip back up to the ship without Vlimar catching her doing so, and came straight back with jewelry and a nice dress. Now she was being stared at by the Ferengi at the front desk because she'd wanted to look nice for Vlimar. So she paced in a black halter dress with yellow hibiscus along the bottom hem, a string of black pearls at choker length around her neck, and cascades of matching tiny black pearls falling from her ear lobes.

Vlimar — also a man of earliness — arrived later than he wanted. He arrived five minutes prior to the agreed time, having been stopped by Ensign Sørensen. She kept asking him for instructions in overly basic investigative reports, which almost made him mad. He was glad to be away from the ship and back with a fellow senior officer, Amelia of all of them. He arrived all but rushing in, hoping to make it on time. As he entered the lobby, he almost collided with Amelia, who was pacing definitely too close to the opening door.

As the Ferengi had stared at her, Amelia had found herself moving further and further across the lobby, as if the distance would shield her from his toady little eyes, as he was clearly imagining her undressed. The annoying thing was, she wouldn't have batted an eyelash if she'd found herself standing nude in front of him, it was just the way that he looked at her that irritated her. She hadn't noticed how close to the doors into the resort's transporter room she'd come until they swung open and she found herself having a near miss with just the man she'd been waiting for.

"Where's the fire?" she asked with a small laugh, taking half a step back when he'd come up short just shy of her. She certainly didn't mind the proximity, but knew how jarring it was to be forced to stop so suddenly and wanted to give him space because of that.

Vlimar appeared surprised, then relieved to find it was Amelia, not some young yeoman with something to prove. He smiled. "No rush, just didn't want to be late," he said, grinning.

Amelia's eyes darted to the latinum encrusted chronometer that hung on the wall above the transporter room door, and then back down to Vlimar. "You're still early," she observed, though she smiled.

Vlimar looked up and confirmed the time. "Still early. Good job, Vlimar!" he said, mimicking a victory dance. As he danced, he looked at Amelia — who bit back a laugh — and stopped, extending his arm. "Shall we?" he asked, politely, seriously.

Amelia smiled at him as she took his arm. "Do you have any idea where we're going, or do you need me to lead?" she teased.

"I will pretend to lead by letting you guide the way," he stated, smiling.

"You can start by pretending to lead the way out the front doors and head north on the foot path," she whispered to him, leaning close to do so.

Vlimar grinned and began to walk towards the identified point. "You look beautiful tonight," he stated, as they walked.

"Thank you," she returned, smiling. She was glad she'd darted up to the ship for the dress and jewelry, though she'd never admit to him she'd done just that.

The path they found themselves on once leaving the resort grounds was in and of itself utilitarian, but Amelia couldn't help but wonder if the Ferengi had a hand in its route. It snaked near the edge of the cliff tops, overlooking the sand, surf, and resort. The sun had moved low in the sky, and was painting everything a blood red.

"Who'd have thought a planet of utilitarian warriors would yield such sunsets," Amelia mused aloud.

Vlimar nodded, smiling. "Probably that those warriors are not even of its existence, actually," he claimed, arriving at the door of the restaurant, still holding Amelia's hand in his arm.

Amelia shook her head with a laugh at the insistence. "You'll be re-writing a lot of history books if you can convince anyone to believe that," she teased as the door slide open in front of them. "I took the liberty of making a reservation after you went back to the ship. It's under your name," she whispered to him as they walked inside. "Just be direct and we should be seated fairly quickly."

As they entered, multiple guests were sitting in the waiting area as well as at the bar, waiting to be seated. At first look, Vlimar recognized a few faces, including Ensign Sørensen, obviously on a date. He nodded to her and moved to the desk of the Maitre d'Hotel. The Maitre D', a soft looking Klingon, if those exist, watched them both arrive and looked down at his list.

"Vlimar PontBrillant. I have a reservation," he claimed to the host.

The Klingon looked down on a padd, looking over Amelia a few times, as if he was confused by the "métissage" of her nature, then nodded. "PontBrillant," he confirmed. "Your assistant called in the reservation right on time," he claimed, pointing to a server waiting. "Follow him."

Amelia directed a look at the Maitre D', as if to say what's your problem as she and Vlimar followed the server to their table. She honestly wasn't put out by being stared at, it had almost become a thing in the touristy Klingon restaurants these days after tales of the service filtered back to the human colonies and Earth. She usually avoided the touristy places because they often couldn't get the traditional dishes right, but she'd heard from her uncle that this one did.

"Can you read Klingon?" the server demanded of them both, pulling out Amelia's chair for her when they reached the table. She rolled her eyes, and clicked her tongue at him.

"Of course I can," she snapped back in Klingon. Her eyes sought Vlimar's, unsure what his answer would be.

Vlimar smiled and motioned to Amelia. "Universal Translator," he claimed, grinning. Vlimar understood a few of the language concepts and words, but was unable to speak it rationally. He sounded like a barking dog whenever he tried to put Klingon words out of his mouth.

"Won't help reading text, unless you want me to read you the whole menu," she said softly in Federation standard with a head shake. "He'll need the Human menu, does it come in French?" she snapped at the server in Klingon. She received a boisterous laugh in return as two menus were pulled from a stack. The one in front of her had the pointy curves of the Klingon alphabet, the one in front of him was in French.

"This side is for the meats damaged by fire," he indicated, pointing at the left side of Amelia's menu, indicating things that had been cooked. She slapped his hand away, and pointedly folded the menu so that only the right side showed. She received a toothy grin for her troubles.

"Merci," replied Vlimar to the server, as he began to read. From his point of view, not much looked appealing. He observed Amelia discussing with the server, then looked at the meat, hoping to see some beef or chicken, to fulfill his hunger.

The server shook his head and walked off to handle another table, and Amelia quickly yelled after him, "Two mugs blood wine, 2309!" She then flipped open her menu again so she could see both sides. Quickly skimming the contents of the left panel, she leaned forward to speak softly with Vlimar across the table. "Assuming everything's in the same order — though I wouldn't put it past them to change order to mess with tourists — the third item down on the left is Targ with a wild mushroom sauce. I know the Klingon mushrooms taste good on raw meat, so I'd guess it's the same on cooked meat, and the Targ is like a stronger wild boar. You might try that."

Vlimar nodded slowly, looking at the menu confused. The French version was just... horrible. Words that didn't translate well, syntax from another dimension. He got exhausted from trying to guess what was written on it, so set the menu down. "Yeah, sure, I'll go for that," he said, smiling.

"How do you like you meat cooked?" she asked, her eye falling to the menu to decide what she was going to order. Her eyes lingered as she saw Wistan gagh listed on the menu, but she wasn't sure how Vlimar would react to her eating the dish. The Klingon octopus also caught her eye.

"Depends on the meat, really. Beef, usually rare, while I eat my chicken well cooked," he stated, smiling widely, happy about his joke. "How do you suggest I eat my Targ?" he asked, obviously confused about the concept of a Klingon steakhouse.

"The recommended way doesn't involve it being cooked," Amelia explained. She decided the Wistan gagh and its targ blood might be a bit much for him to watch her eat. "If you're going to have it cooked, you probably want it somewhere between rare to medium-rare."

Vlimar shook his head. "Right," he stated. "Rare it shall be then..." he stated, unsure. Vlimar looked around for the cloth napkin within the table setting, then as he realized he was looking in vain, sighed and accepted the fact that the meal might get... bloody.

"You don't have to get it rare if you don't want it that way..." she explained as she realized what he was looking for on the table. "The reason the tablecloth is this dark burgundy is so the blood stains blend in, normally Klingons just use the table cloth if there is one. They'll probably bring out a napkin with your dinner, most restaurants that serve tourists assume humans will want one. I'll ask when we order."

Their server returned, and unceremoniously slammed two warmed mugs of blood wine on the table between them. He looked expectantly at Amelia, clearly having decided that Vlimar was the useless half of the date.

Vlimar grabbed the mug in front of him and moved it closer to him. He eyed the waiter as he was being ignored, shrugging, observing Amelia.

Amelia met Vlimar's eyes a moment, before looking up at the server. "He'll have the Targ with the mushroom sauce, rare, I'll have the Octopus," she snapped in Klingon at the server. He shook his head.

"And how are we ruining the octopus for you?" he challenged. Amelia snorted, standing from her chair to look him in the eye.

"You touch that mollusk with fire, and I'll have your hand as a trophy," she returned. He laughed at her, grinning wide.

"I like you. When you eventually get tired of this guy, come find me," he quipped, and turned to submit their order to the kitchen.

Vlimar smiled at the Klingon taking a liking in Amelia. "You have an admirer, my dear..." he observed, laughing, raising his blood wine mug to Amelia. "What should we toast to?" he asked, laughing.

"I don't particularly care for his nerve," she grumbled, sitting back down. With a soft sigh as she collected her mug, she raised it towards Vlimar. "To a good leave?"

"A good leave? That's a little soft," he claimed, grinning. "To pleasures of the leave. And may they never be spoken of again!" he declared, laughing.

"Ah, but some things that happen on leave are worth speaking of for years to come," she insisted, crossing her legs and leaning towards him. She smiled wide.

Vlimar smiled. "Perhaps, depends on the situations, I imagine!" he claimed, before taking a large sip of his blood wine. Curious, he took another sip, then looked at Amelia. "Tourist stuff, no?" he asked, wondering about the quality of the drink.

"Most tourist stuff on Qo'noS is a bit of a joke," she insisted with a laugh, then took a drink from her mug. She smiled widely. "Luckily this place at least takes its bar seriously. I hope you can hold you liquor, it would be a shame for me to have to carry you back to the resort," she teased with a wink.

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you?" he asked playfully. Vlimar took his cup and drank another sip of it. "I can hold my liquor, as long as I restrain my consumption..." He added, smiling.

"I don't know why you'd say a thing like that," she insisted with an innocent eye roll and a small smirk. "Have you had blood wine before?"

Vlimar nodded as he took another sip. "Once, at the Academy. Not really a fan of exotic drinks," he claimed, obviously not remembering the effects of blood wine on pure human genetics. "I prefer a good old scotch from the Isle of Sky... Robust, earthy," he stated, smiling.

Amelia nodded. "I tend to drink the local specialty wherever I am. Here, that's blood wine. I've had scotch a few times, I think even a couple times it was the good stuff. Certainly wouldn't be opposed to doing so again. No one in the family has a passion for it, so I don't currently have any in my personal stash."

Vlimar nodded, smiling. "Personal stash is all I have," he stated, laughing, thinking about his newly arrived order that he hadn't even had the chance to open yet.

"Maybe we should compare notes on our stashes some time," she suggested with a grin. The server arrived with their dinner, dropping Vlimar's plate harshly, and taking a bit more care with Amelia's. He looked at her as he dropped a wadded cloth napkin in the same color as the table cloth next to Vlimar's plate.

"Anything else?" he demanded, with a gentler edge than before.

"Go fall on a bat'leth," she returned.

Vlimar was about to send his own insults, but refrained. He simply looked at Amelia, ignoring the server, then looking at his food. "Looks... interesting?" he claimed, unsure what he was looking at. He slowly took another sip of the blood wine and grabbed his knife.

"If you can not handle it, I will bring you the children's menu," the server directed at Vlimar, in heavily accented Federation standard.

Vlimar smiled and looked at Amelia. "Children's menu... A funny guy there," he said to her, loud enough that anyone who wanted to be a spectator could hear. He then turned back to the server. "I understand what you are trying to do. So, how about you go back there and go fuck yourself?" he asked, politely, smiling.

"How about I cut that grin off your face, you fucking frog?" the server growled back, still speaking his heavily accented Federation standard as he stepped close to Vlimar's seat, towering over where he sat. Amelia sighed, muttering profanities in a dozen languages, ready to step in if needed but fairly confident Vlimar could handle it.

Vlimar smiled, took the napkin, wiped his mouth slowly looking at Amelia. "Excuse me," he said to her, softly, prior to standing up, looking the Klingon in the eyes. "Do you really want me to deface your establishment with your blood?" he asked, the corner of his mouth making a disgusted smile. He discreetly pushed his chair away from his knees, to allow himself space to move, if need be. Vlimar would not start a fight, but would never run from one.

"STOP!" a feminine voice barked in Klingon as the server was raising his arm to punch Vlimar. The tiny woman stormed up to the table, yanking the server back by his shoulder. A silent exchange passed between them before he stormed off, leaving a string of profanity in his wake.

"You could have taken him," Amelia commented as she pulled her chair forward a little to resettle herself. The Klingon woman smiled at Amelia's comment.

"Kortok is young and stupid, I apologize for his behavior," she returned with only a whisper of an accent in her Federation standard. "Your meal is on the house. If you need anything else, I'm B'tor."

Vlimar looked at the server leaving. "Done already?" he claimed, smiling at the female Klingon. He turned, grabbed his chair and sat back down. He smiled to Amelia, as if nothing happened. "You were saying?" he asked.

"He'd be hilarious as a floor show," Amelia mused with a smirk, her eyes turning to her food. "Charge tourists for the privilege to get into a fight with him." B'tor laughed at Amelia's suggestion.

"It would save me from having to fire him," she returned with a head shake. "Enjoy the rest of your meal, Bwen Appaytitey." She excused herself and left them alone.

Vlimar looked up at the Klingon, smirking as she left. He then turned his eyes back to Amelia. "Bwen Appaytitey?" he asked, laughing. However, he suddenly stopped, remembering that mastering multiple language was, actually, quite the intellectual task and the fact that the Klingon woman tried was commendable. "It still surprise me to hear French spoken so far away from Earth," he stated, finally taking his fork and knife to his food and cutting his first piece.

Amelia couldn't help a smile, both at the laugh and how quickly he back tracked on it. "I cringe to think how bad I was at Vulcan and Orion when I started to learn," she returned with a laugh of her own. She cut into the octopus on her plate with a grin. "This place targets tourists, the fact that they have the menu in French means they must get enough tourists who speak it as their primary language."

"Perhaps," he responded, taking his first bite of the targ. As he chew, he seem somewhat satisfied. It was to his surprise, obviously, having heard not much positive about Klingon cuisine. He smiled as he nodded to Amelia. "Hows your... thing?" he asked, grinning.

"Octopus, and it's a delight," she insisted after swallowing her first bite. "Maybe next time, we'll get you to try the gagh?" she teased with a grin, raising her next bite to her lips.

"Next time?" he asked, teasing.

"Are you going to refuse me because you didn't get to pummel Kortok?" She winked, and reached for her blood wine.

Vlimar laughed and reached for his blood wine as well. "This will be a good night," he expressed, while bringing the cup to his lips.

=/\= END LOG =/\=
Lt. Commander Amelia Waterhouse
Executive Officer
USS Vindicator

Commander Vlimar PontBrillant
Strategic Operations Commander
USS Vindicator

 

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