Joint Personal Log - LtCmdr Waterhouse & Lt Novak - "For In Our Hearts The Dreams Are Still The Same"

Posted on Mon Oct 20th, 2014 @ 4:02am by Commander Amelia Waterhouse & Lieutenant Henry Novak

2,322 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Are You Touched?

Amelia made one more sweep of her quarters. She wasn't expecting Henry quite yet, but she didn't want to be caught unprepared if he surprised her and showed up early. When leave on Qo'noS was cut short, she'd felt bad that their plans to catch up over Targ burgers were canceled, so after she'd returned from the initial away mission to the planet, she'd cornered him and offered pizza to make up for it.

She glanced at her bed as she left her bedroom, confirming that her plush ninja turtle was sitting up by her pillow, instead of the middle of the couch where he normally was. The plush mountie had been banished to the closet for now, maybe with time she'd let him out but for now she wasn't particularly inclined to have something sitting out that made her think of Vlimar.

In the kitchen sat the pizza, ready to go into the oven once her guest arrived. She'd been pleased to find out that he was just fine with anchovies, so she'd loaded the pie high with all the toppings including the one she had such trouble finding anyone to partake of with her. Chilling in the fridge was root beer, sadly replicated, but from a good pattern. She'd have to look into brewing her own, it was so much better that way and she certainly had the room for it.

"Computer, playlist Unwoman, background volume," Amelia directed, glancing in the mirror as she exited the bedroom. Black lace poet blouse, unlined, over a black tank top, denim capris, lace flats, and her hair left down. Nice, but not too fancy. She crossed to the couch and settled in with a comic book while she waited.

Henry arrived at the XO's quarters carrying a plate of moba cookies. Dressed in a pair dark denims and comfortable grey shirt, he glanced around hoping no one would get the wrong idea of him showing up outside Amelia's quarters in casual dress. He stood up straight and pressed the chime.

"Enter," she called, standing up from the couch and setting the comic book aside on the end table. She crossed her quarters as the door opened and grinned at her guest. "Come in, I'm about to put the pizza in."

"I hope I'm not early," Henry said as he accepted her invitation to step inside. "Usually it's either that or I'm late. Only thing I tend to be on time for is duty shift," he chuckled. He held the plate forward. "These are for you. A plate of my grandmother's moba cookies."

"They look delicious, grandmother cookies are the best," Amelia insisted, accepting the plate. She held it up under her nose and smiled wide as she closed her eyes and breathed in. "These'll be great after pizza."

"They're delicious and spicy," he replied. "Bajoran culture's big where I'm from and my grandmother used to make them all the time when I was a kid. I used a replicator pattern, but they're pretty close to her recipe. By the way, I like the music."

"Unwoman," Amelia named the artist as moved into the kitchen. The cookies were set on the counter, and she pulled the oven open. "Make yourself comfortable. She's an Earth 21st century artist, I love her because she has a way of sliding under the radar until you realize some of the things she sings about."

"Thanks," Henry said as he moved to the sofa. The scent of the delicious pizza drifted over to him and he inhaled deeply before sitting. "That's anchovies I smell, and they smell divine!"

With one fluid motion, she collected the pizza and peel from the counter, slid the pie onto the stone that sat in the oven already, and then nudged the oven closed with her foot as she set the peel down on the counter. She reached into the fridge.

"Root beer?" she offered, coming up with two brown bottles.

"Yes, please. I'd love one," he said, glancing over to hear. "So... what happened down there on the surface? There's been a lot of buzz about the survivors of the crash. Just tell me to butt out if it's none of my business, though."

Amelia sighed softly, crossing the room to join Henry. She perched on the arm of the couch, and set one of the bottles down on the end table. "I don't know if you ever met Noah... my little brother?" A quick twist of the wrist, and she had the bottle still in hand opened. She offered it over.

"I'm not sure, but I remember you mentioned him before," Henry said as he took the bottle with a nod of thanks. "He tends to get himself into a bit of trouble sometimes?"

"He learned enough to usually keep himself from getting caught in the middle of the trouble, but he certainly can leave it in his wake," Amelia insisted with another sigh. She collected the other root beer bottle, and opened it too. Moving down to sit on the couch properly. "The problem is, he's an ordained minister of the Pastafarian faith. He believes there's a ball of spaghetti and meatballs that created the universe... starting with a mountain, a bush, and a midget, or something like that. All I really know is pirates, rum, pasta, and stripper factories in heaven."

"I've heard worse," Henry shrugged with a laugh. "He believes in something, I suppose, which is good. I guess the problem might be when the meatballs start talking to him and telling him to do things he shouldn't be doing. I was raised sort of non-practicing Prophetist, not because my family are particularly religious, but because it had, like most religions, a grain of truth in the basic principles of love thy neighbour and so on. Still, if you look at the technical stuff... the Bajorans worshipped a bunch of mysterious aliens that live in a wormhole. I don't know which is scarier: gods that don't exist or gods that do exist.

"The scary part is when people do stuff in their name that harms others," Amelia insisted. "Though I think it's scarier if the god doesn't exist and people do harmful things in their name. It means they won't shoulder the responsibility themselves, but they're hurting others." She shook her head. "Anyhow, we're dancing into dangerous territory, talking religion. My general policy is to avoid it until I've stared a person down across a sparring ring... so I know if I can take 'em when it gets ugly." She laughed and winked as she said this.

Henry jokingly backed up against the couch. "I've met your mother, I wouldn't want to take you on! I'm not very good at sparring... or one-on-one sports for that matter. Racing and obstacle courses are more my thing. I played parrises squares while at the Academy. Broke my arm twice and once caught a mallet in the face. I think was unconscious for about a day."

"Ouch," she said, visibly wincing. "Can't say I've been knocked unconscious before... Unless you count security officer training where they stun you with a phaser, so you know what it's like. But I'd imagine it's nowhere near the same as blunt force knocking you out."

"It's not the most pleasant of sensations, but thank the prophets for analgesics," Henry smiled. "Did you play any sports?"

"I didn't get into any sports myself. My gym routine and my studies ate up most of my time at the Academy. I did gather quite a following when I'd pull out the bat'leth in golden gate park though." She nodded to the weapon in question hanging on the wall next to the painting of her and her mother featuring the weapon in question.

Henry looked up at the painting, admiring the artistry. "Didn't you ever get in trouble for wielding that in public?"

"You'd be amazed what you get away with if you ask the right questions to the right people," she explained, setting her root beer down and standing. She realized she'd just forgotten the set a timer on the pizza, but the timing seemed right and it smelled perfect. "Let me check the Pizza, it should be about ready," she explained, crossing the room.

"It definitely smells delicious," Henry said, his eyes following the pleasant smell to its origin in the kitchen. "Good pizza has always been a weakness of mine. So how did you manage to get past security with it?"

"The first time, I simply walked up to a security officer on patrol and explained what I was up to. Only took a couple months before I knew all the regular patrols by first name." She pulled the oven open and eyed the crust. A perfect golden brown, cheese bubbling around the toppings. She collected the peel from the counter.

"I guess it's more culturally acceptable on Qo'noS to practice martial arts in public spaces, right?" Henry queried.

"In public spaces, over the dinner table, in the bar... You know, wherever. I don't think about how different the culture is, since I grew up moving between it, the Fleet, and Earth. All of it was normal to me," she returned with a shrug as the peel collected the pizza and removed it from the oven. Again she kicked the oven door shut. "Do you like big or small slices?" As she asked, she ran the metal wheel of the pizza slicer across the pie, bisecting it.

"Big..." Henry replied, watching the way Amelia deftly handled the slicer. She certainly seemed to be handy with bladed objects that had sharp edges. "Do you make pizza often? I know I probably couldn't make one to save my life, unless a replicator were involved."

"It's one of the few things I can make without having to follow the recipe like it's a matter of life and death. you could say it springs from a passion of mine," Amelia answered with a laugh. A couple more swipes at the pizza with the cutter, and there were wide slices like one would find in a New York Pizzeria. "I don't recommend being a guinea pig when I'm trying a new recipe, I've made some horrific blunders in the kitchen. Though to be fair I haven't had much practice, not much access to a kitchen regularly."

"I don't blame you," Henry replied. "Starfleet life isn't exactly conducive to learning top notch cooking skills. Replicators make it too easy on a starship and who has the time in the middle of a war. Red alert will ruin any attempt at making a soufflé."

"Not even Daleks can stop a soufflé," Amelia quipped, collecting one of the two plates she'd had sitting on the counter. "Not that I could make one if I had peace, quiet, and all the perfect supplies. I'm amazed when I manage cookies without burning them."

"Cookies disappear around me faster than you can say 'exterminate'," Henry smiled. "But if that pizza tastes as good as it smells, then no one's going to care about burnt cookies or anything else for that matter."

"Next time I burn a batch of cookies, I'll make pizza again, and we'll test that theory," she insisted with a laugh, placing a slice on the plate and offering it to Henry.

"Thank you very much," Henry said as he took the plate and inhaled deeply before picking up the slice and taking a bite. "Oh man, this is good," he mumbled with his mouth full, etiquette flying out the window. "Good thing I don't have this for dinner every night, otherwise the CMO might have words with me."

"Lies, pizza's the perfect food. It's got meat, it's got fruit and veg, it's got dairy, grain... perfect. I'll bet I could teach you to make it just as good yourself," Amelia insisted as she grinned wide, collecting her own piece. It didn't even make it to the plate she had for herself before it was folded in half length wise and she took a large bite.

"True," Henry replied as he stuffed more of the pizza into his mouth. "It has all the essential ingredients and then some. I'd love to learn how to make it, although that wouldn't be a guarantee that I could make it. My cooking skills are not so great... but I'm always willing to learn."

"If I — the woman who can burn cookies she's made a dozen times before — can learn to make pizza, anyone can learn to make pizza," Amelia insisted with a solemn head nod.

"In that case, there's hope for me yet," Henry grinned and took the last bite of his pizza. "I'm going to be greedy and ask for another slice. I've gotten so used to eating a 'Starfleet-approved' diet, I forgot how good this tastes."

"Help yourself, there's plenty," Amelia waved him on as she took another bite herself. When she'd swallowed, she grinned. "Even if the teenager deep inside still insists I could live on leftover pizza forever, I know I need to keep a little more variety in my diet, so the less leftovers, the less temptation." She collected a second slice herself, placing it on the empty plate that'd sat on the counter waiting for her. "Shall we sit at the table instead of standing in the kitchen like a couple of college kids?" She teased with a wink.

"Thanks," Henry said as he fetched himself another slice of pizza. "Maybe we should use the table, like real adults do." He picked up his root beer and raised it to Amelia. "Here's to old Academy acquaintances, fantastic pizza... and adulthood. Cheers!"

"Cheers," she returned, raising her slice of pizza since her rootbeer still sat on the end table across the room.

=/\= End Log =/\=

Lt Commander Amelia Waterhouse
Executive Officer
USS Vindicator

Lieutenant Henry Novak
Flight Control Officer
USS Vindicator

 

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