Lunch Break
Posted on Wed Apr 7th, 2021 @ 11:26pm by Caithlin t'Leiya & Cornelius Warner MS
3,021 words; about a 15 minute read
Mission:
Frizzle
Location: Silver Tongue
Setting up office space was generally, in the assessment of near any species, boring after a few hours; and Caithlin locked up her space and decided to look about the town main streets further; she had made a cursory survey of them earlier but mostly had relied on Tal's assessment of them as safe rather than truly have the chance to actually explore the area yet. Eventually, she came upon a brick building with signs announcing food and (nearly as critically in her mind) drink: One eyebrow rose slightly at the name, a corner of her mouth quirking up with amusement; humans, unless her memory was mistaken, used the phrasing of the name of the place to indicate one with a particular gift for persuasion or the like; perhaps the local bartender fancied himself a master of such. If so, it should be...interesting, if nothing else. And several other locals had mentioned the place over the last few weeks as having good drinks.
Pulling open the door, she was greeted by a place that made her blink half in surprise, half in adjustment to a lower, warmer lighting level than she had been expecting; a place whose aesthetic as she took it in could almost be one of the older bars in Boston, where she had settled with her sister's family shortly after her arrival in the Federation. It was not what she had expected to find on the colony (though, the back of her mind teased cynically, she was probably not what anyone would expect to find on the colony either...Which had been, quite honestly, part of it's appeal to her).
Having been on her way towards one of the tables near by, Tamara paused as she saw the Romulan woman enter. A polite, she took a half pause in her step to address her. "Hey, tables are rather full, but there is plenty of space at the bar, the pompous man behind it is Cornelius, he can help you dear," was all the dark haired woman said before spinning on her heels and heading for the gathered collection of starfleet sitting at said table. She had rolled her eyes of course, as the music kept it's hard hitting rock tones, something the woman had been trying to convince Cornelius to maybe tone down a bit. Less of the current Savior that filled the room with hard guitar and drum, and maybe some more of the softer rock.
There had been--within cultural adjustments for such--places like this on Romulus, undoubtedly; but Caithlin had never stepped foot in one. A particularly loud note over the speakers made her wince, reminding her that humans--which the colony seemed to have a great deal of in its mix--had rather poor hearing, comparatively. Still, to leave now on account of that would appear rude; a wrong move in her first impressions to those sharing their new home, so Caithlin weaved her wavy deftly through the rest of the lunch crowd; old habits keeping her aware of those around her; and selecting a seat with as good a view of the rest of the room as was able...and as good of an angle towards an exit point as able, if necessary. It was when she stopped to take in the man himself she found pause again, even moreso than the lighting had: She had seen him before; her mind flashing back to events she had accompanied her father to at the Federation Embassy on the homeworld. But she had of course never learned his name, only the surety that she had seen that face before amongst the refreshments laid out for a reception and the drinks refilled during a dinner. A bizarre irony of the universe, to encounter the man here then. Though the universe seemed quite fond of handing her those, of late.
Cornelius' eyes landed on the newcomer, and he paused for a moment, before a smile slid across his face. A Romulan here in my bar, so far from it's birth, he couldn't help but think, as he approached her, sliding a menu off the centre of the bar tower, and across the bar at the woman. "I'm Cornelius, welcome to the Silver Tongue, Deception and Political Propaganda are on special today, though if you like Romulan Ale I might suggest the Deception," he said as he wiped his hands on his apron and pulled his tshirt down a little to hide the old comic book art cover. "It's made with authentic Kheh, though it's got human hopes so it's a poor substitute for the real deal," he said, jovial as always.
One eyebrow quirked upwards slightly at that, a tendril of Caithlin's long hair failing out of its updo at the side of her face as she glanced at the menu. "...I see. I shall try that, then." One thing, at least, was generally the same between their cultures, she had found: If you wanted to know the best items in an establishment, you asked the chef. Or in this case, the barkeep. "And what would you recommend of the available meals?"
"Well, I'm a sucker for the traditional Earth pub foods, so nachos are always a go to for me," he said as he grabbed the nearest beer tower tap for the Deception and began to pour into a glass. "We do a mean fish and chips, potatoes are local and cut in house so it's about as fresh as you can get. Our caesar dressing is made in house if you want something a little more on the green side, and while our house vinaigrette is as well, but I'll be honest, garden salads are all boring. Though, my personal favourite on the menu, it's the beer cheese chowder. Just uh, don't tell Tamara that, I'll never hear the end of it."
Inasmuch as she had learned Earth cuisine items yet, Caithlin was fairly certain that aside from the salad, the chowder was the only item named which would be edible properly, without dragging her hands through it like a Ferengi. "I will have the chowder, then." She took a sip of the glass placed in front of her, old habits once again dying hard as she longed to scan it first, just to be sure, and inclined her head slightly at the taste, considering. "Interesting. Perhaps as if our ale and your people's beer had combined themselves."
As he keyed the order into the terminal near him, he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I have debated trying to make actual ale, but the pressure and water consistency is wrong, I'd have to replicate many of the ingredients to try and get close, and even then, I don't think I'd make the authentic item, any closer than a replicator could." He offered another smile. "And I think we both know the replicated stuff just isn't right," the man added, leaning back. "So, what's you're story?" he asked, leaning it, genuinely curious how a Romulan had made it so far from home.
Again, instinct trained for nine decades from childhood made the tiny hairs on the back of Caithlin's neck practically stand up. An innocuous question. If you were a human. A dangerous one, quite possibly, if you were a Romulan; and especially if you were a Romulan in the upper echelons of society or a resident of the capital. But she had been required to bare her tale and her shame to more frightening foes than a bartender, to gain entry to Federation space, and later, the leave to remain within it. And Gunnar had been clear that humans often asked such things for mere idle conversation, or to build community through understanding. If they were to live here...Well. The story would be known soon enough, if not here and now.
"I suppose it is a similar story to the ones many of my people have. I fled the collapse of the Empire a few years after the nova, to find safety for my children." It was, in fact, while similar also a rather more complex story than many of her people had; she knew well her delayed road from Romulan space had been different than many, in the years she had spent as one of many trying to hold it together, or in the factors that made her unwelcome in any of the surviving breakaway states. "We joined my sister and her family on Earth,--" carefully not stated here was that the sister in question had lived on Earth for decades by that point, "--But it was perhaps too...judgemental...an environment. And too easy to attract far too much attention, to the detriment of both safety and peace. As to how we came to be here, specifically; I was hired to provide legal advice and services to the Bray Foundation, and also advised by a family friend that this was perhaps the sort of place where we could live in peace." It was clear from her tone at the last statement that Caithlin did not so much mean peace from war, even; but simply peace from being an object of anger, curiosity, vengeance, or pity each time one stepped out one's own front door.
"Haumea is a good place for that," the bartender commented, pausing as he watched an order pop up, and he scooped some spirits to make the cocktail in question. "People keep to themselves, don't cause too much of a ruckus, and tend to be pretty friendly. It's a fair mixing pot, that's for sure. Plus the civie population is far more dominant, so the Fleet personnel stay out of the way," he continued, giving the drink a shake in the shaker, before pouring and sliding it across to the approaching waitress who scooped it and disappeared. He watched it go and shook his head as it was dropped at a table of young ensigns. "Oh man, Alan is going to kill me, I think those are Engineering kids," he muttered, before he shrugged. "But again, not my problem I suppose," Cornelius said turning back to his guest. "So, collapse of the Empire, Earth, and now out here. Quite the journey! I'm sure there are stories you could tell a plenty. Especially when it comes to the Bray Foundation, all the juicy gossip," he added with a signature laugh. His attention was caught, as he noticed the food slide from the kitchen out. "One sec," he noted before departing to grab the offering.
Returning not a minute later, he slid the bowl down. "One beer, cheese chowder, side of garlic bread-" with practiced ease he scooped a set of utensils and slid them beside the meal, "-and a spoon to eat it with," he concluded, with a wave of his hands, like a magician concluding a trick. "Fun fact about me," he carried on, leaning back to give some space to eat. "This bar started on Romulus, though it used to be called 'The Observation Post', kind of a running joke with the former owner at the Federation embassy. Worked as a bar tender, and when the owner retired, I took over. Turned it into a brewery, loved having Romulans about so I renamed it in a way to try and honour them. I don't think the play on words is too subtle, but then again, it's more fun like that."
"At the risk of offense, humans are not the most...subtle...species in general. So perhaps that is for the best if it's meant for a broad audience. Though. You are quite an adaptable species." It was, from what Caithlin had seen during her time as a legal advisor to their delegation on DS9 during the war, true for the most part, and perhaps humanity's defining trait: Though rarely the strongest, or the fastest, or the best at most things among the galactic stage, humans instead had an uncanny knack for adapting and surviving; even where others would not. Given how far she had now had to adapt...Well. Seeing them on their homeworld had been an interesting study as well; where it was clear that to a large degree, they expected her to adapt to them if she wished to live among them. She sipped a small spoonfull of the chowder and made an approving hum. "Do you by chance have any supply contacts within our space, still?"
"Couple," Cornelius admitted, a half truth hidden in itself. "I have a couple suppliers I buy grain from, and even a couple willing to sell me seeds to grow Kheh myself. Which is good," he said, pouring himself a beer as he went, to have a drink while conversing with his new companion. "It's getting harder to get things our of the Free State or Republic, both of which are closing trade routes fairly regularly for non-essentials, and pulling resources to other ideas. It's going to be a long time before that stabilizes, if ever." The man regarded his drink for a moment, before letting the smile spread on his face again. "But enough sad talk, you were hoping to get something, what're you looking for?"
"Actual bottles of our ale, perhaps some wines as well...Not the export quality dregs one can get through usual Federation suppliers or worse, the Ferengi." The emphasis of distaste put on "Ferengi" was perhaps a nod to every frustrating experience with Quark and his staff that Caithlin had ever had during the war while aboard the Federation's station. "The best quality came from the homeworld." This statement she let speak for itself; the lack of it now. "But other production from worlds outside the path of destruction still exists; some better than others." It was a test, perhaps, not just of Cornelius' supply chains and contacts, but of his acumen as a bartender and connoisseur of fine liquor; to see if he would know which of remainders were most quality.
Cornelius regarded the woman for a moment, and considering her for a second, before raising a finger. "Enjoy your soup, I'll be right back," he said, before spinning on his heels and leaving to head for the storage at the rear of the bar and down the stairs to the store room itself.
Returning a few minutes later, eyes followed him as he carried a small wooden box, barely large enough for a traditional beer bottle. Stepping back behind the bar, with Tamara regarding him with curiosity. He brushed the look off with a wave of his hand and a nod towards Caithlin, before he stopped in front of her. With the practiced care of a man who'd studied fine spirits, he released a brass clasp on the side and opened the box to reveal the contents within, a 350ml bottle of traditional Romulan ale, inscribed in Romulan instead of Federation Common.
"This was one of three gifts I received during my time on Romulus," he said, placing the bottle gently down in front him himself. "A senator who frequented the Federation embassy was a regular in my bar. If memory serves correct, he preferred to eat somewhere with a little bit of peace and quiet, though my music tastes have hardly changed," Cornelius joked. "A 2366 vintage, which means technically import of it is illegal. It is one of my last three authentic bottles. I'd be willing to share - which I believe is traditional 'to ensure the bottle is not poisoned'" he intoned. "However, not with chowder, I fear it would be a terrible pairing." He flashed one of his more playful smiles, the ones that years before had earned him his fair share of trouble. "Choose a night, and I'll cook up something to make it special."
"I look forward to it. I'm afraid I lost most of the stock I had." 'Lost' indeed; no, her original possessions had been destroyed with the homeworld; but in the months and years after the nova but before the fall of the Empire, she had acquired more...Only to sell or trade nearly everything she owned to survive in the aftermath.
"Excellent!" the man said with excitement. "I will let you eat, but you flag me down if you need anything," Cornelius said with a smile, packaging the bottle carefully and getting ready to take it back down. "Oh, and if I am not around, ask Tamara, she's the lovely lady who sat you and acts as my Front of House manager, she'll top you up with anything," he concluded before giving a wave and heading back towards his store room, before pausing one more time and walking back. "I didn't even get your name," he said, a blush running across his face. "Terrible for that, I can be."
"Caithlin. I have a law office a few streets over. Though aside from the Brays, I don't have any clients yet." Learning Federation law had been a change, indeed; by specializing in civil and contract law she had mostly avoided trying to parse their even more bizarre criminal law system with its strange 'presumption of innocence' doctrine; but even their civil law system had it's bizarre moments to her: "Divorce", for example, as the standard remedy for infidelity. Apparently if one responded in the fashion she had been accustomed--to have one's self or one's family deal with the offender in question in a permanent fashion--you could, under Federation law, be then charged with murder. And only a few specific places in Federation law--Andor, for example--even allowed for duels, for that matter.
"Caithlin," the man repeated, rolling the name over his tongue to get the feel for it. "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, and tell me when you want to do dinner, and bring your kids, I can teach them bad habits," he concluded as he walked away with a laugh, and matched by a roll of Tamara's eyes.
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