Say that Again - But Slower
Posted on Thu Nov 4th, 2021 @ 7:50am by Cornelius Warner MS
Edited on on Thu Nov 4th, 2021 @ 7:53am
1,302 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
Frizzle
Location: The Silver Tongue
Timeline: MD 02 : 2145 Hrs
The bar had been busy, though not the kind of busy that one expected from an evening at a colony. This was the kind of busy that followed relief and a degree of commiseration. People had filtered in for the dinner rush, and Starfleet and civilian alike had sheepishly smiled at one another - the knowing smile of "Yeah, that was a bit crazy", and with that they had slowly started to amalgamate. Tables had been slid together, and drinks had been poured. Songs were requested, and as of this exact moment, the bar was bouncing along "Magic Carpet Ride". This had allegedly been one of Zefram Cochrane's favourite songs, and according to myth the song he'd played as he'd launched. Classic rock fans disagreed, saying Cochrane probably had better taste than Steppenwolf.
Cornelius, following the whole affair, had collapsed into his own bed sometime around 1300, and had only just arrived at 2100 to help with the night rush. Those who had children, or had the unfortunately responsibility of work in the morning has started to filter out, leaving a few sitting around. The gathered few were regulars, or those who were more likely to visit a bar after the more comfortable staff had left on a weeknight. The music was dying down, and as such, the final notes of the song fading, with the fading lyrics of "Let the sound, Take you away...". Behind the bar, Tamara lowered the music for the reduced crowd, and Corenlius waved at patrols as they stood and left the bar, smiles exchanged and laughs had with groups as they departed.
This left only the rough collections sitting at tables, and sparse individuals who had sat themselves away from others. Tamara, had been dealing with one patron at the end, and was explaining how - maybe for the best of himself - that was enough beer for the night. The man, who Cornelius recognized as one of the parents involved in the brawl from both his face, and the bruises on it. He'd stood and was now pacing slightly, with the unsteady confidence of a man who managed to sneak a couple more drinks in than he probably should have. He stopped and stared at a group. "Its those fucking knife-eared bastards," he spat out. "Putting our fucking kids at risk, making the fucking Starfleet think its fine to send our kids out. They told us it was safe." Cornelius and Tamara locked eyes, and while the owner of the establishment was across the bar from the man, it would have surprised anyone the clarity his voice carried.
"Alright, I think that's enough," Cornelius said, placing the pair of beers he was holding down for his patrons and starting the slow, calculated walk across. "You've had enough, lets settle, and you're on your way."
The drunk man's eyes narrowed. "You were there, you saw, she shot people! She had a knife and everything! You saw them, the way they defended Starfleet, and the way they would have killed us." He raised a fist in the air and shook it. "I bet Starfleet would have let it happen." Eyes from around the room were now fixed and watching what happened. Cornelius had crossed the space and was now a foot or so from the other man.
"It's time to go, lets not say anything we're going to regret. Go home, sleep it off, and we'll forget it," the barkeep said. This however now drew tighter scrutiny from the drunk man. His face bunched up, like he was trying to think very hard about what was being said, and the things being considered. At this point all other conversation had stopped and all eyes were pointed to the pair. He leaned forward, the stench of alcohol pouring off him - Cornelius made a mental note to update training on how much real alcohol to serve people.
Finally the man spoke, his words laboured like he was trying to dig them out of the mud before he said them. "I saw you talking to them. To the Marine, to the Starfleet captain," - he practically spat the last word. "And to the knife-ears. Not just this morning, but I've seen you talking to the woman before. Yeah... it all makes sense." Cornelius hardened his shoulders, now his eyes narrowed, and subconsciously his feet moved under him to a fighting stance. He'd been in a bar fight before, and he wasn't about to be caught off guard. "I heard about you, everyone says you'll sleep with anything with a heartbeat. You fucking that Romulan, you slut? I bet you are, easy target for someone like you, a mother all alone. I also hear you're a deserter." The barkeep's jaw stiffened, and his fists clenched. There was an irony that the man who had been dragging Starfleet not two minutes prior was now using Cornelius' past as an accusation.
"Sir," he finally responded, his tone flat, and eerily calm in a way that felt like it pulled the warmth from the air in the room, "I suggest you walk out that door before you say something stupider than you already have." At over two meters tall, the drunk man squared himself against the shorter former spook. For his part, Cornelius moved to the balls of his feet, rolling one shoulder back and looking up to meet the eyes of the man.
"Fuck you," the drunk man spat, "you abandoned your Starfleet posting, you walk around as a pretty little whore for anyone who asks, and now you're selling out the Federation out to the Romulans behind our back." To say there was no warning would mean you hadn't been watching the scene unfold. The man rushed forward, which Cornelius carefully sidestepped and grabbed the bottle that had been sitting on the bar. As the drunk man came back around he was caught off guard by the sound of breaking glass, especially that glass breaking across his head, and a foot lodged firmly on his chest pushing him back several feet into an unoccupied table. Blood, vodka and sweat mixed on the man's face partially blinding him as he rushed forward again, recklessly barreling towards Corenlius, who once again stepped aside, but this time grabbed the man's arm as he went past, pulling him sideways and sweeping his leg out from under him.
The larger man went down hard, and would have taken a second to reconsider his position, had Cornelius not taken the opportunity to pull him up by the scruff of his shirt, and with the loud, telltale crack of a fist dislocating a jaw, put an end to the fight as the man crumpled unconscious.
Guitar chords from whatever song was now playing filled an otherwise silent bar. Eyes were fixed on the bartender, who stood over the limp man, breathing heavy. Finally he straightened himself, pulling a cloth from his apron to wipe the combination of fluids that covered his hand. Tossing it unceremoniously onto the limp body, he turned to the rest of the crowd. "Anyone else got a comment about my past Starfleet career or my sex life?" he asked the room, which drew eyes cast downward to try and not make eye contact. "Good, I want to make one thing abundantly clear in this bar. Whatever your problems with Starfleet, the Federation, or each other they get left at that fucking door. You bring it in here, and make a scene..." he trailed off to look at the man on the ground, before spitting at his feet. "Now someone call this man a doctor." Cornelius picked up a glass of water from the bar and walked off the floor towards his small office in the back.
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