RP Log: Drinking In Pieces
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| 2024-07-11 09:06 | |
- The upper level of Quark's can sometimes be quieter, offering patrons a little reprieve from the Dabo tables below. There are several two and three person tables here, for more private and intimate conversations. A railing looks down over the main bar below.
Hawthorn is sitting at a table near the rail that overlooks the lower level of the bar. She's absently sipping a drink and staring vaguely down into the milling crowd below.
The Vulcan is making her semi-regular pass through Quarks, greeting people, keeping in touch, being seen. Her last step is to come to the upper level where she eventually spots the familiar face. "Doctor Hawthorn," she greets. "It has been some time. I trust you are well?"
Hawthorn is pulled from her contemplations by the sound of her name. She turns to see... a Starfleet uniform, of course. With a slight frown, she glances up at the face above the uniform without any real recognition, gives a perfunctory, "Yeah, hi," then turns back to watching the crowd below.
"Are you working with a Starfleet crew now that Phoenix has returned?" The Vulcan inquires mildly.
Hawthorn looks at the Vulcan again, this time with a scowl of suspicion creasing her brow. She studies the face more carefully this time. It takes a few seconds. "Oh yeah," she says dryly. "Now I remember you. You're the one who thought I was volunteerring to become some kind of under cover special freaking agent, when I was just trying to motivate you to do something about the murderer running loose on the Phoenix." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "As if it's my job to be a god damned super hero or something." She sips her beverage, then puts the glass down angrily on the table. "No," she says sharply. "I'm not working with a Starfleet crew. In fact, I'm not working with any crew at the moment. Thanks for asking."
"In any case, welcome to Deep Space 9," the Vulcan says, unruffled. "I am now the commanding officer here. So if we can do anything for you, let me know."
"MM, you run this place, huh?" the tiny Terran asks. "How many science labs do you have aboard?"
"Not as many as I would prefer," the Vulcan says. "Though my largest project to date here has been quite scientific."
"Really?" Hawthorn asks, her tone dripping with cautious curiosity. "In what way?"
T'Shaav considers how to answer that. "I cannot say much about it," she says, "But it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to build a new sensor platform. And this is now done."
Hawthorn narrows her eyes in thought, then picks up her drink again. "Well, the station itself should be a good enough platform to study the wormhole, so I doubt that's the purpose," she says.
"Have you ever been through the Wormhole, Doctor?" T'Shaav asks.
"No," the scientist says quickly, then glances away as she sips from her glass.
"Then perhaps," the Vulcan says, "if I may suggest it, you should see if you can get passage to somewhere like New Bajor. The Gamma Quadrant is a different experience."
Hawthorn sighs as her gaze wanders over the crowd on the bottom level. "I'm sure it is," she says bitterly. "But as far as I know, there's no science being done on that side of the wormhole. Go figure. Countless worlds to explore and to learn from, and we have no scientific programs doing the work. It's a god damned travesty."
"Then perhaps you can start to mend that as a civilian scientist," the Vulcan says.
Hawthorn snorts. "Right," she says. "With what resources? I don't have a ship, much less one equipped for scientific research. And even if I did, I don't know the first thing about how to operate one safely. So, I would need a crew, other scientists, tonnes of supplies, probably some kind of stupid ass Starfleet permit just to use the freaking wormhole." She shakes her head again. "That's just one of the problems with you Starfleeters. You have all the resources you could want, so you become spoiled. You think it's just so easy for the rest of us to say hey, let's go do this thing. Starfleet provides you with all the people and ships and supplies and equipment you need. The rest of us have to fight tooth and nail for what we can scrounge up."
T'Shaav considers. "Actually, if you are at loose ends," T'Shaav says, "I was thinking you could solicit assistance from the Bajoran government. They might be ... easier to talk to."
"Yeah? And how many science ships do the Bajorans have?" Hawthorn asks. "And of those, how many are being sent through to the Gamma Quadrant? Or really to anywhere else at all? I haven't heard of the Bajoran Science Ministry doing anything significant in years. I doubt they even have any up-to-date equipment."
T'Shaav shrugs one shoulder. "I am afraid I do not have those answers," she says. "But I can put you in touch with someone who may."
"Fine., whatever. You may as well," Hawthorn replies with a scowl. "I don't even know what I'm doing here, to be honest. I'm just wasting my time. Maybe I should get back on that freighter I rode in on and see about fixing up their science labs instead." She angrily shoves her drink away from her so that the glass slides across the table, sloshing some of the contents over the brim in the process. It stops just barely shy of falling off the opposite edge.
T'Shaav replies, "I have some time this shift. I will send a note to someone who will get in touch with you. Meanwhile, do enjoy your stay, Doctor."
Captain T'Shaav goes Out.
Hawthorn grinds her teeth in frustration after the Vulcan leaves. She eyes the glass on the edge of the table, then snatches it up and drains the remaining contents in two large gulps. Slamming the empty glass back down on the table, she touches her commbadge. "Hawthorn to Coil."
[Hawthorn's Commbadge] Kellen says, "Coil."
"Oh good, you're still here," Hawthorn says. "You said earlier that I was welcome to stay aboard your ship for a while. Is that offer still open?"
[Hawthorn's Commbadge] Kellen says, "Of course it is, Doctor."
You say, "Thank you. I believe I'll take you up on that offer. When do you plan to leave?"