Dinner Time

Posted on 02 Mar 2025 @ 6:52pm by Lieutenant Commander Cintia Sha'mer & Lieutenant Commander Harva Taliborn

2,886 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Miranda
Location: Harva's quarters

Sha'mer smiled as she looked at the message displayed on her screen. It wasn't often that she was invited to dine with one of her fellow crewmates. Maybe it was just her, maybe she kept more to herself – the whole friendship thing, which seemed to come naturally to others, often eluded her. Then again, she was a fairly private person, used to keep herself to herself, few people had breached those barriers. Part of it, she knew, was the whole telepath thing.

The person who had invited her had managed to breach those barriers, in a very unexpected way, and they each knew things about each other nobody else on board of this ship knew.

For once she wasn't dressed in the severe Starfleet uniform, but wore something less formal. The dress looked strange on her, unfamiliar. She hadn't worn one in years, if only because the fabric tended to tangle in the brace. With the slender, elegant one she wore these days – crafted by the same person who sent the invitation – she shouldn't have that problem.

A last glance at herself in the mirror. She ran her hand through her short hair, brushed an invisible speck of dirt from a short sleeve and shrugged as she turned away from the image. It would have to do.

A short trip down the corridor later landed her in front of the door to Harva's quarters. She touched the chime.

"Hey you," Harva's deep sonorous basso profondo rumbled as he opened the door, stepping aside for Sha'mer to come in. Dressed in the cloth of his people, which was a very fancy way of saying 'he threw on something comfortable from home', a combination that most resembled a form-fitting shirt over pants, in simple earthen tones. Comfort over fanciness. "How's the brace been? Anything that needs tweaking or adjusting?"

"Not as far as I can tell," Sha'mer said, stepping inside. "I'm still amazed at how light it feels compared to the other ones. A lot more comfortable, too. It makes walking feel almost natural again." Which was also something she hadn't experienced in, well, a long time.

"It's the plasteel I used for the main frame and the curves in its shape; adds a springiness that makes footfalls less harsh than your old, rigid one," Harva explained, taking pride in his work and glad to see that it was meeting all expectations. "Come in, come in," as he motioned further into his quarters. It was a standard officer's quarters, but completely redecorated with larger and sturdier furniture - though this also meant that less of it fit in the space. On the table Sha'mer could see a meal set out. Meat as the main course, with sides of potatoes and garnishings, sauces and gravies. His plate was considerably bigger than hers, as one might expect, as was his mug for whatever drink he had prepared, in the massive pitcher also on the table. Cintia's chair had a little booster pillow prepared, to make sitting at the larger table more comfortable. "How have you been holding up? It's been a while since the events on the planet."

She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the booster pillow. Being in his quarters with the oversized furniture made her feel like a child again, and that was another experience she hadn't had in an, well, even longer time. "Well enough, once the headache disappeared. Trying to get through that dampener was, well, hard." For all her power, she wouldn't have been able to do so without Elleese. At least not without paying dearly for it. "How about you?"

"Oh I'm fine," The big Sirran waved dismissively. "We're a hardy people, after all. Few days of rest and I was good as new," he lied."Come, come. Sit. I've prepared a traditional meal from home, or best I could with the ingredients the replicator knows. It's called the Huntsman's Folly. Don't pay the name much mind, it's good."

An arched eyebrow said with more than words what Sha'mer thought of that 'fine'. "You do seem to be a little stiff still," she commented dryly. But she did walk over to the table and sat. "On the contrary, that name sounds as if there is a story behind it."

His ears lowered, just for a moment. "Yeah, let's - ... Let's not talk about that, ok?" he replied, putting on a smile, ears perking up again. "This is Stjarnaljós," he spoke the word in the language of his people, indicating the drink. "Means Starlight. It's got some alcohol, not much though. Just enough for some added effect."

"That bad, eh?" Sha'mer asked lightly. An open invitation for Harva to expand or let the matter rest, whatever he wanted. She picked up the drink. It had a light fizziness to it, and the bubbles, yes, sparkled faintly. It wasn't hard to guess where the name had come from. "Stjarnaljós," she repeated, taking a few tries to get the word right. "That's a beautiful name."

As he sat down opposite her he considered her reaction and what he was doing. Why was he trying to play tough to the only person who wouldn't be fooled by it? The only person who knew him better than anyone else, even his own daughter? The one person who knew what he was capable of, and had - to an extent - seen it firsthand? On his world there was a saying, 'Only he who is capable of great harm can be peaceful', implying that if you're not capable of great harm you're not peaceful, you're harmless.

"I'm sorry," he quietly offered after a moment's silent contemplation. "And, thank you," meaning her reaction, and for not pushing the subject. Still, he felt that if any one person deserved the truth, it was Cintia. "I've not been ok. I've had - ... Dreams. Wouldn't go as far as calling them nightmares, but definitely unpleasant dreams. Finding myself in that corridor again where you found me, where you knocked me about. Only it's not you I come across, in my dreams. It's, like, Petrova. Or Veera. Or Omari. Or Warner. You get the idea. Thing is - they don't have that mind thing which makes them strong enough to knock me about." His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper - which for a Sirran still meant it was readily audible without needing much effort.

"So it invariably ends up bad for them, and - well, you can imagine how that looks," his ears lay low, shoulders slumped. He'd reached for his own - ... vase of stjarnaljós, but was just holding it, as if he'd forgotten about it. "Thing is, I can't go to the counselor with this, as it would require telling her about my past, and she doesn't have the clearance to know it. So, I'm not sure what to do. I figured I'd tought it out, but - not sure how long that's going to take." Now finally remembering he was holding a drink, he took a slow and long sip, closing his eyes to savor the moment, savor the taste.

"Quite some time. Always longer than you'd like," Sha'mer answered honestly. "Minds are strange things, don't need to tell you that. Even though your waking, rational mind knows nothing bad has happened, and it won't be able to happen in the future either now that they're walled off, the deeper layers are all too aware of the 'what might have happened' scenario's and those layers aren't ruled by logic and reason. It's where the base emotions spring from, and fear and anger are two very powerful ones. They can help us – and during that time they have helped you, a lot. But once you left, you've had to pack that side of you away, stuff it in a box, pretend it never happened. And that worked for awhile… until this happened. Those memories, that part of your life, even hidden away they are still a part of you, and it needs to be seen, acknowledged, accepted." She set her own glass down and reached across the table, touching his hand. "Until you've done that, the dreams will continue."

"Hmm," Harva shook his head a bit. A soft smile when she touched his hand, and he turned his massive paw around so he could lightly curl his fingers around her dainty hand. "It's - ... I don't think it's that. I'm at peace with my past. Don't think there's any acknowledging or accepting needs done there. No coming to terms. I did what I did for the stability of the federation - hell, the quadrant. No regrets there. The thing that's troubling me is the knowledge - from experience - that apparently something as relatively minor as a tailored agent can make me feel like I'm back there, on a mission. The walls you put up will hide my past from anyone outside looking in, but what about my own mind, my own memories, inside looking out?" Another soft squeeze of her hand before he set about moving a significant portion of Hunter's Folly from the giant plate on the table to his own only mildly smaller one. A large cut of meat, and some of the flavorings.

Sha'mer took some meat and side dishes for her own plate. "Well, it's clear I'm no counsellor," she said with a smile and took a bite, taking a few moments to savour the complex richness of the meat as it interacted with the rest of the food. There was a time for everything, a time for talking and a time for tasting, and the two each merited the full share of her attention.

"You could ask Elleese, speaking about the situation in general terms. She might be able to help even if she doesn't have the clearance to listen to the past. Maybe give some pointers in general terms. And maybe…" Her eyes darkened for a moment. "Sloppy organisation that they didn't do any aftercare of their own."

"I didn't need aftercare 'til I got got by that stupid cultivated virus and got sent back to reliving those times," Harva smirked goodnaturedly, an ear flicked and his tail gave a lazy wag before he beecame a bit more serious. "I'm fine. Well, I will be fine. We're hardy folk, us. Let's talk about something nicer, ok? How's the food? Veiðimaðrs glapræði in my native language, but I figure Hunter's Folly's easier to say."

"Then let's hope we won't get hit by any more viruses or similar things," Sha'mer said lightly, locking whatever thoughts she might have had about the subject or the organisation as a whole back. Maybe to be discussed another time, maybe not – but certainly not during dinner. "The food is excellent, I love the layering of the flavours." She took another sip of her drink and another bite, noting how well the wine-like substance complemented and enhanced the food, and gave a nod of appreciation.

"Mmhm. Makes me think of home," he smiled, though there was a slight tint of sadness to it. He quickly pushed that away though by enjoying another bite of his food. "Been thirty odd years since I was last there. Thinking I might go back there for a holiday trip next time we're in the area," beat. "How long 's it been since you were last home? If that's ok to ask."

Sha'mer smiled back, a brief one. "Of course. I don't see myself go back anytime soon, though, if only because of the distance…" And because of a few other reasons. It wasn't for nothing that she had put as much distance between that area of space and herself as she had. "A few decades since I left the Empire and Vo'Shala Prime. Quite a bit longer since I left the colony world I grew up on. All that is a closed chapter for me and I much prefer it stays that way."

"Fair enough and understood," it was obvious to Harva that Cintia didn't really enjoy talking about that particular subject, which was all good by him. "Just means I'll have to invite you along when I visit my world. Show you the capital city, Monsegvi. Show you the plains of dádýrvangr, the blaðfall forests, the svartr flœðr seas. You know, the regular sights."

"Looking forward to it." Her smile returned, warmer now when they quietly agreed to let the topic of where she came from rest. She had carved out a new existence for herself here and was glad for that chance. "It sounds like a world with a rich history."

"Mm. Not all of it good," Harva replied, poking at his food a moment as he considered how much to tell. There were no secrets, and Sha'mer could find everything in the database if she wanted, so he figured he'd just up and give her the basics at least. "'Bout a hundred standard federation years or so there was a violent revolution. A few million people died, as the oligarchy was overthrown, CEOs lynched, and a new government installed. It was before I was born, but there are still plenty of Sirran around who remember it happening, who were there for it, took part in it even. The new government is a meritocracy, with a consensus based ruling body under an allmóðir, a grandmother - after all, who better to look out for the good of the people than someone with two generations of offspring who will reap all that she and the consensus sow, right?" a smile, though there was a sadness behind it. The revolution brought great things to Sirran society, but at a terrible cost.

She listened quietly. "It's amazing how long scars from wars last," Sha'mer said then, with a nod. "Never something solved in one generation, or even two, no matter what people say." She took a sip of her drink.

"Here's hoping that the lessons and scars from this one last a long, long time yet," Harva rumbled, his bass resonating, as he raised his large mug of stjarnaljós as if in a toast, before taking another swig. "A meritocracy is so much nicer, people judged by what they contribute to society rather than what they take from it. Everyone encouraged to become a smiðr, a craftsman. Me, I'm a cook," he grinned merrily, "Always takes people by surprise when I say that. It was nice to cook again."

"Not just a cook," Sha'mer protested. "A craftsman in other respects as well. I mean, prime example right here." She gestured at the brace.

"That took a lot of learnin'," he chuckled, shaking his head a bit. "Can't take all the credit for that one. Just the design. And choice of materials," beat. "Ok, and the control system. I did adapt that from an existing suite."

"You're selling yourself short. A proper design requires a thorough knowledge of the materials involved, getting the control system adapted to this design isn't an easy feat in itself, and executing it to this level of artistry is a whole thing in itself. I've been wearing braces for years, on and off, and this is the best version I've ever worn, hands down. And yes, I've tried improving one or two versions myself."

"Well, thank you. I do appreciate the kind words," he rested a hand on the table, near hers, palm upwards, almost as if in an invitation. "But, honestly, that's down to the Sirran in me rather than anything specific to me. We just - set our mind to something, and then it gets done. But I'm glad it's working so well for you. You deserve it - I still feel bad for almost taking your leg off."

Sha'mer smirked at that. "With the amount of damage that leg has sustained, it's a miracle that hasn't happened already. Were it not for the rather erratic way my body reacts to things, doctors would've contemplated replacing it with a good hardware version before I even set foot on the Odin, let alone with what happened since then." And hadn't there been strange dreams before about another version of herself, in another universe, where that precise thing had happened? Only it hadn't been all that good, and-
She gave a curt shake of her head and washed that thought away with the last of her stjarnaljós. Then she reached out and touched his hand, feeling the solid presence of him, his mind, his emotions, flowing stronger through that link.

Without asking he poured her some more stjarnaljós, as he remained otherwise silent, his hand resting where he put it. A soft smile played on Sirran features, as he just enjoyed the moment. A nice drink, a good meal and an even better friend.

Sha'mer picked up the glass with her free hand and lifted it like Harva had done before, as in a toast. Despite the weight of some of the topics, the evening had been a good one thus far. And promised to be better still.

 

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