The Junk Heap
Location: Mess Hall
Clarissa awoke, and was aware of several things, almost at once. She was unusually well rested, recovering from having been given some form of sleep aid. She was also starving. And sober.
That last part was even more uncomfortable, because her entire mood was borderline homicidal.
She got up, and rubbed the side of her head. Her stomach growled like an angry lion. After hastily fixing her hair, Clarissa found her way to the messhall. She got in line to make her request for food, and probably a drink, to start the day, and didn't really pay attention to the person running the place.
"Look like you could use a raktajino or three." Danaea's voice floated sardonically as she eyed up her latest patron. "What'll it be?"
"Four. Actually." Clarissa replied. She looked about, and narrowed her eyes on a vaguely familiar looking hairstyle sitting at a nearby table. "I was going to ask for something to spike them with, but the Security Investigations Officer is here, today. What have you got for breakfast specials?"
Danaea couldn't help but chuckle, despite her displeasure at the days events which left her bar closed due to 'unforeseen issues with the environmental systems.' A mere ten minutes after reopening her doors to the crew, she had been swamped with patrons, hungry night shift workers eager to eat her cupboards bare.
"I'd offer you waffles but they went real quick. Bagel?"
"I don't suppose there's anything with protein? I'm on a specific training regimen diet, and I'm supposed to open the day with low filling calories, like breads, or starches, and more proteins, and fruit." Clarissa replied. "Blame her." She added, pointing at a Vulcan, eating alone.
"Pfft!" Danaea snorted, casting a withering look at the Vulcan seated a few metres away. "I never understood the Hewmon devotion to dieting." She patted her own stomach gleefully, "I eat what I like and still look fabulous. But if it's protein you want, I can make you a bowl of er- what do you call it on Earth? Granny Ola!"
"That's all fine, and well, for Vulcans, but I prefer to get my protein from more flavorful sources. I don't suppose you've got anything vaguely resembling meat, preferably fried?" Clarissa asked.
"Well," Danaea said, "I did manage to procure some targ rashers on Qo'nos. it's a little tougher than bacon but has a particularly potent flavour when served with French toast. Have a seat and I'll have it ready in five." She gestured towards the nearest table where the Vulcan sat alone. "Anything for your friend?"
"That sounds absolutely perfect." Clarissa nodded. "Get her some kind of salad, I guess. I don't really know-" Clarissa tilted her head. "No strawberries. She's allergic."
"However heard of a Vulcan allergic to strawberries!" Danaea smirked. "Fine. Kale and green pepper for the Vulcan. Unseasoned, I'll assume." Glancing at the Lieutenant's amber collar as she retreated from the bar, she suddenly remembered her plight.
"Say, while you're waiting, you wouldn't take a look at the environmental relay?" Danaea motioned a thumb to the bulkhead immediately to her left, where a small square panel was set. "You might have noticed the air is a little ... chilly in here. I can't figure it out for the life of me!"
Clarissa raised an eyebrow in a particularly Vulcan-like manner. "My method of dealing with technology is to beat it senseless. Security gold. Not Engineering gold. Terribly sorry."
"Bah!" Danaea waved a hand dismissively, "You can't help it if you all look the same. It's Danaea by the way, you are ... ?"
"Surprisingly still above the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade, Clarissa Williams, dishonored, and frankly disappointing Chief Security and Tactical Officer." Clarissa replied.
Danaea simply nodded. She was no stranger to the fact that the Century was a ship of rejects; Starfleet had scooped the pond that was the Federation and dumped the scummy remains in a waste bin. To her, it was simply another day in the market on Orion, a place which also held it's fair share of shady characters. Still, hearing someone admit to their failings so openly made Danaea feel a little sad for the crew; it couldn't be fun, being told you're nothing so many times you actually start to believe it.
"Well, Lieutenant Williams," Danaea said resolutely, "I have a feeling these rashers will help curb some of that disappointment."
"Only if you've got some hot sauce that will set my brain on fire, so it can't feel anything." Clarissa replied, with a laugh. Inwardly, she appreciated the strangely enjoyable demeanor the Chef appeared to hold. They were Ferengi. It was probably just good for business, but Clarissa appreciated it, regardless. "Thanks." She added, with a slight smile.
"Pleasure. It'll be fourteen credits, I'll serve you the bill at the end." Danaea winked smartly, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the kitchen.
"Thank you." Clarissa nodded, handing over her payment chip. "This looks entirely delicious."
Lieutenant Clarissa Williams
Chief Security and Tactical Officer
Staff Warrant Officer Laura
Security Investigations Officer