Dinner and a Show

Posted on Tue Feb 16th, 2021 @ 8:58pm by Lieutenant JG Ovrora Sh'rholok & Ensign Sturnack
Edited on on Tue Feb 16th, 2021 @ 9:05pm

Mission: 28 Days
Location: The Mess Hall - 7-11
Timeline: Mission Day 15 at 1830

[Deck 7 - Mess Hall]
[About a week out from SB15]
[1830 Hours]

7-11 was fairly full when Ovrora strode in, a storm cloud of frustration and anxiety all but physically following in her wake. It had been a week since she, Caspian, and Sturnack had encountered the augments on Starbase 15. A week since they had trounced them thoroughly and then found themselves detained in the brig. A week since Sturnack had so blithely indicated his distaste with her actions as though his words were anything less than a sharp splinter that would worm their way into the depths of her brain leaving her to mull them over and over and over until it felt as though she was standing on her head to decide what to do with it.

In their Academy days if someone had so calmly chastised her personal choices she would have talked it through with Sturnack, his cool logic and her hot emotions finding a middle ground where she could move forward. But that wasn't an option when the speaker was Sturnack himself and she found herself sorely missing his council.

He had, as it had turned out, avoided her as thoroughly as one person living in close quarters with another could do so since the bar fight. If she was coming back to their quarters he was leaving. If she was waking up, he was sleeping. If they were scheduled together on the bridge he made sure there was no cause for them to interact. It was both thorough and infuriating and she was completely and utterly done with it.

Scanning the room she spotted her target and made a beeline for the table where he sat. Not bothering to announce her intention she settled into the chair across from the Vulcan.

"We're talking about this," she said without preamble. "We're talking about this now."

Sturnack had, indeed, been avoiding his bunkmate. Observation of the Andorian's past behavioral patterns had convinced him that Ovrora would not be immediately receptive to his views. As it was in their shared Academy days, the Vulcan predicted she would need ample time to deliberate things and calm down. So rather than be present -- which could afford opportunities for pre-mature discussion -- Sturnack had simply made himself scarce. As Ovrora sat down at his table, however, there was no escaping the inevitable.

The Vulcan looked up at the Andorian with a neutral mask, regarding her for several long moments before his right eyebrow rose in its typical fashion. "Very well," Sturnack replied, lowering the spoon from which he'd been about to sip some plo meek broth from. "What is it, exactly, you wish to talk out, Ovrora?" The spoon had been placed on the table's surface, neatly angled to run parallel to the untouched knife sitting there.

"Seriously Sturnack?" She had just sat down and he already had the look she associated with his I have done nothing but follow the logical course and you are overreacting approach to her. She fought back the urge to storm off, her ire climbing up into her throat. What right did he have to be smug with her? "You feel the need to inform me that you are disappointed in me after we leave a fight and then avoid me for a week? What the actual hell?"

The Vulcan stiffened some, that eyebrow of his practically receding all the way up his forehead. "Perhaps it was...insensitive," Sturnack conceded, "to chastise you in front of Lieutenant Caspian. Though as you are now raising your voice to me in front of an entire mess hall," he looked around the room for a moment before locking onto Ovrora again, "I would say you've more than made up for my lack of discretion." Many pairs of eyes, it seemed, had indeed turned to watch the confrontation now unfolding.

Sturnack sat back in his chair slightly, silverware abandoned in favor of steepling his fingers. Without care for those watching, he pressed on. "I had hoped, in the years since our time at the Academy, that you would have embraced a certain...maturity," he chose the word carefully, "when dealing with others. My expectation, however incorrect," the Vulcan noted, "fell far short of reality, it seems. You once told me that people show you who they are, if only you have the awareness to notice. And you have shown me, Ovrora." The Vulcan's look was not as unemotional as one might think, given his lineage. There was a hardness to Sturnack's eyes that seemed out of place for one of his race. "I gave us both space to consider the new reality of our circumstances."

The pair were fire and ice, it seemed.

Ovrora sat back in her own chair eyes flashing as though she had just been slapped. Her antennae twitched back along her skull resembling an animal whose ears were pinned back in warning. Waiting long enough to be sure that everyone around them was, in fact, listening she leaned forward again. "I would not have needed to speak to you in the mess if you had, perhaps, not been avoiding me for the last week," she said, her voice steely and quiet. Anyone at a surrounding table would need to drop the pretense of doing something else or lean in to hear her.

"And for that matter what the hell do you mean by 'the reality of our circumstances?'" she shot back, voice still low and growly. "If you were so sure of the outcome that day, why did you even bother coming? Perhaps you would have found yourself happier if you had simply stayed home so you could bear no responsibility for anything happening to your unruly Andorian friend." Unconsciously, she reached a hand up to rub the spot immediately below her antennae where the augment had landed a blow, leaving her with headaches that still had not fully abated.

"I am fine discussing this here, if you wish," the Vulcan inclined his head towards his fiery companion -- which, in and of itself, was interesting given that she came from such an icy world as Andor. "I am quite sure our colleagues appreciate the dinnertime entertainment," Sturnack nodded then, briefly looking around the mess before his eyes settled on Ovrora once again. "By 'the reality of our circumstances,' I simply mean that we are now shipmates. And beyond that, we share living quarters given our junior ranks and the limited space available aboard this vessel. Given that your...predilection," the word was chosen with again more care, "for emotional and violent outbursts is now directly impacting my future in Starfleet, I must evaluate the wisdom of continuing our association."

He sipped then from the tumbler on his right, drawing out the action as if intentionally trying to provoke the Andorian. When Sturnack had, once again, placed the drinking vessel at a precise 45 degrees in relation to his bowl of soup -- which sat one foot away, rapidly cooling -- the Vulcan looked up at his bunkmate once again. "As for accompanying you to the station, you are, perhaps, correct. I will admit to a miscalculation in my mathematical considerations of your modern-day behavioral patterns." As he'd done with Ovrora so many times in their shared past, Sturnack jumped into an explanation of his decision-making process.

"I had calculated a margin of behavioral shift based on our years since the Academy, your known-to-me experiences since, and your rank and station on this vessel," the Vulcan said, not breaking eye contact. "There were clearly certain factors I was unaware of prior to evaluating the math that convinced me to accept your invitation," he conceded verbally, though his tone of voice almost sounded like he was directing condescension towards his longtime friend. "It is a mistake I do not intend to make again," Sturnack noted with finality.

Ovrora was quiet for a long moment giving the impression that she was considering the Vulcan's words. She had, in fact, learned long before that no disagreement with Sturnack would reach a conclusion when she challenged him on logic. Not that she hadn't risen to the bait plenty of times before.

Still the Vulcan's words were cutting and she wasn't a believer in logic over emotion--something her friend knew well. And, though she would never admit it so publicly, she felt as though her best friend had just told her she wasn't worth his time of day.

Finally, after what seemed like an appropriate pause, she straightened in her chair, arms folded across her chest. "I see," she said her voice dangerously quiet.

"If our association is so terrifically damaging to you perhaps you should have considered the last decade during which we have been friends and asked yourself why such an illogical connection was worth any of your time."

Pushing back from the table she stood, her short stature made her taller than the seated Vulcan, but not by any intimidating amount. Ovrora may not have cared about many people's opinions of her, but she couldn't deny Sturnack's meant a great deal. Her grief at the thought that he might be done with her friendship was written plain on her face.

"Our friendship has never been a mathematical calculation of odds to me. You know that well. But I won't force you to associate," she empasized the Vulcan's own word with distaste, "with someone you feel so poorly about. I'll put in a quarters transfer request in the morning," she said, stepping back from the table and turning to leave.

The Vulcan -- as was customary -- did not rise to such emotionally-charged guilt-laden bait. Instead, he simply nodded as if accepting the situation for what it was. "If that is your wish," Sturnack replied as the woman began to walk away. "Logic would dictate that it will take time and focus to reassess each other's qualities and decide if continued association is desirable. Such may be more difficult at a distance," the ensign denoted, "though as always, I will respect your decision even if I disagree with it. However, as I am the newcomer to our shared quarters, it would make more sense for me to file such a request with the ship's quartermaster. But I will, of course, defer to your preference there." And with that, the Vulcan tucked back into his soup, not deigning to engage any further.

Sturnack may have been done with the conversation, but--having stopped, fists clenched at her sides, to listen to his detailed account of why he thought she was overreacting cloaked in the distinctive insinuation that if she could only manage herself to his liking this wouldn't be an issue--Ovrora decidedly was not. Turning quickly on her heel she returned to the edge of the table and bent down to lean in closer than would be comfortable for most, although the Vulcan did not flinch.

"Someday you'll just say what you mean, Sturny. Until then maybe just stop avoiding me and we can 'reassess each other's qualities' without the public fireworks, ok?" Although she used the affectionate nickname she reserved for the man her voice came out a strained hiss of frustration. Before he could respond she stood, straightening her uniform and raising her chin to make clear that she was in no way cowed, and strode from the room.