*((Interior. U.S.S. Eagle, Deck 3. Room 319.))*
Quentin was blathering on, as per usual, trying to savor the smells and
eventual taste of the Picard when he could find that bloody bottle opener,
when...the miraculous happened.
Through his droning and grandstanding and general oblivious, self-centered
existence and in a rare quiet patch from him Chloe Waters said the
*Waters: *Unfortunately, only those in the Temporal Investigations
Department could provide any insight into that matter. As far as I am aware
there are no members of that department aboard.
He stood stock straight and blinked twice. An honest to to the gods JOKE.
From Chloe Waters. They were well and truly through the looking glass now
then weren't they? To think the officer that not even a few months ago
could barely stand to look into her co-worker's eyes was cracking wise and
choosing a COSTUME for a social gathering. That SHE had suggested. It was
truly the miracle of space. It made you into the person you needed to be to
survive it. It happened with Quentin and now it seemed it was happening to
He felt a sort of...surge of pride? It was hard to articulate. So Quentin
thought to ruminate on it with a drink, finally fishing the bottle opener
from his pocket.
*Collins:* Touche, Mister Waters. Have I been talking this whole time?
He paused his ritual of bottle opening to outstretch his hand out to Mandy,
allowing her free reign to sniff and prod with her wet nose. He
instinctively started to scratch under her chin, hopeful that that was the
kind of pets she preferred.
*Waters:* You have. It is not a problem, though.
He pointed his free hand down to the still sniffing canine.
*Collins: *Do we have a course prepared for her?
*Waters:* ::smiling:: She is simply curious, I am sure. She will not try to
steal the food. Speaking of which...
Chloe walked up and around the other side of the table and Quentin crossed
out with her. She grasped a cloth and uncovered the rest of the table.
There was a delightful theatricality to the movement, which Quentin
absolutely ate up. This would have been precisely the kind of dorky stuff
he would have done on the other side. But as the cloth dropped from the
table and Quentin finally worked the cork from the bottle, then setting it
aside to allow it to breathe (which his mother would have herself eaten up).
Sitting in the middle of the table was a perfectly cooked whole chicken,
surrounded by smallish potatoes. Also in front of the two seats was a
steaming bowl of what he assumed was onion soup. A beautifully simple, and
Franciscan meal. Quentin was delighted that not only had Chloe deployed a
full on "bit", but she was damning the torpedoes to commit to the bit.
*Collins:* This looks...wonderful, Chloe. Thank you so much.
*Collins:* Though correct me if I'm wrong, wasn't I SUPPOSE to cook YOU
*Collins:* Hey, I am NOT complaining.
Though there was a tallish wood grained pitcher of water standing between
two water glasses, Quentin tried to suss out if there were even any wine
glasses. After a few seconds he gave up the search and turned to face his
friend again. He pointed toward the replicators.
*Collins:* May I?
He crossed quickly over to the replicator and spoke "Wine glasses, two". In
a moment they stood in the box, slightly warm to the touch as Quentin
scooped them and crossed back to the table. He sat them down next to the
water glasses and started to take his seat.
*Collins:* This really does look wonderful. I'm glad we are doing this.
Most people don't get the appeal of 12th Century Terran cuisine. I don't
QUENTIN COLLINS III
CHIEF SCIENCE OFFICER
U.S.S. EAGLE NCC-74659
*(currently in transfer to)*
*U.S.S. JUNEAU NX-99801*
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