Many souls with many dreams, many looks and many languages all brought together in a singularity of purpose, the Starship Hathaway was a myriad array of cultures, resplendent in individuality and yet all brought together by the abstract hope of the Federation. Nowhere aboard the seemingly indomitable Sagan class cruiser said this more than the Starlight Lounge, named aptly for the mystical glow it produced, both in lights and ambiance. An open space across two levels and yet it was intimate, cool, and calm yet comfortable and exciting. The variety of seating matched the variety of species at work on Hathaway and this was dwarfed by the number of drinks on offer, a number recently augmented by one. The Starlight lounge had the accolade of being the only place in the Federation to offer the fusion cocktail quv’Ha, notable for being one of the few if perhaps one of the only cocktails of Klingon origin, the species often being too proud and serious, too honorable to brook many similar concoctions. Seen from the eyes of an imagined deity on high its creator bounced between tables, corners, nooks, and groups all the while like a pinball. And like a pinball also she invariably inevitably returned with the force of gravity to the anchor of the space, a bar that held an element of mystery, an invisible intangible forcefield that prevented those without the bestowed moniker of ‘bartender’ from being admitted to the secrets of what lay behind in the unseen shelves adorned with bottle and utensil.

Similar in mystery was Kriana, the part-Klingon attendant who moved about the space with unending poise and grace that could never be taught. She smiled and laughed with some and depending on their mood commiserated or uplifted others. With some she chatted cordially or, if required, spoke little as the business of the crew took its priority. Her stilettoed boots covered many miles each day, most of which was spent entirely in the Starlit social hub of the ship. The pale blue mood lighting threw shadow to the ridges of her forehead, the glittering neutral overheads highlighting the darkness of her long and thick hair that tumbled in a waterfall of waves around her pale shoulders.

After an intense quarter of an hour moving solely between tables and preparing drinks there were, it seemed, no customers requiring her services at this moment so Kriana took a welcome moment for a break. She placed her tray down on the bar and with a perfectly manicured hand resplendent in a piano-black nail polish took up a glass from her preferred spot under the surface and allowed herself a long slug of water.

Still, in contemplation of her environment, Selara took a seat at the bar. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before,” she finally spoke, still carrying the note of wonderment. “There’s a bar on Denobula that has a marine/under-the-sea theme, but this brings things to a new level.” She chuckled, “I must sound like an enthralled schoolgirl. I’m Selara, the CMO aboard.” She wondered about using the prefix doctor or commander. Both would seem redundant as it was obvious by her rank pips and being the CMO carried the assumption she was a doctor. Plus this was a place to unwind, not to stand on formality.

“It’s certainly an upgrade from my last place,” Kriana offered from behind the bar with the slightest of smiles, leaning forward and allowing the shades of blue and warm white light to cast varying shadows across her face. “I’m Kriana. Can I get you something?”

Selara considered this question, she wasn’t much of a drinker. “A mint julep perhaps?” It was something her second husband had drank regularly, after discovering it on a Starbase stay. “A synthehol version, I’m still on duty,” she chuckled. “Out of curiosity, what’s your drink? Every bartender I’ve ever met has a drink they created or specialize in.”

“Mint Julep…” Kriana repeated this and brought up an aide memoire of the recipe on a monitor that was subtly built into the bar infrastructure. But she stopped a moment when Selara asked about her drink. Her default moody Klingon pout morphed into a slightly mischievous smile.

“quvHa’!” Her eyes blazed as she spoke the Klingon, intoned with the accuracy of a native speaker. “It means dishonored. Brandy, Na’ran, bitter Orange, a mix of spices known only to me, and a few drops of blood wine. I wanted to make a syntheholic version called ‘ach jIH!, meaning the most dishonored, but Synthohol blood wine doesn’t exist,” Kriana explained. “Traditional glass for your Mint Julep, or modern?”

Selara laughed at the bold response. I appeared the question woke something up in Kriana. “That sounds delightful, but definitely an off-duty drink. But I’ll remember that for later,” she chuckled. “I’m not sure you could call it blood wine if it wasn’t alcoholic. I can’t think of any Klingon worth their honor who would touch it.” Selara realized she hadn’t answered the question, “Ah, modern?” She shrugged, “I’m not sure what the difference is. My second husband drinks them all the time and it was the first cocktail that came to mind.”

It was Kriana’s turn to chuckle. 

“No Klingon worth their honor would touch it, that’s the point,” she explained. “It is mockery, it’s disrespect. It’s revenge. But on the subject of Mint Juleps, according to this…” Kriana indicated to her screen “…there is a traditional version served in a pewter cup where frost forms on the outside so you only hold it by the top or bottom edge. Up to you.” 

“Well, that does look quite fancy,” Selara said, in a ridiculous English accent. 

Kriana moved behind the bar, swiftly locating a bottle of bourbon and another of syrup that were placed together in front of Selara. She moved to another spot and, after sanitising her hands with a small sonic device acquired a few stems of mint from a stash somewhere under the bar. Placing them down by the bottles all but one stem were crushed in her hands in a subtle yet visceral execution of force.

“Where does he live, your second husband?” Kriana asked, her dark eyes moving between Selara and her preparations. As the daughter of a diplomat, Denobulan customs were quite familiar to her.

Selara made a thoughtful face, “I’m not sure. He disappears for years at a time. He’s an academic, anthropologist specifically.” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. She watched Kriana work as she spoke, “I think he was an overcorrection of my first husband. My first is a chef, a big family man. He’s a very open person, loved by all who meet him.” Selara sighed at the words, “What about you? Do you have a family here?”

Kriana gave her work and the doctor equal eye time as she prepared the ingredients. Next to arrive at the bar were a shot measure and a cocktail shaker. She gave Selara more of a smile now. It was nice to be treated as an equal by someone so important.

“Yes, my wife is in Security,” she explained as she scooped pre-crushed ice into the shaker. “Her name is Fearne.” 

“I’ll keep a watch for her, I’m sure I’ll run into her at some point. My wife is why I’m here. Not here, here… but in Starfleet. She convinced me to travel the stars with her,” She smiled, “It’s kind of romantic if you think about it.”

Kriana kept her eyebrows towards the thicker side, it was more of a stylistic choice than a reference to Klingon norms. It suited her. Both eyebrows raised at the mention of a wife. Kriana smiled genuinely rather than the polite smiles that had preceded. “Oh you’ll notice Fearne,” she confirmed assuredly as she poured the last scoop of ice into the shaker. “She’s the British security crewman with two different colour eyes. But hold up… what’s an anthropologist? And is it bad to be loved by all? Sounds kinda nice…” 

“An anthropologist is another word for a stuffy academic who spends their time in libraries. It seems like that’s all he does.” She chuckled, “Seriously though, it’s someone who studies aspects of people within their societies. And you have different specialties that study economics, biology, or, in the case of my husband, linguistics. He could dazzle you with the hundreds of languages he speaks.” She considered Kriana’s question, “It’s not a bad thing being loved by everyone. He’s a very charming and charismatic man, which is why I fell in love with him, but I can see how it can exhaust him. I worry for his health sometimes.” She frowned at the thought. “It sounds like I’m complaining, but I love them both. I love all of them actually. But they’re all workaholics and I worry about them.”

Kriana nodded as she span the top of the bourbon bottle and removed it deftly to measure out a shot.

“I can’t imagine three spouses, one is bad enough! Fearne’s mental as a barrel of targs.” Kriana observed. “In a good way!” she added quickly. ”I never came across a same-sex relationship with Denobulans though, is that common?” Perhaps others might have been more worried about asking personal questions. Despite her limited years, Kriana had given up caring about such things long before.

Selara chuckled, “It can get difficult, especially when they all get moody. But then I remember they’re dealing with the same thing with multiple spouses too.” She paused, watching Kriana work. It was all very fascinating watching her throw seemingly random things together to make a concoction. It reminded her of a witch’s brew. “Same-sex relationships aren’t very commonplace, but they’re overall accepted in Denobulan society. But that acceptance has been slow going. The opinion of the Denobulan people is want each other to be happy. If that means marrying someone of the same sex, so be it. Typically those that do only have one. Not out of shame, but like I said… slow going.”

Kriana stirred a measure of syrup with the crushed mint sprig, her attention between the recipe screen, her hands, and Selara. Despite the split, she didn’t miss a word. She grunted with recognition at the mention of slow going. Much as Kriana didn’t like to be associated with Klingon traits, the grunt in lieu of a proper response was definitely one. The bartender thought of all the expectations that had been put upon her, the daughter of a diplomat, even if she was more biologically human than Klingon, and how she was considered a problem child. How her father, who was really actually her uncle had been so exasperated with her apparent lack of honour and duty he’d celebrated her settling down with anyone in pretty much any fashion. The fact it had been a bog-standard Starfleet Crewman and a woman to boot was almost not even a consideration. Kriana toyed with the idea of saying this to Selara but kept quiet about it, for the moment at least.

“Are your marriages expected to produce Children?” She asked as a follow-up, “I thought Denobula was kinda overcrowded? Or something?”

“No, there’s isn’t expectation of children. Some do, and some don’t,” She shrugged, “I have two with my first husband, who in turn has three with his first wife. My second husband never desired any, he felt they were unnecessary to his academic pursuits. My wife,” Selara sighed deeply, “wanted children and tried with all of her spouses, but it was not meant to be. She eventually had to stop trying after several near-fatal instances.”

“I’m sorry,” Kriana said softly and retrieved a cocktail glass from under the counter.

Selara sat quietly for a moment, then the cheerfulness returned, “Denobula is very crowded, but not everyone who’s born there stays. We are a naturally curious people, and Starfleet is an excellent chance to stretch our legs, as it were.”

“What about you? Any children with Fearne? Any desire to have any?”

“Ummmmmmmmmmm…” Kriana gave her response visible consideration as she poured the two shots into the cocktail shaker and popped the mint sprig in for good measure. “Not right now,” she answered after a few seconds of loud shaking which then degenerated into gentle swilling. “We’re kinda getting settled? At the moment? Sort of enjoying not moving around too much, being in like a permanent couple. We’re both kinda… strong characters so just… easy does it y’know? Honestly, I think both of us think we would be pretty rubbish parents at the moment and we’re probably right…” The cocktail was poured carefully out into the glass and Kirana garnished it with the final mint sprig. She picked up the glass by the stem and moved the few inches over to Selara.

“One syntheholic Mint Julep,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” she looked at the drink, creating a strategy to hold it as instructed. “There’s always time for children. Or, if you find you enjoy yourselves more together than you would with children,” she shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with that either. Thanks again for the conversation!” Selara watched as Kriana moved to serve an engineering officer who sat down.