(60 minutes prior to start)

Ming had gotten cleaned up, putting on a clean pair of black slacks, button up tunic of the same color followed by his not quite authorized black longcoat.  It had the usual two pips of his rank of lieutenant, combadge and pilot’s wings. The captain was ok with it for use shipside so he wasn’t afraid to use it.  He was closer to suggesting it for the fighter wing than ever before.  That’d be another time though.  

He realized that he was a bit burnt out earlier.   He’d been in some furry hairballs so far in this war.  That included the failed attempt to rescue Betazed.  He’d watched his old ship, the USS Tucson get destroyed with alarming losses. Around half the crew made it to the escape pods, but ⅓ of them got destroyed by the Dominion.  That included many friends, collegues, respected superiors and 3 members of his old flight….Including his old CO/Lover.  So many others died with them because Starfleet Intel screwed the pooch. There’d been many mishaps and misadventures other times during the war too.  Things were finally hints of things seeming to go the Federation’s way.  War was a fucked up propisition so he tempered any hope toward the point of optimistic neutrality. 

Betazed….A new horrific realization struck him.  Nina was half Betazoid and had family there.  What were the chances she was there, on the ground, versus not?  Could that be the cause of the angst he couldn’t place?  Damn…..But he forced those thoughts to the wayside for now. 

William Tecumseh Sherman had two quotes that seemed to fit his feelings.  At the start it was “War is the remedy our enemies have chosen, and I say let us give them all they want. There is many a boy here to-day who looks on war as all glory, but, boys, it is all hell.” while later,  “It is now It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell.”

That bastard knew what he was talking about for sure.  But that was the past and he’d cried enough tears.  It was time to celebrate.  Celebrate being alive and the lives of the lost if folks insisted.  He said, “Computer…Invite senior staff to the main lounge in 75 minutes. Come as you are, dress uniforms not discouraged but not required.  Drink, eat and schmooze!  We’re headed home….If even for only a little while.  Plus whatevers welcome and your presence is your RSVP. — Computer….Send.”

With that….He left…..

Ready room…

Rebecca looked up from her intelligence report with the stars streaking behind her. She glanced in the direction of the com speaker and smirked and then glanced at Riandri.   She set the PADD down and relaxed into her seat.  “These reports can wait commander. I think the crew needs their XO.”

Riandri smiled at that, “I guess I better go put my happy party face on then.” She stood and started to make her way to the door, “I trust you will be joining, the senior staff will need to see their Captain as well at such an event.”

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate.   The captain needs a certain…”

“Nonsense,” Riandri said with a smile. “The crew and senior staff need to see that you are a person. Going there and enjoying a drink or just chatting for a little bit will do you good.” 

She stared at Riandri for a long moment and then let out a long sigh, “I’ll be there then.”

A grin spread over Riandri’s face, “Perfect, I will see you then Captain.” With that, Riandri turned, left the ready room, and made her way to her quarters.

Sickbay

Lavender looked sideways at the speaker in her office and sighed. She wasn’t much in the mood for a party, but it occurred to her that her time on Denver could go one of two ways. Either she was the usual loner or she could try to make it more like her last ship where she actually got on with people and was part of the community.

“Fine, fine, fine…” she said to the air testily and headed off to her quarters to touch up her makeup and change.
 

[Now, Ship’s Lounge, T-Minus 10 mins]

Ming smiled as the Bartender went to work.  He had most a case of Tullamore Dew left and, except for three he set aside, he made them available to his fellow officers.  Seemed that other real goods were also made available in addition to his donation and the synthahol so he felt like the grounds were set.   He poured himself a Tullamore Dew over ice and took a seat toward the end of the bar and waited.

A minute or so after Ming sat down the doors opened and Jeter walked in. Never one to underdress for an occasion he was wearing his full-dress uniform. He looked around the lounge and spotted Ming sitting at the bar. He made his way over and nodded to the bartender who passed him a glass of Martian Whiskey, “Guess we wait for the others to arrive then eh?”

Marcus chuckled and nodded raising his glass a bit, “Sounds about right.  In the meantime – Slán leat!”

Jeter smiled and raised his glass, “Cheers Ming.”

Aoife was still only the assistant Chief Engineer,  but she was the senior most representative of the engineering department.  She didn’t have the energy to go to a social function, but on the same hand someone should represent engineering. 

Entering the lounge she got a bottle of Scotch and approached Ming and Jeter,  “Well, engineering is here.” She set the bottle and dropped into an empty chair with an exhausted sigh. She filled her glass and raised it, “As my da’ would say, ‘slàinte’.”

Jeter looked over at Aoife, “How are you feeling Ensign? I am glad that you are back on your feet and able to join.”

“Well,” She hesitated and then grinned, “I feel like I got shot through the lungs a few days ago.”

Jeter smirked at that, “Ah, well that only makes sense I would think.” He took a small sip of his whiskey before continuing, “If you need some more time to recover let me know. An injury like that can take time to heal.”

“No sir. I don’t have the luxury of taking time off. Engineering is criminally understaffed.”

Jeter frowned slightly, “I am aware of that unfortunate situation. That said please do not push yourself too much. I would hate to have to explain to the good Doctor and Captain why you are back in medical.” He took a sip of his drink and smiled, “Now all that said, we will be getting replacements soon to help address some of that issue.”

Ming paused waiting for a moment to interject.  When he found one he said, “Glad you seem to have made a full recovery….Near enough anyhow.  You left a bit of blood in my fighter which caused a bit of vexation.  I worried about my wounded passenger.  My crew chief was spouting some vial stuff until I put a kibosh on it.  Very nice to see you up and around.”

She nodded and gave ming a slight smile, “Thank you sir.  Glad you were able to help… well I suppose my parents should be more so. If I died I guess I wouldn’t have cared one way or the other.”

Marcus excused himself indicating he’d return in a moment.  He went to the bar for a moment and returned with a full bottle of Tullamore Dew, a roughly half-full bottle, and an insulated bucket of ice.  He plopped all three items on the table and poured himself a glass with some ice.  He gestured to the items and said, “Help yourselves if you like. My personal stash.  Nothing like Irish Whiskey….This one happens to be my favorite.”

To punctuate his words Ming took a sip and savored the smokey flavor before smoothly swallowing it,  He savored the warm feeling of the alchohol as it made its way to his stomach.  He smiled a bit, “Shore leave…..I almost forgot what R&R is like.

After making her way to her quarters and changing Riandri made her way down to the lounge. ‘This could be good for everyone, a nice break from the challenges of late,’ she thought to herself as she stopped in front of the lounge. As she opened the door she could hear the hum of conversation from within, with a quick tug on her jacket, adjusting it so it sat right she stepped in.

Hot on the heels of the X.O. were the C.M.O. and C.O.O. Both women resplendent in their dress uniforms, T’Leya had taken the time to add some pretty braids to her hair that held it off her face in the manner she had done on Coltar IV. The doctor meanwhile eschewed her usual work up-do and her hair fell around her shoulders, framing the perfectly executed gothic eyes with spiked wing eyeliner and her trademark black lips. Her piercings were all in too. Lavender was nodding along with T’Leya’s explanation of how she had calculated the dress uniform would go down well with the senior staff. Lavender couldn’t quite admit she had made a similar calculation, but she did have the advantage of T’Leya, a bottle of something colourless clasped in her hands. She located Ming quickly and sauntered over.

“Ming,” she said commandingly and passed him the bottle of Grappa. “Not quite M’talan, it’s too refined for that, drink it, clean fighter parts with it, effective either way. How’s the head?

Marcus tilted his head curiously but allowed a small smile touch his lips.  He opened the bottle and poured a hefty dose into his now empty glass.  He eyeballed the liquid after sniffing then hoisting it to roughly eye level for a moment.  He said, “My head is still on my head and the contents were only slightly scrambled.  Seems, thanks to our doctor, I’ll live.  At least IF or maybe until the Jem’hadar succeed in taking me out.  My fighters have had parts singed but they failed so far.  I aim to keep it that way.” 

The Knight’s CO gestured with the liquid filled glass, “It does smell at least a bit better than our solvents.  Well, in the words of our world’s ancient Vikings, ‘skål!”

Ming emptied the glass in two solid gulps and looked thoughtful for a moment.  He said with a smile, his voice only a little gruff, “Nope.  Not quite our usual solvents.  There was an old Terran drink called Everclear.  95% grain alcohol and it tastes like the straight stuff. Compared to that Graal isn’t that bad.” 

Lavender grinned.

“Good man. I better go furnish myself with a glass and catch up, I’m two drinks down already! Excuse me…” 

The doctor slid past Jeter offering him a raised eyebrow of recognition and headed for the bar.

Gus walked in carrying a guitar case. His dress uniform crisp and immaculate. Red hair slicked back so it stayed in place. He nodded to the server. The standing order for a large Mexican hot chocolate was received. Uncasing the guitar, out came a Fender Acoustisonic Jazzmaster. The instrument offered acoustic shape-shifting to electric rhythm tones, all with balanced highs, focused mid-range, and pronounced bass response. Perfect to mimic the ambiance the night would take on its journey.

Taking a seat, he slung the pleather red and black sling around his neck and got comfortable on the stool. The guitar was a red mahogany with black streaks. Accented by a black walnut neck and fretboard. The hardware was gold plated to give the instrument a match to the dress uniform Gus wore. 

Aoife smirked, “I didn’t know we were putting on concerts.  I should have brought my Highland pipes.”

Marcus let something between a grin and a smirk cross his lips and replied, “It was kind of discussed but ultimately not expressly encouraged or discouraged.  I’m a little surprised anyone opted to go for it actually but I’m thinking I won’t be complaining.”

Aoife smirked, “Nobody wants to hear the pipes.”

“Why not? I am always partial to bagpipes myself,” Jeter said with a smile.

“Well, the biggest reason is ”I don’t have them with me, and the next reason is that we already have entertainment. Who am I to steal the Lieutenant’s thunder?” Aoife replied.

Jeter shrugged, “Perhaps another time, we have not had enough of these events since the war started. It is nice to see the crew sharing what they enjoy.”

Ming fixed Aoife a lopsided smile before saying, “No, no….No thunder to steal.  My motivation to throw this little….Soireê was to have fun.  Have a few drinks, schmooze, hobnob, and…for those so inclined….Play a little music should their muse decend.  We made it through another mission.  A tradition we had back on the Tucson was to have a gathering, such as this.  With that ship and two thirds of the crew gone I felt it fell on me to share the tradition and let folks blow of some steam.”

He smiled with a gesture imperfectly encompassing the room, “Thus here we are.  I’m quite glad this party has gotten started.”   

“As am I, this was a good idea,” Jeter remarked as he took another sip from his glass. “I will catch up with you two later, I need to have a work with the XO.” With that, he nodded to them both and made his way over to Riandri.

“Commander,” Aoife said politely. 

Farl looked at the chronometer on his desk. It was time. He gave his report one final cursory review, then saved it. He quickly tidied up his room, changed into some casual attire, and then paused to inspect himself in the mirror. Clean hear, groomed whiskers, looking sheik. With a silent nod to his reflection, Farl strode out of his quarters and headed for the ship’s lounge.

10 minutes later, Farl was heading for the ship’s lounge a second time, only this time in dress uniform. He’d gotten approximately 2 paces in the door, realized his mistake, and smoothly did a 180 back out. Hopefully nobody noticed. This time, however, he entered and stayed in the lounge. Farl stood a moment, basking in the ambience. Looking about for some familiar faces, Farl made his way to the bar, where he spotted a familiar face.

“Excuse me doctor, might I ask what you’re having? I have a feeling I’m not going to find any Caitian drinks onboard, and while I do enjoy a nice gin & tonic, I thought I might try something new.” Farl said, shuffling through the crowd and finding himself next to the doctor. “By the way, I genuinely don’t recall if I said anything coherent when I first showed up in your sickbay, so I’m Farl.” He stuck out his hand.

Lavender shook it more out of form than anything genuine. She was famous for hating pleasantries and small-talk. “You didn’t, but it’s no big. You’d been through it. Call me Lavender.” The last part wasn’t an invitation, not in the tone Lavender used. She swilled the colourless liquid in her glass, the cool temperature of which had left condensation on the sides. “I’m having Grappa. Not the good shit I brought for Ming, this is the standard Starfleet bar garbage.” She turned finally positioning herself facing Farl. “Possibly a bit strong for Caitian physiology,” she offered, quietly.

One of Farl’s left whiskers twitched. Had the temperature dropped? He paused for just a moment, then, after making an internal calculation, made a decision. He straightened his back and turned to face the doctor. “Grappa… Italian, yes? Let’s give it a try.” Farl gestured to the bartender, to the glass in the doctor’s hand, and then to himself. He waited patiently for a glass to appear in front of him. He thanked the bartender, then, facing the doctor, took a single breath, and tossed the Grappa back. Farl had intended to steel himself for the liquor to hit, but it wasn’t enough. He clamped his jaw shut, in an attempt to stifle the cough, and managed to reduce it to a heavy exhale through his nose. His eyes watered. “Well,” he squeaked. “It’s no cat nip.” Farl’s eye twinkled, silently laughing at himself.

“Heh”, Lavender chuckled. She had to admire Farl’s brass. Caitians were known for alcohol intolerance, at least if Ferrus was going to throw caution to the wind there was a doctor nearby.

“Yeah, Italian,” she confirmed rather nonchalantly. It’s closest I can easily find to the garbage we brewed back home. We called it Scratch. Was always different because each batch was fermented from whatever we could uhhhh… source. Yeah let’s say source.” Lavender knocked back her glass as if it were water and indicated to the barman that she’d like a refill.

“Wait so… you’d prefer garbage?” Farl asked, as the room swam just a little. Deciding to wait a bit for his next drink, Farl asked the bartender for some carrot juice. “I’ve read a little about the old days on Earth when people would make moonshine, but my understanding was they took pride in quality. Or, maybe it was just pride in the proof? I don’t know. At any rate, I’d love to try Scratch sometime. Maybe I’ll sip the next one though.”

Lavender wrinkled her nose.

“Not from Earth so I wouldn’t know,” she explained. “Probably rose-tinted glasses anyway, I’d probably hate it these days.

Arin was surprised she had been able to make it. Last-minute departmental issues were always like that. Course correction and thruster maintenance might not be exciting until something goes wrong.  

As she walked through the doors, the red dress uniform was crisp. Gus Viat played some energetic jazz that could still be talked over. Handing the server a bottle of a ten-year-old Whiskey, she asked for a glass, no ice with the remainder of the bottle now available for general consumption as well. Collins glass in hand, she spotted Lavender talking to Commander Ferrus. She walked up from Lavender’s peripheral vision. As she got within earshot, she saw the clear glass in Lavender’s hand. “I bet your doctor doesn’t like you drinking solvents, Commander Haigh,” Arin said, teasing Lavender with a wide smile. Turning to Farl, she added, “Don’t let her near any open flames.”

Hearing the familiar Irish voice Lavender turned to smile at the approaching orion, the kind of smile reserved for a special someone that one is happy to see. With no other open sign of affection Lavender looked at Farl again for his reaction to Arin’s quipping.

“Oh, in that case maybe it’s for the best that I left my torch in my cabin. I’ll keep an eye out.” Farl patted down his pockets, pretending to look for his welder. “What are you having, Ms Jones? The doctor here just introduced me to grappa, and once my vision clears I might try something else.”

“A very drinkable Irish whiskey. A ten-year-old single malt. Something just a bit special for tonight. The rest of the bottle is behind the bar.” Arin offered. “If you like coffee, an Irish coffee with some of that is a very interesting way to blend.” Arin said with a smile, siding up to Lavender close enough to be next to her but without actually reaching out. “Let me know and I can make you one.” Arin said to Farl, then added, “What is your usual choice?”

Farl eyed the amber liquid in Arin’s glass. He found the color very appealing. “Well, I didn’t really drink back home. My family didn’t keep alcohol in the house. But over my time in Starfleet, especially while teaching at the Academy, I have developed a fondness for a gin & tonic. It’s like… drinking a cool pine tree. I understand that is exactly what turns many off of the drink, but I love it.” Farl swirled his carrot juice thoughfully. “I do enjoy a good coffee too. I’ll accept your offer, thank you, in a little bit after I process that degreaser I just swallowed.”

“Brilliant. Let me know, I probably end up making a few by the time the night is over hopefully.”Arin replied to Farl.

Rebecca arrived fashionably late, her posture stiff with the weight of unspoken responsibilities. She had stopped by her quarters to change.  She wasn’t there acting as the captain, but the mantle of command clung to her like a noose. Always present and always reminding her of her duty.  The crew present looked relaxed and happy as the ship slipped along at warp as the warp effect streamed by the expansive windows. A content sigh escaped her lips seeing the smiling faces, overlapping chatter, and occasional laughs.

Gus was on the stage playing a guitar. He had a wonderful singing voice. She was a bit jealous.  She loved music but lacked any ability to play or sing.  She wouldn’t go so far as to say she was tone-deaf, but she might as well be. With the music to her back, she approached the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. When the bartender slid her the glass she cradled it and headed to the back of the lounge to observe the crew from afar… she was their captain, not their friend.

Finding herself not being particularly part of any group or conversation and with her best acquaintance aboard being engaged in singing T’Leya decided to move toward the back of the lounge also as she had spied the Captain heading in that direction.

“Good evening, Captain,” she said as she approached. “Might I join you?”

Rebecca stiffened and nodded to the Vulcan officer, “Of course Lieutenant.”

T’Leya noticed the Captain’s change in demeanor but decided to pay it no heed given her acceptance of company. The Vulcan seemed to look pleased as she nodded (if such a thing were possible for a Vulcan) and took a sip of her drink.

“Do you have any plans for Vulcan, ma’am?” She enquired.

“I don’t unless you count finding replacement crews to fill our ever-shrinking personnel as ‘plans’.  Engineering is still practically operating on a skeleton crew. Security is short people including a Chief.”

T’Leya nodded. “Can the operations department assist in any way, Captain?” She enquired.

Rebecca took a long sip from her drink and nodded to T’Leya. “Consider yourself relived of bridge duties until further notice.  Ensign MacKenzie can use all the help you can give her.”

“Yes, Captain,” The Vulcan replied.

Gus finished the musical set, and put the guitar on a stand. He retrieved a dark bottle and headed behind the bars for three glasses. Walking towards Rebecca and T’Leya, he waited for an opening in the conversation. Gus simply said, “We owe Micah and ourselves that drink. Though it is now 44-year-old Saurian brandy.”

Rebecca hesitated staring down at the table as a flood of emotions washed over her. The fear and chaos of 
Tyra ramming home.  She was already struggling with this war. So far she had lost very few friends, but she had lost a lot of classmates and colleagues.  The list was almost too painful to bear. Every Friday that damned casualty list came out. And every Friday she had to pretend she didn’t want to hide in her quarters curled up in a ball and cry.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Rebecca said at last, flashing a weak smile.  “Let’s drink to the captain and everyone else we have lost.”

Gus lost no time in correcting her. “No Captain. What we still have left.” He paused, offering his hand and fixing her with a gaze. Vulcans were the masters of reading body language and what was left unsaid. His mental shields were up, but if he could offer support, he wanted to. 

She gave Gus a curt nod, “To the survivors.”  

He raised his glass, “and to each other.” Gus added with a nod, still looking at Rebecca for a moment.

“The survivors,” T’Leya said, lifting her glass.
 
Ming detached from his companions with a polite word and promise to be back before too long if he could before milling around the lounge.  He greeted his fellow officers happily and pleasently.  After a few minutes he found himself gravitating toward Arin and Farl.  He stayed out of earshot for a moment, which wasn’t hard given the volume of the room, and waited for what seemed to be a good pause.  

When he spotted an opening he closed the gap with a few easy steps.  Marcus offered a grin and said, “I apologize for inturupting.  I simply wanted to take the opportunity to say hello.  Good seeing you as always, Lieutenant.”

He fixed Arin with a warm smile.  He then turned his attention to Farl sayings, “Greetings Commander.  I don’t believe we’ve met yet.  My name is Lieutenant Marcus Ming….I command the Denver’s flight of fighters.”

“When he’s not three or four sheets to the wind.” Arin countered, tossing Marcus’s hair with her fingers, fixing Marcus with a knowing smile. “Keep it up Dapper Dan, we just got here. Go dance it off with someone. Then she quickly added, “Not it.” Grinning widely.  

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ming!” Farl grinned, extending a hand. “Do you still fly, or are you stuck behind a desk? I’ve only just taken the department head position myself, but my old boss warned me I’d be doing way more admin than science… So far he was right. But to be fair, I’m playing catchup, trying to get up to speed.” 

Marcus tipped Arin a wink before returning his attention to Farl, “I won’t lie. There’s a bit more desk work than I really had hoped for but I still lead at the front.  With a wing counting as six fighters I can ill afford to hide behind a desk. Frankly I wouldn’t want to be that kind of leader.  I ask my crews to go out there and risk there lives….as their commanding officer my place is right out there in the fray along side them.  I don’t want it any other way.”

Farl nodded in agreement. “I concur. I know I’m not in the cockpit of a fighter, but that’s basically why I’m out here, on the Denver. I know there’s value in teaching the next generation of officers, but I felt compelled to make a more tangible contribution on the front lines. It sounds like you’re being a good leader, not just a boss.” Farl paused a moment, internally debating scientific methods to support the war effort. “Not to talk too much shop while we’re supposed to be relaxing, but if you’d like, I could take a look at fighter wing sensor logs from the last few combats. Maybe I could find some kind of pattern in emissions or power surges that might give you and your pilots an edge. I know mine won’t be the first set of eyes checking for this type of thing, but they’re fresh.”

Ming nodded.  He replied, “I know the basics.  My parents started my martial arts training not terribly long after I started walking.  Like many more traditional folks of Chinese descent they also demanded perfection in all things.  My aptitude for spacial navigation and tactics floored folks.  That all is great for hand to hand combat, and flying.  It is a little limited.  Sure, it’s good for combat and exploration but it’s the scientists who ultimately further civilizations.  I envy those who are talented in those regards.”

“Oh mah god, do you two want to be alone? Nope, don’t answer that.” Arin said teasing the pair of officers, her accent getting thicker as she spoke along with a wide smile and chuckle. She was just as bad with shoptalk though as Marcus knew it.  She winked at him. “Time to find a stronger and larger drink….and maybe a keyboard.” 

“Oh, are you going to start a band, or play something solo? Either way, if you have the time, I’d love to try that Irish whiskey you mentioned before you take the stage.” Farl set down his empty glass and took a glance at the stage. He hadn’t brought his instrument with him – it was in storage, back on Earth. Probably for the better, Farl thought, since his shuttlecraft had been shot to hell on his way out here. No telling if it would’ve survived. Of course, the replicator could probably make one, but would it be any good? Farl thought not.

Lavender looked slightly amused at this question, her eyebrows raised slightly awaiting Arin’s response.

Holding up her fingers and waving them around, Arin said. “These are magic makers. I do not and will not sing.”  She hooked an arm into Lavender’s on a whim. 

Turning to Farl, Arin offered. “Yeah! Let’s do that.”  She walked behind the bar and set up half a dozen marble Collins glasses and a half-dozen glass coffee mugs. There were always extra people enjoying the show who wanted the coffee and she had to do extras on many occasions. Selecting a light roast she added a bit of muscovado sugar into each mug and added the coffee along with a shot of whiskey. Then carefully layered each mug with cream on top and shaved a bit of chocolate onto each mug. 

The Collins glasses took mere seconds. All six got several fingers worth of the Tyrconnell, one got ice, and Arin snagged the first one for herself, offering a second to Lavender.

Arin pointed to the non-ice glass first. “Neat. With ice in the next one. Some like it that way. I think it does open the flavor but mutes or waters down others. And of course. A nice sweet coffee with cream for those that would like a treat. 

“Thank you kindly,” Farl said, accepting a mug. Then he raised it. “If I may, a brief toast. In remembrance of those who’ve passed, and in appreciation for those who remain.”

The smile that crossed Marcus’ lips was one tinged with bittersweetness.   He raised his glass and added, “To friends and lovers -The ones still with us…And those who’ve passed beyond the great veil!”

“Friends and lovers,” Lavender repeated with a knowing look at Arin and took a healthy glug from the drink that had been handed her.

“Friends and lovers.” Arin finished the toast, raised her glass, and drained a fair amount. 

Marcus’ face worked with an obvious effort to mask his emotions.  If he’d managed the fact that he drained the remaining 3rd of his bottle of whiskey in two long pulls.  He looked down at the empty bottle before shaking his head adding, “I could swear that this thing has a hole in the bottom.  If you’ll excuse me……”

Ming’s smile was easy as he nodded to those at the table before beating a hasty retreat toward the bar.  After gesturing with a raised index finger toward the bartenter, the Knight’s CO proverbially exited stage left and didn’t look back after the lounge doors hissed shut behind him.